“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! You look ridiculous!”
Little brothers can always be counted on to reach peak levels of annoying at exactly the wrong moment. It must be part of their job description, and Enzo was really, really good at his job.
“Shut up,” I snarled as I stomped into the kitchen and pulled out my chair so hard that it banged against the stove.
“Enzo! Apologize to Liv right now!” Mom glared at him until he muttered a halfhearted “sorry.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to cook something? There’s still time for me to rustle up something special for your big day.” Mamma put her hands on my shoulders and leaned down to give me a kiss on the cheek.
“I’m not hungry.” I knew that I had to eat—just a few bites to keep the moms happy—so I grabbed the tub of granola on the table and sprinkled enough to cover the bottom of my bowl.
Enzo wasn’t even trying to keep a straight face. He was really enjoying this. I closed my eyes, but I could still hear him sniggering, just quietly enough to avoid being chewed out by the moms. I opened my eyes again and took a deep breath. I managed to pour milk into my cereal bowl instead of throwing the carton directly at Enzo’s stupid face.
That was progress, right there. Except no one would ever know how hard I was working to keep my temper under control, because the whole point of keeping your temper under control is not doing things like throwing a milk carton in someone’s face even though they clearly deserve it. Keeping your temper under control also means not punching people. That’s the number one rule, apparently.
“Liiiv…” Mom said, stretching my name out to its breaking point, “Gram asked for a photo.”
No. Way.
“It would mean a lot to her… I know you’d rather not, but the first day of middle school is a big deal, you know? Anyway, it’s up to you.”
Garibaldi chose that moment to put his big, slobbery head on my lap. It seemed as if he were trying to offer me moral support in my time of need. The more likely explanation is that he was just looking for a spot to wipe the excess drool from his mouth, but it made me feel a little better. At least he would never laugh at me, because (a) he’s a dog and dogs can’t laugh, and (b) if they could laugh, then all of the other dogs in the dog park would probably laugh at Gari for only having three legs, so he would totally understand how I felt.
I knew I could refuse to have my photo taken. The moms had always been cool about things like that, but Gram would be disappointed. She wouldn’t understand.
“OK, let’s get this over with.” I got up and stood in the doorway while Mom snapped away on her phone. I couldn’t bring myself to smile, and Mom knew better than to ask me to try.
“Done!” Mom came over and gave me a big hug. She whispered in my ear, “Thanks, sweetheart. I really appreciate it.”
I shrugged and sat down again. I felt sick, and I must have looked sick because Mamma asked how I was feeling.
“Well…actually, I don’t feel so good. Maybe…maybe I should stay home today.”
Mom looked up from sorting through the photos on her phone. “Nice try, buster. There’s no way you’re missing your first day.”
I knew when to give up. Mom has this weird sixth sense for when I’m faking being ill. It’s as if she has laser eyes that can look right through my skin and actually see whether any viruses are festering away inside of me. Mamma’s usually more sympathetic, but the two of them always back each other up. It’s annoying.
I managed to choke down a couple of spoonfuls of soggy granola and half a glass of orange juice, just to keep the moms happy. Before I knew what was happening, breakfast was over. The clock was tick-tick-ticking way too fast and it was time to go.
Mamma made me double-check my bag to make sure I had everything on the list. The new bag was just about the only good thing about this whole “going to middle school” business. The black-and-gray bag was leather, and it smelled really good when I stuck my head inside it. It reminded me of the first time we went for a ride in Gram’s new car.
I had no doubt about the worst thing.
It was the thing I’d been worrying about all summer.
The thing that Enzo found so hilarious.
The thing that had made me throw a shoe at the mirror on the back of my bedroom door that morning.
The skirt.
I can’t even begin to describe how wrong and awful it felt to put it on and pull up the little zipper at the side. A stupid, horrible, scratchy black skirt that came right down to my knees.
I’d stared at myself in the mirror, but my reflection was all blurry from the tears in my eyes. They were angry tears. I wasn’t sad; I was furious. It was so unfair. It suddenly hit me that I had to wear this stupid thing five days a week for the next three years.
How on earth was I going to manage that?
=
Bankridge Middle School had a strict uniform policy, unlike nearly every other school I could have attended. Everyone had to wear a white shirt, a tie, and a black V-neck sweater. I was fine with that. I actually kind of liked the idea of a tie (black-and-red striped). And the shoes were fine too—Mom had found these awesome black brogues online. But then whoever wrote the uniform policy decided (whyyy?) that girls had to wear skirts, while boys were allowed to wear pants.
Sexist. Dumb. Unfair. Even the moms agreed with me. Mom said she hadn’t worn a skirt since her cousin’s wedding back in the nineties.
I thought about trying to convince them to let me go to another school, but Bankridge Middle School is the best school in the district. The moms are really big on education and how important it is and blah blah blah. Plus, Maisie was going to Bankridge, and there was no way I wanted to face the trauma of middle school without my best friend by my side.
So I was stuck with it.
“Girls must wear a black, pleated, knee-length skirt.”
I bet I read those words a hundred times during summer vacation. I stared at the computer screen, willing them to morph into something sensible.
The problem wasn’t the last word in that sentence. Skirt wasn’t really the issue, not for me. The issue was the first word. Girls.
Here’s the thing:
I may seem like a girl, but on the inside, I’m a boy.