Carrolwood (9-12) (Patreon)

Chapter Nine

Carl sat outside the principal’s office, where he’d been told to wait. He smoothed his skirt and tugged on the hem, wishing he could make it long enough to at least cover his thighs. Principal Sagamore’s secretary was a very pretty, young woman named Connie, with big, brown eyes. Carl had crushed on her a little over the years. Now, she was pretending to look at her monitor while actually staring at his long, bare, sexy legs. Having a beautiful woman checking out his legs made Carl feel— small. Sitting in front of her in a too short skirt made him feel smaller. Sitting in front of her with his knees pressed together like any proper young lady made him feel like a tiny little bug that just wanted to run from the room screaming.

But he could not. So Carl put his hands in his lap and, brushing a stray strand of glittering blonde hair away from his cheek, he feigned fascination with the fish tank, his cheeks burning as Connie’s eyes kept sweeping up and down his legs.

Finally, the door to Sagamore’s Office swung open. A deep voice called from within: “Enter.”

Carl stood, smoothing his skirt, then walked into the principal’s office, ready to face his punishment. Connie watched him walk, impressed. He moved like a supermodel. She’d have to ask him for pointers sometime.

Sagamore sat, shrouded in shadows. A fire crackled in the open hearth, stone fireplace. On his desk, a sculpture of Ganesh. “Sit,” he said.

Carl sat. He’d been relieved to get away from Connie, but his sense of feeling small and shamed did not diminish in the face of this deep voiced manly man. He once more tugged at his skirt. 

“Why are you wearing a girl’s uniform?”

Carl sighed. It was time to tell the truth. He would tell Sagamore what was really going on. Then, he would tell his mother. “Okay,” he said. “So, well, it all started ….”

Carl chattered, telling the story in a completely non-linear way, and making many digressions, offering scathing commentary on certain hair bloggers who did NOT know what she was talking about.

Sagamore did not move or comment. He remained a statue carved in shadow.

Carl finished. “So, um, I mean, whatever!”

The room remained silent save for the popping of the burning logs. Sagamore seemed deep in thought. Finally, he leaned forward, his face now lit up red by the flickering flames. He had a pencil thin mustache and needy eyes. “You are a girl now,” he said.

“Whaaa?” Carl squeaked back.

“Regulations clearly state that the female uniform is for females. Since you are now forced to wear a girls’ uniform, it stands to reason you must now be a girl.”

The thought of being called a “girl” terrified Carl. Indeed, it had been a playground taunt among the boys as long as he could remember. His own mother had chastised him not to “be a girl.” He’d been taught, indeed, that there was nothing worse he could be than a “girl.” “I’m not a girl,” he said. “I assure you. I still have— you know.”

“Miss Bright,” the principal said. “You are a girl now. Next topic. I think it best we do not involve outside authorities in this matter. The school’s reputation. You understand.”

“Um. okay, I didn’t actually agree to the whole I’m a girl now just because you say so? Saying I’m a girl because I’m wearing a skirt is so— sexist!”

Sagamore raised an eyebrow. “Young lady, be mindful of your tone. No one likes a girl who is shrill and demanding.”

“Young lady? Shrill? Demanding?” Carl’s skirt tugging grew more frantic. His voice rose to almost glass shattering pitches. “I’ll tell my daddy on you!”

“Just the thing a girl would say,” Sagamore said. “Men handle their own problems.”

“Men? Why… hmpf!” Carl crossed his legs— properly for a young lady. 

“You want to be a boy? Find a way out of that skirt. Are we clear?”

Carl pushed out his lower lip. “Fine! May I go?”

“You are dismissed,” Sagamore said. 

Carl got up. On his way of the outer office, Connie said, “Carl? One sec.”

Carl’s heart fluttered a little as he looked into those big, pretty eyes. “Yes?”

“Your walk is so graceful. What’s your secret?”

Carl huffed, turned on his pretty little shoes, and floated from the room.

Connie watched him go, thinking, “she’s a little stuck up.”

As Carl was exiting the office, he came eye to eye with Sunni. “You’re tall,” he said.

“Keen eye for observation you’ve got there,” Sunni said. Her eyes dropped to his blouse, and then…

Carl put his hands over the front of his skirt, trying to hide it in a sad effort so doomed to failure it could only make him seem like an airhead. Sunni loved seeing Carl wearing a girl’s uniform— they had often argued over whether it was sexist or not to make girls wear skirts, with Sunni pointing out the clothes’ lack of utility as well as the sexualization inherent in compelling girls to bare their legs . Carl’s response, an unusually obtuse one for a young man of such intellect, was usually, “girls wear skirts. That’s just the way it is.” One of the reasons, perhaps, that Carl had not managed to formulate a more compelling counter arguments, was due to the fact that he actually fully believed that forcing girls to wear skirts was a matter of making them— less than. In addition, he quite enjoyed the sight of a shapely pair of female legs, and the skirt seemed a quite excellent article of clothing for the display of a girl’s — gams. 

Yet, as much as she was loving the sight of Carl with his Peter Pan color, his pleated skirt, she was also quite amused and also puzzled at the sway of hip, and those legs! “You look cute,” she said. “Those shoes are adorable.”

Carl frowned. “Don’t start. Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for me?”

“Because you’re dressed like a girl? I’ve been doing it my whole life.”

“Well, duh! You are a girl! It’s so unfair! I’m stuck wearing a skirt, and you get to be tall?”

“You think I want to be tall?”

“It’s better than being a boy in a skirt!”

“Well, Carl, you once told me that girls wear skirts. You are wearing a skirt; therefore— “

“Uh!” Carl squeaked, throwing his head back and storming off, furious to hear Sunni making the same idiotic argument the principal had just made. Sunni watched him storm off, admiring how smooth and ladylike he walked. His legs were so pretty, and the way his skirt rode on his cute, round but, swishing back and forth…

“Okay,” Sunni mumbled to herself. “Those are none of the things I am looking for in a boy!”

I would relate to you Sunni’s encounter with Sagamore in greater detail, but for the fact it was nearly identical to Carl’s. Sagamore explained that Sunni was now a boy. The idea of having someone else re-assign her gender identity shocked and offended her. She, unlike Carl, did not have a hissy fit, but merely expressed her objections to being declared boy in clear, simple and controlled tones. Sagamore ignored her and reminded her that no outside agencies should be involved in the matter. The school would investigate, and he had heard Millmore was on the case, so it was as good as solved, anyway. The meeting completed, Sunni stood, crossed the room and extended her hand. Sagamore stood. He was a full 3 inches shorter than Sunni, and as he looked up at her he found himself just a little intimidated by her thundering beard. He wondered if he should grow one as he reached out and shook Sunni’s hand, which was now much larger than his and— her grip was quite strong. He almost winced, but could not show weakness in front of the students. “Good man,” he said. “Quite a grip you’ve got there.”

Sunni nodded and left, feeling quite pleased. Sagamore had hidden his flinch, but he hadn’t hidden the look of surprise in his eyes. Once more, as with her height, she felt- powerful. She wondered if she could kick Sagamore’s ass. Probably, she decided. He looked skinny fat.

Sagamore had his secretary send word to all the teachers of the new genders of his star students. They now referred to Carl as “Carli” or “Miss Bright” or “Young Lady.” He groaned, feeling like he grew smaller and smaller with every feminine address. The other kids picked up on it, calling, “Hey, Carli,” as he walked past them in the hall, just a little snooty taunt in their voices as they enjoyed seeing a boy made to wear a skirt and called by a girl’s name. Sunni was called— well, no one knew of a masculine equivalent for Sunni, so they called her Sunni. Once more, Carl felt utterly victimized. They did refer to her at times as Young Man or Mr. Linn, which irked Sunni, but having internalized sexist attitudes, many of the students did not feel like these terms lessened Sunni at all. They felt she had received a promotion. Besides— the beard. People were truly scared of that mighty beard. 

Carl’s suffering continued after school. He’d struggled all day with the decision of whether to skip soccer practice. All he had in his gym bag were the tiny little nylon short shorts he’d been morphed into during gym class. He’d seen himself in them. He knew from the waist down he looked sexy as hell, and he dreaded the thought of what the other boys would say about— that ass. He especially dreaded confronting Matt Millmore. It would be hard, he understood, to seem tough wearing a little pair of peach colored girl’s shorts, especially when they fit his new shape so well. Matt would no doubt have a lot to say about Carl’s pretty legs and firm, plump rump.

He was also— not ready— to deal with his mother over this latest change. He would have to admit he lied, for one thing, which was not going to go over well. He wanted to delay that scene as long as possible. He couldn’t ask her to buy him a new pair of shorts. But, he decided, if he hustled, he might just be able to make it to BJ’s— gross name for a store!— and grab a pair. As soon as school ended, Carl jumped in his car, gunned the engine and raced through the parking lot, even driving up on the sidewalk at one point, honking, scattering screaming kids so he could get around the other cars. “She’s such an airhead,” people said, watching Carli’s crazy driving. He made it to BJ’s, ran to the men’s section, grabbed some baggy workout shorts and raced to the self-checkout, skirt bouncing. There was enough time. He would just make it!

Carl scanned the shorts. Pushed his debit card into the slot. Approved. Please Remove Your Card.  Carl grabbed the card, heart racing, thrilled. He’d done it. He’d pulled it off. As soon as he picked up the shorts, they transformed in his hands into a pair of tiny little nylon girl’s shorts— lime green.

“No! No! No!” He cried, turning them over, refusing to believe it.

“Miss?” The security guard said, walking towards him.

“I’m a boy!” Carl shrieked, running from the store, struggling to hold back tears of rage at what was being done to him.

As Carl got into his car, tossing the infernal shorts into the back seat, he made a decision. To heck with it. He owed it to the team. He owed it to himself. He’d made a commitment, and no matter how embarrassing it was, he would just have to show up to practice in girl shorts. He raced back to campus, tires squealing as he ripped around the corner. He grabbed his gym bag and raced to the locker room, thinking he would go into one of the shower stalls to change so the other boys wouldn’t see his panties. He burst into the locker room and pumped his fist. Finally, some luck! The other guys had already changed and headed to the field. He slipped out of his skirt and blouse, hanging them carefully n his locker- not even thinking about it. He felt ridiculous standing there in little white, cotton bikini panties, and he quickly stepped into the peach shorts, pulling them over his hips, feeling the fabric pull tight against his butt. He grabbed a tank top. Oh, no. It was fluency and feminine, with a plunging neckline and wide, open sleeves. No. No. He pushed through the things in his bag, humiliated to see sports bras, panties and more of those same girl tops. “Why!?’ He shouted, pulling on the top, hoping it would hang down over his shorts at least, but it ended right at his waist.

No time to worry about it now. He looked at the clock. He had two minutes to make it to the soccer field. Running out the door, his hands in his hair as he tightened his bun, he saw the other boys stretching. Saw the coaches in a semi-circle off to the side. He ran hard, getting into line with the other guys, grabbing one of his feet and stretching his long legs. He could sense the eyes of the other guys on him. He ignored it.

Coach made a chagrined face and walked over. “Carli. What are you doing here?”

“Practice, coach,” Carl said, confused. He was, of course, irritated to be referred to as Carli, but that was just— well, he would just have to accept it for now.

“Girls practice over on the softball field,” Coach said.

“Girls? But— “

“We all got the memo, Carli. You’re a girl now. Better scoot on over there with the other girls.”

He heard the boys laughing, their deep, manly laughs cutting into him. “You heard him, Carli,” Matt shouted. “You belong with the ladies.”

Carl turned, steamed, wanted to make a comeback, to shout something back, but his voice seemed to just lock up. He had no words. He shot Coach a wounded— et tu?— look and trotted off toward the softball field. 

“That ass, though—“one of the guys said.

“Knock it off!” Coach yelled. He blew his whistle. “Let’s go. Let’s go!”

Carl glanced back over his shoulder as he ran, seeing the boys growing smaller and smaller in the distance behind him. His heart sank. He’d been a member of the team since Freshman year. He knew all those guys, and he’d been expecting to have great memories of his senior year, going to war with them one more time. Now, to be demoted to the girls’ team— and to him it was a demotion— it was almost enough to bring him to tears. He may even have cried had he not seen Sunni jogging toward him. She was dressed as a guy— baggy knee length shorts, a muscle shirt that read Hawks. 

Sunni shook her head ruefully as she passed him. “Can you believe this?”

“No!” Carl said. Once more, he couldn’t help but feel Sunni was getting an upgrade. He never considered that she was just as attached to her teammates, just as hurt to find herself expelled from HER team. To Carl, it was like she’d gotten called up from the Junior Varsity, and he seethed with jealousy.

The girls had circled up, and as Carl jogged up and took a place in the circle, Coach Becky finished what she’d been saying and turned her attention to Carl. “Okay, girls. Let’s welcome the newest Lady Hawk, Carli Bright!”

The girls clapped, but Carl could see resentment and suspicion in their eyes. “She,” Patty Smyth said, “will NOT be changing in the girls’ locker room, I hope!”

“Why not?” Kennedy said, and for a moment Carl felt blessed that she was standing up for him. Then, she added, “She has a better ass than you.”

“Um, I don’t want to change in the girls’ locker room,” Carl said. “Okay?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Coach Becky said. “Shut it down. This is practice. Lady Hawks on three. One. Two. Three!”

It took an act of will, and Carl grimaced, but he shouted, “Lady Hawks,” along with the girls. If he couldn’t be a part of the boys’ team, he had to be part of the girls. The competition with Sunni was so tight. He couldn’t afford to lose one of his major sports. The competition for valedictorian was all important. 

As the team broke and separated to work on position drills, Carl felt a little ray of sunshine in what had been a dark day. A lot of the girls wore outfits just like his— short shorts, flouncy tank tops. It made him feel a little like he belonged.

The boys, meanwhile, wanted to make sure Sunni knew she didn’t belong. Young men frequently are not in touch with their emotions. They feel but they do not understand. So, as coach introduced Sunni, they stared at her in anger, many of them thinking they were experiencing hate. In fact, hate is the mask of fear, and the terrible new fear gripping every single boy on the team was simple: that they would be bested in physical competition by a girl.

Still? You may ask. Even in the 21st Century? Yes. Still. Particularly in physical competitions, sports of any kind, it was vitally important to a man that he believed at all times he was the superior physical specimen. How can this be, we may wonder, when any rational man must realize that Serena Williams would easily dominate him on the tennis court? When there are female gymnasts who perform athletic feats far beyond the abilities of the average male? When women compete in weightlifting and throw up weight that a typical boy— or, even man— cannot lift unless he, too, is a lifter?

Closer to home, were there not within the very confines of Carrolwood, girls on the softball team who could throw with greater velocity than many boys? Girls who could out leap, out run, even hurl a discuss to greater distances than most males?

Indeed. All true. But the male mind is adept at denial as well as wistful fantasy, and despite all evidence to the contrary, each and every boy at Carrolwood still believed himself to be physically superior to girls. This delusion was aided and abetted by a belief among the females that while it was okay to compete with boys, ultimately is was necessary to let boys win, as they were quite sensitive and insecure and seemed to suffer terribly when a girl proved herself superior even at such a ridiculous game as Foosball. 

Let us add to this emotional cauldron the fact that Sunni, with her thunder beard, her thunder voice and her now dominant height, made them all feel— well— a but feminine, which further stoked their fear. It is a truly terrible thing for a boy to meet a woman who makes him feel a bit like a girl, and thus we had Sunni’s dilemma.

Sunni was not focused on the boys and their insecurity. She was too busy dealing with her own. She felt awkward and weird, embarrassed to be a boy. She did not notice the looks that passed among the boys, the silent agreement: make her quit.

They practiced hard. Physical. Sunni found herself checked, blocked, pushed. Kicked. Taunted. “Show me what ya got! Come on!” She kicked. The boy blocked. “Weak,” she heard them muttering. “Slow.” “Soft.” With her new height and greater mass, she soon found herself bodying into boys, pushing them. She was an excellent player, and her skills had not left her. As she grew used to her new height, she moved more and more aggressively. Seeing the way they were playing her, realizing the boys had thought to bully and intimidate her, she fought right back. A feminist, she didn’t believe in making herself small in the name of male pride. So, she showed them she was tough, and she showed them she could compete. And she showed them they should probably not engage her in psychological warfare. 

Chris Grant stumbled, planting his hands in the turf to keep from falling completely over. It left him in a V, with his ass in the air. “Nice ass, Chrissy!” Sunni yelled, giving it a slap. Chris yelped in surprise.

“Oh, you look so cute, Donna,” Sunni shouted as Don tried to steal the ball. Sunni dribbled it past him, kicked it over to her teammate who launched it into the net— scored. Sunni turned back to Don. “Show me that pretty smile!”

The alpha on the team was now Matt Manning. So, Sunni started to work on him. She decided to nickname him “Bambi,” finding ways to work it into her taunts. “You run like a fawn, Bambi. Come on!” Or, “are you wearing blush or just embarrassed, Bambi?”

Bambi. Bambi.

The coaches watched it all. Perhaps, they would have put a stop to it but for two reasons. One, they’d seen how the team had ganged up on Sunni, and they were actually quite impressed that she’d fought back. In addition, the intensity of the practice had grown and grown, with the guys trying harder than ever. They liked the effort she inspired.

Toward the end of practice, Matt had enough, though. He walked right up to Sunni and got in her face. “You wanna go?” He said. “Let’s do it right now.”

“Yeah?” Sunni said, getting right into his. “Take your best shot.”

The coaches rushed onto the field and pushed them apart. “Break it up. Break it up.”

Sunni glared at Matt. He glared back. And, just like that, they settled it. Respect. Mutual. Done.

And what of Carl with the long blonde hair?

“I hope you don’t think you’re going to just waltz in here and become a starter,” Cassidy was saying to Carl while they waited their turn at the cone drill.

What’s this? Carl wondered. Trash talk from a girl? “I’m better than you,” Carl said. “So, like, um, yeah?”

“You think you’re better just because you’re a boy?” Jennifer said with a snort.

Uh, oh. Carl realized that he was on dangerous ground. It probably would not help him meld with his new teammates— inferior though they were— for him to swan in like some diva and act like he thought he was better than them. His father had told him since T-ball; never act like you are better than your teammates. 

“I— um— I mean that I’m going to work as hard as anyone on this team. I’ll earn what I get, kay?”

“You sound like such an airhead,” Dana said.

“He does, right?” Holly added.

“He has a nicer ass than half of us.”

“Why are you wearing girls’ shorts, Carli?”

“I think he wants to be a girl.”

Oh, how the comments curdled and ate at the young man’s confidence. Carl was not used to be bullied by girls. He was used to having them swoon over him. Further, like all good taunts, these were rooted in truth. He did sound more feminine than most— actually, than any girl on the team. And he had an ass like a panty model, he could not deny that as much as it shamed him. To hear these girls, though, talking about his newly womanly shape, made him want to puke. He was a young man, and he did not want girl’s feeling jealous of his hot ass.

Still. What to do. The dynamic was quite different from what Sunni faced. The boys assumed she was inferior. The girls assumed Carl thought he was better than them, and they were out to prove otherwise.

The solution for Carl was, as it turned out, similar but different. He needed to show his new teammates that he respected them. He practiced as hard as he could. But, he made a point to high five and fit bump his teammates when they did well. Seeing the other girls encouraged each other, he found himself clapping and shouting, “Yes!” 

By the end of practice, the taunts had slowed, and he could sense that more and more, his teammates were inching toward grudging acceptance. Carl, exhausted, collapsed on the grass. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, he though, being just one of the girls. He stretched his long shapely legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. It was so strange to look down and see those legs. To know they were his legs.

Kennedy, who had risen to Queen Bee in Sunni’s absence, jogged over and gave Carl a fist bump. “Not bad,” she said with a wink, “for a guy.”

“Haha!” Carl sang back, pleased with the approval. If Kennedy accepted him, the other girls would follow suit.

Chapter Ten

Carl felt his skirt flip up, cool air against his booty. He shrieked and pushed it down. “Idiot!” He screamed.

Dan retreated, laughing as he ran away.

“Ugh!” Carl huffed, thinking, boys!

Dan had been merciless. The sight of big bro, the one who’d bullied him his whole life, wearing a skirt and with those legs? And not just a skirt but a blouse? A whole girl’s uniform? It was too much. 

Mom was not much help. “My eldest son,” she said in disgust. “I hate seeing you dressed like this,” she said. “And, I am so disappointed that you lied to me. Has becoming a girl also made you into a pretty little liar?”

Carl had no answer. He hung his head in shame. Trying to get some sense of his self back, he’d asked Dad if he wanted to play catch. They hadn’t done it as much the last couple of years, but there had been a time when his Dad spent hours working with Carl on his fielding skills. “Hey. That would be great. Some other time, okay? Dan and I are going to working on his curveball.”

“‘Kay,” Carl had said. Dan was sitting across the room playing video games. He gave Carl a triumphant smirk. Carl turned away, shocked to realize he’d been supplanted. It got worse. The family had planned to go out to dinner. They usually went out once a week as a family thing. The plans had been cancelled. No one said why, but Carl knew it was because they were embarrassed to be seen with him in public. It further intensified his sense of shame. Indeed, he was starting to hate himself. It hurt in a way he’d never experienced to be— an embarrassment. And it wasn’t his fault!

Carl went back to his room and pulled the door closed, just wanting to be alone. He’d come up right after school thinking to change out of his skirt, but the pants he had to choose from now were worse. He’d slipped out of his skirt and grabbed a pair of jeans from a hanger in the closet. Jeans! He’d thought. Yes! You can call ‘em girl jeans, but jeans were jeans.

Jeans, he soon learned, were not jeans. The first thing he noticed was— tight. They seemed really tight. They were made of some kind of stretchy material, so he was able to get them on— hopping up and down, wiggling his hips to pull them over the new curves, and then when he buttoned the impossibly small waist button around his impossibly small waist, he felt like a sausage. He walked over to his mirror, all his worst fears confirmed. It was like wearing a pair of yoga pants. They hugged his long, round legs and celebrated that firm, lifted behind. It was almost like being naked. Worse than the skirt, he felt, because while he certainly had noticed the cute way the skirt rode on his butt, it also didn’t reveal it in quite such an enticing way as his jeans. 

So, he’d switched back to his skirt and gone back downstairs, never having imagined in a million years he would have to contend with stupid Dan flipping his stupid skirt!

Now, back in his room, he curiously examined his new wardrobe. His closet was all jeans, dresses, skirts and blouses. There were some cute t-shirts neatly pressed and hanging as well. Some were not terrible— a sleeveless Ramones shirt, The Misfits. Thank God girl culture had embraced punk. They were sleeveless and made of a thinner, softer material than most boys’ shirts, but at least it wasn’t Ariana Grande. Oh, wait. There was an Ariana Grande shirt. Well, he would never wear it!

He glanced at the dresses, quickly turning away. There was NO WAY he would ever wear a dress.

Back in his bedroom, Carl looked through his dresser. The top drawer was full of bras— the sight of them made his heart race. Ever since he’d hit puberty he’d been turned on by the sight of a bra strap, a lacy cup. He touched one such lacy cup now, remembering the time he’d cupped Jenny Walsh’s breasts over the cup, the feel of it… He picked up the bra by the shoulder straps and looked at it, all those lingering male desires flaring, even as that new terror emerged, the fear that he would soon have breasts, that he would need a bra— this bra.

He dropped it back in the drawer. Sifted through the others. Lots of cute, pretty bras. Lots of practical ones as well. Some of them looked almost like compression shirts— Not that different from the things some guys wore when they trained.

The next drawer made him gasp. Panties. All little, feminine things. Carl remembered, suddenly, that he was wearing panties, and his flickering sense of masculinity further wilted. As with bras, Carl LOVED the sight of a girl in panties and had spent many hours on the web scrolling through pictures of girls in them, drooling. He was wearing them now. He was. Wearing. Panties. It just wasn’t right.

Some, as in the case of his bras, were practical. Some very sexy. Just little patches of lace, dental floss in the back. Looking at them brought memories of gorgeous women, smiling, a hand on a hip, or their ass sticking out… and now they were his. Oh, my God! He thought. He could NEVER let anyone know about this! What if Dan found out big bro was wearing a pair of little cotton panties? He would be dead. Destroyed.

He looked through more drawers. There were thermal pajama bottoms. He didn’t even know what they were called, but there were camisoles. Slips. Yoga pants. Carl shivered at the thought of going outside in a pair of those. With his ass? NO WAY! The boys would be— he didn’t even want to think about it. And shorts. Little denim jeans shorts, another item of clothing he LOVED to see a sexy girl squeeze herself into. Carl looked over some of the t-shirts again. In addition to the Ramones, there was Wonder Woman, Girl Power, Notorious RBG… 

Hmmmmn. These— were these Sunni’s clothes? He got his phone and laying on his back, he texted her: 

I think I have your clothes. Smiley Face.

Same. Frowny Face.

Keeps getting worse.

I Know.

Carl giggled. She was sooo funny. 

See ya.

Bye.

Stretching, Carl went to his mirror and started pulling the hairpins out, letting his hair down. Once he’d shaken it out, he took his brush and started to carefully run it through his hair, counting each stroke. One. Two. Three. He knew he needed 100 to keep it bright and shiny. Carl liked brushing his hair. It was pretty and soft, and the act put him into a kind of calming, meditative trance. Four. Five. Six. He also used the time to consider how to style his hair next. By the time he finished brushing, he’d decided to wear it down. Just for something, ya know, different?

Chapter 11

The next morning, Carl woke an hour earlier than usual. He snapped awake, looked at the clock and thought— why? Pulling his covers over his head, he tried to go back to sleep, but after just a couple minutes he realized it was no use. He was alert. Energized. 

He could make use of the extra time. Maybe hit the books. More urgently, he needed to take a leak, so he slipped into the little silk floral print robe that had replaced his beloved terry cloth, slipped his feet into the fuzzy bunny slippers, and creeping as quietly as he could so as not to wake evil Dan — who would LOVE seeing Carl like this— he made his way to the bathroom, flipped the light switch, pulled the door closed and SCREAMED.

Staring back at Carl from the bathroom mirror was a beautiful female face, and though he knew it was now his face, he still found himself touching his cheeks, moving closer to the mirror, big, innocent doe eyes wide, pretty mouth hanging open…. “No… no… no….” He whispered. “Oh, God no.” She— he— was super model beautiful: A full mouth that begged to be kissed, a tiny little hint of an upturned nose, a narrow, cute little chin, glowing, radiant skin. His feminine and perfectly shaped eyebrows looked like they been sculpted in a salon. His was an utterly feminine face— the kind that almost looked like a child’s face, one that radiated vulnerability, naiveté, and— submissiveness. It was a face that perfectly matched Carl’s Barbie Doll voice, it’s innate beauty only further glamorized by the thick waves of golden hair that framed it.

Oh, I must add, there was one thing that had not changed. The little mole on his cheek. Which, of course, would now be known as a beauty mark.

He heard footsteps in the hall. “You okay?” Dad whispered.

“Yeah,” Carl said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Um, I slipped. But I’m fine.”

“Good. Okay. Keep it down.”

The footsteps retreated. Carl covered his face, wishing, praying that it would go away, but when he separated his fingers and peeked at himself, it had not changed. 

Carl took a quick shower. Then, he hurried back to his room, consumed with anxiety about the day, what it would mean to face the school with his new innocent doll face. As he closed the door, considering that he might wear a mask of some sort, his eyes were drawn to the table where he’d set up all his hair care materials. His eyes went wide, and he felt his heart flutter.

His pins and bows and clips had now been joined by tubes and jars and compacts. Makeup! Omigod, he thought, going over, opening a container of pearly pink blush. It smelled pretty! His eyes played across his make-up collection, and he realized that he now loved make-up, loved making up his face, trying out different looks. But no. Here, he drew the line. He would NEVER wear makeup. It was a bright line between boy and girl and one that he would not cross! He had no choice with his clothes and his hair— well— he had to do something with it, but he would NOT wear make-up. He got dressed. Today, he slipped into a soft, pretty little camisole to wear under his blouse, and he added a pair of knee high socks like a lot of the girls wore, but otherwise it was the same uniform as the day before.

Sitting, he did his hair. He was wearing it down, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t need hair pins to keep those bangs out of his face, and he also pinned it back at the temples. And… he kept glancing at his tubes of eyeliner. Really? He asked himself. Well, he was trying to fit in with the girls now, and, well, most of them wore a little light makeup. Maybe he would seem stuck up, he reasoned, if he acted like he was too good to put on a little lip gloss?

As he was debating, he dabbed a little oil free moisturizer on his fingertips and then rubbed it between his fingertips, warming it before spreading it over his face. While he let the moisturizer set, he looked over his lip gloss collection, picked up a tube of Cover Girl Shine Free Glow Primer. Unlike with his hair, he seemed to have an instinctive knowledge of makeup. Primer, he reasoned, really wasn’t even makeup. It was something a girl wore under her makeup. He knew, of course, that a lot of girls wore it as makeup, but, well, I mean, really?

He put a little primer on his fingers, warmed it, applied it evenly across his face. Smiled. It did reduce the shine while, paradoxically, giving him a warmer glow. It wasn’t even makeup, he insisted to himself. So, like, what was the big deal? He’d read somewhere there were guys wearing primer. It was a thing. He was just— trendy. He had picked up the eyeliner as those thoughts passed through his mind, and he’d sketched it across the base of his right eye before he even realized what he was doing. 

He remembered his vow not to wear makeup. He stopped. What am I doing? He looked at himself. I can’t go to school with one eye half done, he decided. That would be so dumb. Mascara followed. Lip gloss that made his big, plush lips even bigger looking and more inviting, and then he was using a camelhair brush to dust a little of that pretty, pink blush into his cheeks. It was just a touch. No one would even notice he was wearing it, he told himself. But they would notice his cheek bones! Finally, he used a dab of mascara to highlight his beauty mark. 

Carl looked at his phone to check the time. Wha! It has taken him forever to do his face! He had to hurry now and eat a quick bite, or he would be late. Thank God I woke up so early, he thought.

Sunni, meanwhile, slept an hour later than usual. Th family cat, Ripple, had sat on the windowsill, wagging her tale with languorous ease as she listened, fascinated, to the rumbling snores coming from Sunni’s mouth. An intelligent cat, Ripple had noticed the changes in Sunni— her favorite among these humans who served her— and she was quite certain that Sunni was turning into a Tom. She wondered if Sunni, like the Toms she knew, would soon be girl crazy. Sunni’s phone started buzzing, and Ripple hopped off the sill and ran to the door to Sunni’s room, pawing at it. She was due a visit to her sandbox of smelly.

Sunni yawned, rolled out of bed, scratched her butt. Farted. 

“Rrarrrwww.”

“I know,” Sunni grumbled, going to the door and letting the cat out. Time to get ready, Sunni thought, making her way blearily to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, she could see that her eyebrows had gotten bushier and her nose more prominent. She noted with a pang of regret that her eyelashes were no longer long and curly, but stubby. Her face, what she could see of it, had changed. It annoyed her, but compared to the Birth of Beard, it seemed like not that much. She regretted being less pretty, but again, pretty had pretty much gone bye, bye when she’d gotten her whole lumberjack beard.

She shit, showered and did not shave. Pulled on her uniform. Tied her tie. Ran a hand through her now short, spiked hair. Done, she thought, heading downstairs. It sure is easy to be a guy, she thought. She wondered how Carl was doing with his morning routine. It probably took him more time just to do his hair, Sunni thought, than it took me to get completely ready. Oh, well!

Sunni checked her phone for messages as she wandered into the kitchen. Not as many as usual. She felt sad. She was being left out. She could sense the distance growing between her and her friends. 

“There’s my big, strong man,” Mom said. 

“Um, okay,” Sunni said, getting a container of Greek yogurt from the fridge.

“Morning,” Dad said gruffly, not even looking up from his Ipad. He’d been quite freaked out when Sunni had come home, now standing three inches taller. All his insecurities had enflamed as his little pumpkin looked down at him, scratching that insane beard monster, which now met him at eye level. He’d had to crane his neck back to look at her, and now? His wife calling Sunni her big, strong man? It was too much.

Reader, do you see it? The seething cauldron of Freudian tension building in our little triad? For all their long years as a family, it had been a triumvirate of father-mother-daughter. They had settled into this dynamic. Now, suddenly, it was father-mother-son, and every aspect of the relationship had been sliced, diced and turned into a salad. Yes. The Oedipus complex had come to stay with the Linns! And, having not naturally grown into and dealt with the tensions created by Oedipal forces, they were now all, in scientific terms, a little looney. 

In the Oedipus complex, you will recall, the son becomes a threat to the father for the mother’s affections. The theory goes so far as to suggest the son will even have the unconscious desire to kill the father and replace him. We may not go so far in Sunnis’ case— yet. But clearly her mother was now a bit smitten with the big, manly boy she had for a son, while the father certainly had unresolved fears that his daughter was about to replace him as the man of the house. All that tension simmered right there at the kitchen table as they ate in silence. They all felt it, but they did what so many families do, and simply said nothing in the hopes these disturbing new feelings would just go away.

Sunni finished eating. And now, completely unaware, she tossed some fuel on the fire. Getting up, she put her arms around her mother’s shoulders and kissed her on the head. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you, too,” Mom answered, her voice a little higher, younger, bordering on a giggle. “You don’t need a ride?”

“I told you. Riding in with Matt today.”

Sunni then nodded toward her father and said, “Be good.” She headed out to school, thinking nothing of it.

Dad seethed. His wife had used her “flirting frequency” with Sunni! That— he hadn’t heard that voice in years. And then, for her to say, “Be Good,” to him? That was something a man said to a woman. Certainly not something daughter said to her father. “She’s getting a little full of herself,” he grumbled.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Mom said.

Don’t be silly? Dad felt himself getting smaller, less relevant. They are all against me, he grumbled to himself as he headed off to work. I need to remind them I am the King, and this is my castle.

Mom watched him stalk off. No kiss goodbye? She noted. Hmmmn. It’s too bad he can’t be more like Sunni! Sunni’s birthday was coming up. She would turn 18! Mom and Dad had argued about what to get her, but Mom made up her mind right then and there she was going to get Sunni her own car. It was about time. And if Dad didn’t like it? Too bad.

Matt came roaring up in his classic, coke bottle Corvette. It was black, sleek. Sunni had always wanted to ride in it, though in her fantasies it did not go down the way it was about to happen. She climbed in. They fist bumped.

“Bro,” Matt said.

“Dude,” Sunni answered.

Matt turned up the music. Bartholomew by The Silent Comedy. They bobbed their heads as they drove along. The whole thing with Matt was so weird to Sunni. If she’d gotten into a fight like that with a girl, they would have stayed mad at each other for at least three months. But, it seemed with guys, they just let it go. 

Carl, meanwhile, found himself a sensation. As he floated down the hall, people froze. Conversations abruptly ended. Most stared in wonder at the angelic face descended among them. Amidst the eerie silence, someone muttered, “omigod” another whispered, “so pretty.” But most were struck dumb, feeling themselves in the presence of the sublime, like an art lover gazing in wonder as the Sistine Chapel climbed down from the roof and decided to take a stroll around Rome. They wished to a one that he would pause in front of them, allow them to marvel at his radiance, and then sighed in agony when the angel floated past, long golden hair swishing down her back. Carl, himself, could only smile, nod. He felt like a firefly in a bottle, everyone just— looking at him. He’d seen his face. He got it, and yet he did not want it. No. This was too much attention for all the wrong reasons. People stared and were in awe of him because he had the face of such a beautiful girl.

“I wish people would get a grip!” Carl fumed as he went to his locker, immediately checking his hair and makeup. Carl had left his locker open at an angle, so he could see down the hall using the mirror he’d hung on the inside of the door. He liked to see what was going on, and he noted— ugh!— that there were guys checking out his legs. Then, he saw Matt Manning coming down the hall with Sunni— he recognized her by her beard. My two greatest enemies! Carl thought, noting that Matt’s eyes dropped to his butt and then slithered down his legs. It made Carl’s skin crawl and he shivered. He thought he should turn and say hi to Sunni. Part of him was pained at the idea, and she would no doubt make some comment about his glamorous face. I mean, how could she not? Well, I might as well get it over with, he decided. Carl could not admit to himself that part of him very much wanted Sunni to see how pretty he looked now.

Carl moved his hair to one side, turned to look back over his shoulder at Sunni, plastering a big, bright smile on his face. “Hi, Sunni!” He said, making his voice even smaller and higher.

“What’s up?” Sunni said, barely even looking at him as she walked past, dead-eyed.

Matt’s mouth dropped open and his face reddened. He quickly looked away, clearing his throat.

Carl’s mouth dropped open as well.  What’s up?  That was all the reaction he got? She is so full of herself! He thought, slamming his locker shut. He had half a mind to run after her and tell her just what he thought of her and her stupid beard!

But, just in time to save poor Carl from himself, his new bestie, Kennedy, came bopping up to his locker, touching his hair and then giving him a hug. “Omigod!” She said, admiring his face. “You are such a hot ass bitch!”

“Language!” Professor Acute said as he walked by, struggling to tear his eyes from Carl’s stunning face.

“I can’t believe I look like this,” Carl said. ‘It’s so embarrassing!”

“Please,” Kennedy said, once more playing with his hair. “You’re so embarrassed you put on mascara?” She grabbed his hand. “Come on. I want to show you to the rest of the girls.”

Carl allowed himself to be dragged along, smiling and saying “hi” to everyone as they passed.  He’d learned the other day not to come across as superior, and he wanted everyone to know that just because he had the prettiest face in the whole school, well, he was still just Carli from down the street!

While Carl found himself surrounded by chattering girls, Sunni hung with the guys. It was not at all what she was used to. Flat, monotone voices. Blank faces. She felt like she was talking with a group of zombies. The conversational threads sounded like this:

“I hear H Academy is good this year.”

“Goalie is good. Played with him in summer league.”

Silence. Eye prowling the girls.

“We’re better.”

Silence. Eyes prowling the girls.

Bell rings.

“Later.”

Sunni’s natural instinct was to jump in and try to get everyone talking, bring up topics that might get them excited, like— but what? The “me, too” movement? Wonder Woman as problematic feminist icon? Taylor Swift’s new record? Ryan Gosling’s new girlfriend? Sunni did not know what got guys talking— other than girls- and she was not ready to offer her thoughts of Kennedy going up a cup size. Which, even as she thought it, didn’t sound like the WAY a boy would talk about Kennedy’s— bongos? It seemed, Sunni realized, that boys were fine with what to her seemed dead, low-energy conversation, but she did resolve to spend some time researching proper etiquette when talking with other boys. She really was not sure when to grunt.

When lunchtime came, Carl got his food and headed over toward his usual group of friends. They looked scared. He thought it was kind of cute. They’d always been shy around girls, and though he wasn’t really a girl, well, with this face? Maybe he could help them get over their anxiety when it came to girls, he thought. That would at least make this a little bit—

“Carli! Hey! Over here!”

Carl looked to see Kennedy waving him toward her table. The whole Lady Hawks soccer team was there, eating together, bonding. His heart sank. Pete and Lee called. “Dude!” Carl looked from his guy friends to the girls on his team. He knew what he had to do. He turned and headed over to join the rest of the Lady Hawks. “Hey, Carli,” they greeted him. “Hey.” Carl glanced over at his old friends. They looked really— sad? Carl felt bad, but what was he supposed to do?

Sunni watched it all from her seat at the back wall, where she’d taken her position next to Matt. Of course, she made sure not to let Carl catch her watching him. Seeing all the girls greeting Carl, seeing how pretty he looked now, how he smiled, hooking his hair behind his ear… She seethed with jealousy. She liked all her friends- well, most of— her friends on the team. Now, somehow, they were all friends with Carl? It was so UNFAIR!

Sunni turned her attention to Matt and the guys. She’d found she really didn’t have to do much but grunt and occasionally chuckle at something they said to fit in. She would just ignore Carl. And yet, she kept glancing over, seeing the girls talking, watching Carl smiling, tossing his hair. Her anger built and built and smoldered and blazed into an inferno.

As lunch hour wound down, Sunni waited in the hall for Carl. As soon as he came out of the lunchroom and separated from the rest of the girls, heading off to class, Sunni charged. Seeing Sunni coming, Carl tossed his hair. It was about time she noticed him. Sunni marched up and pushed him, as per her usual greeting. “You can’t steal my friends!”

“Unh! As if!” Carl squealed. “You don’t own them!”

“They’re my friends!” Sunni said. “Stop— stealing my life!”

“Stealing? Stop being such a bitch!”

“Did you just call me the B-word?” Sunni bellowed. “Why would you even want to be on the girls’ team? You should quit.”

“So, you can be valedictorian? Dream on.”

“Oh, please. I’m going to win anyway. You told me yourself the girls’ team is really just JV.” That taunt, suggesting the inferiority of the girls, had indeed been issued by Carl, who had never imagined he would one day find himself a Lady Hawk.

“For your information,” Carl said in his sassiest voice, knowing there were girls listening. “The girls’ team is better than the boys’ team, and I should know.”

“Ha? Better? We would destroy you!”

The warning bell rang. Carl planted one hand on his hip and once more tossed his hair. “You’re just mad because I’m prettier than you.”

“Airhead!” Sunni spat, heading off to class. “This isn’t over.”

“Maybe for you it isn’t,” Carl said, neatly turning on his Mary Janes and gliding away, his lady like poise un-frazzled. “Hey, Holly! Hey, Kate!”

Sunni slammed her locker open. Grabbed her books.

“Girls” Matt said. “Am I right?”

“The worst,” Sunni agreed.

The girls in the hall watched it all. The chatter started. “Oh, my God. They are so crushing on each other!”

Millmore had spent the lunch hour investigating. He’d snuck into Ahmad’s locker, searching for clues. None. Just the usual, sloppy and disorganized locker of a typical high-school boy. Scratch another suspect off the list. Millmore, meanwhile, had added to his media consumption. In addition to his still feverish delving into the deep archive of stories on FictionInsanity, he’d discovered the video works of one Miss Mako. He’d watched Paradox Alice three times. 

As he wandered away from Ahmad’s locker, Millmore decided to revisit the profile he’d made of the culprit. He felt like there was— something— he’d missed. Perhaps his deepening knowledge of TG fiction would allow him to make a more precise analysis.

Chapter 12

Carl walked to theater practice with a couple other girls from the cast, chatting amiably about how the show was coming along, how much they liked Mrs. Calloway. As soon as they walked through the doors to the auditorium, however, Sunni pounced.

“Excuse us,” Sunni said to the girls, taking Carl’s arm and pulling him to the side.

The girls obeyed the beard and scampered away, calling “see you later” to Carl.

“Let go of me,” Carl said, yanking his arm free from Sunni’s grasp.

“My bad. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”

“What do you want?” 

“After lunch. It was not cool.”

“Is that supposed to be an apology?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine,” Carl said, turning to walk away.

Sunni grabbed his arm again. Carl looked down at her hand, then at her. Raised a slender eyebrow. “Yeah. Right.” Sunni let go. 

“Can we talk for minute?” Sunni found herself fascinated with Carl’s face. She’d never seen someone so pretty in real life. Her eyes played across his features, as she fought between jealousy and awe. 

Carl felt… something odd happening inside him, having her look at him like that. Butterflies in his tummy… tingly feelings all over his body… “Don’t look at me like that.”

Sunni pulled her eyes away, looked back, maintaining eye contact. She also felt weird. Tingly. She stared into his eyes. They were so big and innocent looking, and he had long, curly lashes…

“I wanted to tell you something,” Sunni said. She was finding it harder and harder to express her feelings, especially because she wasn’t even sure anymore what she was feeling. “I just— I mean— “ she reached out, meaning to touch Carl’s cheek. They both felt a spark.

“I have to go!” Carl said, spinning and running away.

“Wait!” Sunni called, but she could only watch as Carl fled, his long blonde hair swaying behind him. Sunni felt anger and frustration building in her. She just wanted him to listen for a minute. She felt like she had something important to tell him, though she wasn’t even sure what that was. The director called everyone to the stage. Rehearsal was beginning. Sunni sighed in frustration.

That night, Carl lay on his bed, his long blonde hair spread out around him, a few strands trailing off the side of his bed like a waterfall. He held his smart pad with both hands, trying to study. The moment he’d had with Sunni kept popping into his head: her staring into his eyes, her hand, reaching toward his cheek… the surging of feelings and the terror he’d felt… As much as the feelings scared him, he also found himself — loving them? A little? If that makes sense? He kept pushing the memory away, focusing back on Economics… but it kept coming back… coming back… He set his smart pad down, sighing. He closed his eyes, remembering the scene... the way Sunni had been looking at him, her eyes hard and — hot— and her hand… He imagined he had not run. She had touched his cheek… and it felt so good, and she tilted his head slightly to the side, taking control and it was— thrilling to have her take control, to move his face. He closed his eyes and parted his lips because he knew that was what she wanted, and then he felt her lips on his, her bristly beard against his soft cheek…

Carl sat up with a squeak. “What the hell?”

Carl covered his eyes. Sighed. Millmore needs to solve this, he decided. And now!

Would it surprise the reader to know that Sunni had found herself haunted by the very same fantasy? She too had found her efforts to study distracted by the memory of her confusing moment with Carl. The way his eyes sparkled. The soft blush of his cheeks. The way his pupils had dilated when she’d reached toward his cheek, the quick little intake of breath… and she imagined, too, their first kiss… Carl melting into her arms…

“Dude, get a grip.” She decided to go for a run. Ease off the tension. It was dark. Once, her parents would have refused to allow her to go running alone after dark. But, maybe another advantage of her changes, they didn’t seem so worried anymore. She didn’t know if she was totally okay with that. She was still a girl, after all, albeit one with a beard. As much as she’d rebelled at times against their over-protectiveness, she now kind of missed it. 

Millmore needs to solve this, she thought. And now.