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Peaches
By
Amelia R. and Angela Rasch

Part 2

Reminder to readers: The name after the chapter number tells you who is narrating that chapter.

Chapter Seven — Mouse

August 27th, Wednesday Morning

Professor Kjellen got back to me. He had been unable to identify the
markings and coloration of my butterfly. In response to his request, I
mailed my specimen to him.

On top of that, it was the first day of school. Mom made me oatmeal for
breakfast. We never ate any other breakfast food. Her oatmeal, made in
a double boiler, was covered with exactly the right amount of brown
sugar. We ate it in the crackleware that was her specialty. She was in
the process of throwing vases. Her forearms bulged with muscles from
working the clay that I could smell in her clothes. In about a month,
she would have her annual earthenware sale.

Zack and I were at Peaches’ house at seven fifteen. Peaches wasn’t his
usual punctual self. He was taking a lot of time combing his hair and
brushing his teeth.

Mrs. Smith gave us a ride to school on her way to work. As we were
getting out of her Honda, Mr. G walked by. They seemed to know each
other. Mrs. Smith stepped out of her car for a moment to schmooze. Her
pleated skirt was just the thing for a children’s librarian.

Most of the juniors and seniors had their licenses and just about all
of them had their own cars. Parking was a real problem. The school had
established a staff parking lot so the teachers and other employees
didn’t have to scrounge for a spot. Even if, through some miracle, a
sophomore was old enough to drive, she couldn’t have a parking permit.
A lot of the freshman and sophomore girls dated upperclassmen, so they
had someone other than a parent to give them a ride.

We stood in front of the school for a few minutes, waiting for Melinda
to arrive. Peaches kept a hand on his head so all the work he had done
in front of the mirror wouldn’t be ruined in the breeze.

Melinda’s mom dropped her off. I had never seen Mrs. Pryce when she
wasn’t impeccably dressed. She probably considered herself to be a
walking billboard for Style by Linda Newlands.

Melinda played it cool, and didn’t come right over to us. She stood
with a group of cheerleaders, waiting for Peaches to make the first
move. You could hear Cassandra Dee Lee screeching above everyone else.
It seemed as if everything anyone said sent her into fits. She was the
captain of the cheerleading squad, a position that carried with it the
right to squeal.

“Are you ready?” I asked Peaches.

“I think so.”

“Good luck,” Zack said.

We moved on a path toward the school’s front door that would take us
directly past where Melinda was standing. When we were less than five
feet from her, Peaches stopped. Melinda was looking in the opposite
direction.

Peaches spoke loud enough to cut through the chatter around us. “Hey
there, Melinda.” He waited until she turned around before he batted his
eyes at her. It was a subtle movement, not lost on the other
cheerleaders. Cassie gasped.

“Hi, Morgan,” Melinda said. “You look more beautiful than ever this morning. Don’t forget to save a spot for me at lunch.”

Melinda had, in an efficient speech, accomplished several things. She
acknowledged that Peaches was flirting with her and showed her
approval. She told everyone that Peaches and she had had a previous
conversation, and that she had an interest in him. By the way she said
beautiful, she had smashed several stereotypes of how a male should
look to a female.

Melinda turned back to the cheerleaders as if nothing had happened.
Zack, Peaches, and I continued on into the school. The word of what had
gone on was moving down the corridor much faster than we were. The
normal buzz was raised several decibels. Someone had poked the hive
with a stick. We could hear comments muttered on all sides.

“Morgan did what?”

“NO!”

“I thought Melinda was....”

“Don’t they have things a little backward?”

“He did WHAT?”

“BEAUTIFUL!”

“He’s crazy ... a cheerleader?”

“Why?”

We went directly to our homeroom. Melinda came in behind us and found a
desk on the other side of the room. She gave Peaches a warm smile.

Judy was sitting in a special chair the school had provided for her. It
was larger than the normal desk. There were a few of those chairs in
the high school; the bigger football players normally used them. Her
eyes were glistening. Someone had taped a sign on it that said
“Reserved for Tubby.” They had taken pains to make it almost impossible
to remove.

Mr. Woodrow was our homeroom teacher. Homeroom was where we assembled
before our first classes to take attendance and make announcements. Mr.
Woodrow was as out of date as the Old Spice he must have bathed in. He
called us to attention and spoke from wherever his heart had been when
he wrote his soliloquy. He read word for word from a piece of paper
that was yellowed with age.

“People, you are now sophomores. You are no longer wide-eyed freshmen
who are giddy with the prospect of being in high school. Because you
are sophomores, you will be given much more freedom than you were a
year ago. This year you have two electives compared to only one as a
freshman.” We all looked at each other and shrugged at what he
considered to be the epitome of free will. “This year — you will be
asked to do your project.”

We all muttered our complaints in silence. The sophomore project was a rite of passage. A rite we would have gladly skipped.

“The students in this homeroom are the students who are taking our
honors curriculum. That is a privilege. With every privilege comes a
duty and an increased expectation. We expect your projects to be
exemplary. We will accept no less.”

I cringed, thinking of possible failure.

The smile on Peaches’ face told me that he was committed to their eccentric topic.

“We will not accept shoddy work. We will not accept improper topics. We
expect our students to pick projects that are timely and momentous. You
will be provoked to do your best work. For some of you, this will be
the paper that will shape your academic future. For some of you this
will be the paper that will shape your very lives.”

~Shape my very life.~ It didn’t seem possible a homework assignment could do that.

“This is not just a homework assignment.”

~Oh.~

“This is the foundation upon which you can build your philosophy of
life. This paper is the Babylonia of your educational experience.
Everything you’ve done in school to date was to prepare you to write
this paper. People — don’t let me down. Don’t let your parents down.
Don’t let your classmates down. Work, work, work in the spirit of Maple
Ridge High.”

From decades of practice, he had it timed perfectly to finish as the
first bell rang. Although Mr. Woodrow was the poster child for
everything that was wrong with long-term contracts for teachers, his
recycled comments made us all think.

We left the homeroom with a purpose. Melinda and Peaches had slipped
into the obscurity of second place. We had bigger things to think
about. We had our futures to shape.

As I left the room, I heard Mr. Woodrow calling on the intercom for a
custodian to remove the sign from Judy’s desk. Mr. Woodrow hadn’t
bothered to try to determine who had been responsible.

That’s the way things were: all that high-minded, liberal talk and no
real desire to make life bearable for one another. Melinda and Peaches
wanted to change things, especially Melinda. I wondered if their
efforts could possibly make an impression on whomever it was that had
embarrassed Judy; and those who had allowed it to happen.

Chapter Eight — Morgan/Peaches

August 27th, Wednesday Noon

I had never heard so many people say “Hi, Morgan.” I didn’t have one
minute to myself all morning. Zack, Mouse, and I didn’t even have a
chance to talk. When the bell rang for lunch, my stomach lurched. What
we had done before school was mild compared to what we had planned for
the cafeteria.

With last year’s seniors gone, everyone would move up a notch. The
incoming freshmen would sit at the tables where we sat last year. The
freshmen tables were right next to the garbage cans where everyone
dumped their trays on the way out the door. It was traditional for the
top of the social ladder to toss their trash in the buckets as they
verbally dumped on the lowly freshmen. The school board had outlawed
hazing. The cafeteria monitor stayed away from that part of the room,
preferring not to take notice.

I was enjoying my salad when Melinda placed her tray next to mine. I
knew what was coming, but I wasn’t prepared for every eye in the school
to be on us. Every fork in the place was suspended in midair, waiting
to hear what we had to say to each other.

Melinda wasted no time. “I’ve been waiting all morning for this.”

She took my face in her hands and pulled my lips to hers. Every guy in
the room was wishing he was me. She was standing over me. I couldn’t
move out of the kiss, if for some dumb reason I had wanted to. I
wondered if she could taste the tomato I just ate. Her soft hands on my
face were almost as enjoyable as the kiss itself. A bit of what we were
doing was an act. Most of our kiss was totally awesome.

It went on and on. Mrs. Bechtold, the cafeteria monitor, made her way
over to our table; partly to make sure the students went back to eating
so they would make it through the afternoon — partly because of a
policy prohibiting Public Displays of Affection during school hours.

“No PDAs,” Mrs. Bechtold said, as she tapped on Melinda’s shoulder. It
was clear from her actions that she considered her to be in charge.
“You two will report to detention after school.”

As soon as she finished telling us about our punishment, the room
exploded in noisy conversations. It was easy to guess what they were
talking about. Melinda and I ate our lunch in prearranged silence. We
had given everyone enough of a show for one day.

As we finished, Rich Betson came up behind us. He spoke loud enough to
be heard in the next county. “Maybe if I grew a pair of tits, you would
put out for me.” He then reached down over my shoulder and grabbed one
of my breasts. “Sweeeeeet,” he comically moaned. The football players
hooted as Rich began to saunter out of the room with his pigeon-toed
jockwalk.

“You asshole!” Judy was on her feet.

“Eeeewwe, looks like the cow quit eating long enough to actually
speak.” Rich had stopped short of the door. Several students laughed;
most gawked in silence.

“Judy, we can’t have that language!” Mrs. Bechtold said. “You will report for detention as well.”

“Fine. I’ll just handle this on my own.” Judy left her tray sitting on
the table, and moved with alarming speed toward Rich. He was obviously
at a loss as to how to fight a girl and disappeared down the hall.

Melinda grabbed my hand under the table and gave it a gentle squeeze.
As I turned to her, she said, “Olive juice.” for no particular reason.

***

I was beginning to see why everyone liked Mr. G’s class.

His room had six tables. Each table had room for four students. The
tables could be arranged with either four or eight students to a group.
None of us had had him for a class before, but he somehow already knew
all of our names.

Mr. G’s arms and legs seemed to find angles all their own. His Adam’s
apple bounced when he talked. Someone said he was part Cherokee. After
you were with him for a short period of time you noticed things. Things
like the laugh lines on his face, the way he waited for you to make
your point, or the respect he showed to everyone. He invited you to
join in his fun. If you refused his invitation, he invited you again.

On the board was his quote for the day. “When people do not respect us
we are sharply offended; yet in his private heart no man much respects
himself.” — Mark Twain

“Who wants to take a stab at explaining what Mr. Twain meant?” Mr. G
seemed eager for everyone to be involved. He needed all the energy he
could find, as we had spent ours in the cafeteria. “Mr. Smith,” Mr. G
said, “you seem to be in the spotlight today. Can you help us
understand this quotation?”

We expected teachers to keep their distance. They had their troubles and we had ours. Mr. G didn’t seem to know about that rule.

“He seems to be saying,” I said, “that we need to raise our own
self-esteem, before we can expect others to appreciate our — ah — true
worth.”

“Very good. Very good. Outstanding. It’s no wonder everyone is in awe
of you today,” Mr. G moved next to me, reaching out with his hand to
shake mine. He had managed to be both serious and funny at the same
time. He had taken the number one buzz for the day — me — and used it
to add to his class.

“May I call you Morgan?” he asked.

“Please do.” Everyone laughed as I pretended to be very proper.

“Morgan, how do you feel about yourself today?”

I stared over at Melinda, who was giving me an enormous smile. “I feel marrrveloussss!”

“That’s good, Morgan. Every one of you needs as much self-esteem as
possible to help you pick a good topic for your project. You need to be
happy with yourself in order to take the risk that’s needed. How many
of you have a good idea what you’re going to select for a topic?”

Mouse’s hand shot up.

“Miss Mausser. You like to be called Mouse, don’t you?” Mouse nodded. “What have you chosen for a project?”

“I think I may have discovered a new species of butterfly, I’m going to research that possibility. That will be my project.”

“Wow. Double wow. When did you find your specimen?”

“Yesterday, in the ravine north of the golf course.”

“Congratulations. Had I known of your discovery, I would have
had a different Twain quote on the board. Twain said, ‘Adam was the
only man who, when he said a good thing, knew that nobody had said it
before him.’ As a journalist and writer, Mark Twain was cleverer than
most. Some think “Huckleberry Finn” was the Great American Novel. Yet
Mark Twain was haunted by the knowledge that unique things rarely
occur. As the Greeks said, there’s nothing new under the sun. You may
prove there are still new things to discover — and right here in Maple
Ridge. That’s wonderful.”

I raised my hand.

“Morgan.”

“I started my project this morning. Melinda and I are using role-play
to study the gender relationships in a teenage romance.” I blushed when
I realized I had said romance to describe us.

“That’s right, Mr. G. That’s our project.” I blushed again at the sound of Melinda’s voice.

Mr. G didn’t say a word for a few seconds. He stared out the window at
the cars on Millwood Avenue. The stoplight on the corner was the only
one in town.

“Melinda, I’m sorry. I can’t allow that.” Mr. G looked as dismayed as he sounded.

“I don’t understand, Mr. G,” Melinda said. “It’s a timely topic, given the fast-changing gender relationships in our society.”

“Oh, I agree Melinda. But these are supposed to be individual projects.”

“I see. Then I’ll just have to be gallant and let my sweet Peaches have the spotlight.”

~Peaches! Oh no.~ Melinda had blown years of secrecy.

“Peaches?” Mr. G asked.

Melinda tried to cover her mistake. “Ah — I was just trying to say,
Morgan can do this project and I’ll do another. I’ll help him with the
research with our role-play, but he’ll have to create his own
procedures and write his own paper.”

It was a good try, but I could hear my nickname flying throughout the
room. I had earned the attention of everyone in Maple Ridge High for
the third time in seven hours.

Melinda looked at me and mouthed, “I’m sooo sorry.” She was as distressed as I was.

“You know... since this project is unique, I’m going to allow Melinda
and Morgan to do it together, so long as you each write a final report
from your own perspective.” There was a general murmur of agreement
from the class. “Anyone else have their project topic set?”

“It’s my theory that Mouse’s butterfly is a mutant,” Zack said, “caused
by some form of pollution. I want to test the ground in the ravine for
toxic chemicals. That’s not too close to what Mouse is doing, is it?”

“No, Zack,” Mr. G said. “That should be a great topic. That puts you two friends eyeball to eyeball, doesn’t it?”

“It’s scientific research,” Zack said. “Nothing personal.” Mouse didn’t look all too pleased.

“I think that’s just fabulous,” the voice belonged to a new girl with a
southern accent that none of us had met. “Here y’all have two friends;
one is on the brink of becoming world famous, and the other is trying
to prove her wrong. This is just the most awe-inspiring school. I’m so
glad Daddy decided to move north. I’ve seen and heard so much today.
Mercy. Girls kissing boys. Boys named Peaches. It’s all so thrilling.

“Hi y’all, I’m LeighAnn Rollins. I haven’t really made the acquaintance
of anyone yet. We still haven’t even unpacked our moving crates. One
day I was in my living room in Buckhead practicing for the Junior Miss
Fulton County beauty pageant, and before I could say snitch, I’m in this entertaining school with all you gosh-darn Yankees.”

“I think you’ll find a lot of us are Mets fans,” Mr. G said.

“Mets fans?” LeighAnn asked. “I don’t know anything about Mets, but I
do know a handsome boy when I see one, and Zack — you can check the
pollution at my house just anytime. You come on over, and I’ll make you
a cherry cobbler pie.”

Zack was clearly interested — and not just in the pie. He had swung his
chair around to examine closely the new girl who probably would have
won that beauty contest. Mouse had been chuckling to herself while
LeighAnn was talking. All of sudden she had a serious look on her face
and was crinkling her nose.

“It appears, LeighAnn,” Mr. G said, “that you have a social project on your agenda. Does anyone else have a school project to register? Remember, it’s first come, first served; reserve your topic before anyone else gets it. Judy?”

“I’m going to work on size and weight discrimination at Maple Ridge
High,” Judy said. “No, wait — I think I want to broaden that — to the
impact of bullying at Maple Ridge High. Does that sound okay, Mr. G?”

“Perfect, Judy, that’s a great topic. I have some websites you might
want to research. How many of you think there’s bullying at Maple Ridge
High?” Nearly every hand in the room was raised. “Wow. How can that be
when the school board has a policy against bullying?”

“They do?” Judy asked.

“Yes. Ever since Columbine, the school board has had a high awareness
of the dangers of bullying. And you say it is going on in this school?”

Where had Mr. G been? I thought he knew what was going on.

“Don’t you think there’s bullying here, Mr. G?” Judy asked.

~Good for her. He needs to know, and she’s going to tell him.~

“I see it or hear of it every day,” Mr. G said. “I can tell you this. I
have a zero tolerance policy for bullying in my classroom. If you’re a
bully, ask for a transfer, because you and I aren’t going to get
along.”

~I guess he does know what’s going on. If things get out of hand with our project, maybe he’ll be there for us.~

Chapter Nine — Melinda
August 27th, Wednesday After School

I called Mom on my cell phone and told her I was going over to Morgan’s
house with Zack and Mouse. I needed to apologize for being such an
idiot.

The more I was around Zack, Peaches, and Mouse; the more I wondered if
I would ever come up to their standards. They had such a strong bond. I
had been worried that Peaches was already in love with Mouse, but they
were more like brother and sister.

“What do you guys think of Judy?” I asked, after we got in the car with
Mrs. Smith. I had been impressed with the way Judy had acted at lunch,
and with her project topic. Judy was just coming out of the school
building, having served a fifteen-minute detention with Peaches and me.
Zack and Mouse had hung around waiting for us.

“Judy has always been great,” Peaches said.

“I feel so sorry about the way she’s treated,” Mouse said. “I hope her project is the most successful of all.”

“Don’t you want to win?” I asked.

“I want my project to be as good as I can make it. But Judy’s goal of
reducing bullying could make a long-lasting change in our high school
that could help lots of kids.”

“I’m going to ask her if there’s any way I can help with her project,” Zack said. We all agreed.

“If Judy can even slow down some of those jerks,” Peaches said, “she’ll be my hero.”

“Isn’t Mr. G great?” I asked.

“Has Mr. G already won your heart?” Mrs. Smith asked. “You know, all
that off-the-cuff knowledge he tosses out in the classroom is the
result of hours and hours of diligent research. He spends more time in
the library than any teacher I’ve ever seen.”

There wasn’t a kid in Maple Ridge who didn’t love Peaches’ mom. They
had all met her at the children’s library. Most had sat on her lap. She
had read thousands of stories to hundreds of kids. The children’s
library was one of the most popular hangouts in town, even for the
teenagers. Peaches’ mom didn’t ever say shush.

“Mom,” Peaches said, “you’re such a dope. Mr. G is probably looking to take out more than the books.”

“You watch what you’re saying,” Mrs. Smith said. “You’re still
the kid, and I’m still the mom. Anyway, I want to know how it went
today. I was awake half the night worrying.”

“It went perfectly,” I said. “I let everyone in school know that
Peaches is my boyfriend.” Mrs. Smith’s eyebrows shot up when she heard
me call Morgan, Peaches. Her eyebrows were going to get a workout considering all Peaches and I planned to do.

“You should have heard the other kids,” Peaches said. “You would have
thought I was Leonardo DiCaprio. I’m the king of the world.”

“Hold on there, Rex,” Zack said. “You might be a king in your own mind,
but some of the jocks are calling you ‘queen.’ You and Melinda touched
on some nerves.”

“Great,” I said. “That’s what we wanted to do. Tomorrow, when you and
Mouse pass out the leaflets that explain what we’re doing, things will
be okay.”

“I’m not so sure,” Mouse said. “The macho men of Maple Ridge High
aren’t about to roll over without a fight. If you successfully show
that gender roles are easily reversed, it will be a huge insult to
their swollen male egos.”

“Heh.” Zack said. “It’s not just the jocks. There are plenty of girls
who want to keep their Sally Homemaker self-images. A lot of people
think two distinct gender roles are absolutely essential to a
functioning society. You can expect some anger.”

“Gandhi said that anger and intolerance are the enemies of
understanding,” I said. “We’ll need to concentrate on defusing anger
and creating an atmosphere that rejects intolerance.” It sounded so
simple. I was getting good at throwing out ideas I had borrowed from
books.

“Are you sure you’re both going to be safe?” Mrs. Smith asked. “Maybe I should talk to someone at the school?”

“That’s a good idea,” Peaches said. “Why don’t you talk it over with Mr. G? Maybe he’ll get up enough nerve to check you out.”

“Peaches!” Mrs. Smith’s face turned pink. We pulled up to Peaches’
house and got out of the car. “Melinda, when you’re ready to go, let me
know and I’ll give you a ride. I’m not due back at the library until
the evening shift.”

“That’s okay, I’ll walk. I need the exercise to stay in shape for cheerleading.”

Mrs. Smith went into the house. We followed the sidewalk to the
backyard and sat at their picnic table. The sun was warm, even under
the maple trees. Bees attacked the Cokes that Peaches brought out to
us, along with chocolate bars. Zack had his usual glass of water. — And
I had a big piece of humble pie as I begged Peaches forgiveness for
using his nickname in Mr. G’s class.

“People were calling me Peaches in the hall between classes; even the
freshmen. It wasn’t so bad. I’ve been afraid of what people think for
too long. It’s my name. Too bad for them, if they don’t like it. Mouse
... Melinda. I need to ask you a personal question.”

“Anything, my sweet,” I said.

“Almost anything ... king.” Mouse answered.

“Did your breasts itch when they were first growing?” Peaches asked.

“Yes!” Mouse and I answered in unison.

“And, did they hurt when you walked?” Peaches asked.

“Mine did, until I started wearing a training bra.” I said. Mouse
didn’t offer any answer, so I continued. “When people have pains from
their breasts, they usually solve it by wearing a bra, giving their
breasts the support they need.”

“That’s no help,” Peaches said.

“What’s no help?” Zack asked, only somewhat eager to find a way to be part of this out-of-his-league conversation.

“Mel's advice to wear a bra is no help,” Peaches said.

“I don’t understand,” Zack said.

“My chest hurts when I walk,” Peaches said. He looked pained just
talking about it. “By the end of the day today, I was really hurting.
If wearing a bra is their answer, that’s no help for me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Yeah! Why?” Zack echoed.

Peaches turned red and chuckled to hide his discomfort, “Obviously, I can’t wear a bra.”

“Why not?” Zack asked.

“Would you?” Peaches shot right back at him. “If you were me, would you
wear a bra to school? Would you take a chance at everyone laughing
their darn fool heads off at you? Would you be the butt of the jocks'
jokes, if you were me? No! I don’t think you would.”

“Oh?” Zack asked, suddenly much more engaged in the conversation. “Wouldn’t I?”

“No, you wouldn’t, Zack,” Peaches said. “You’re too much of a man to do
something as stupid as that. You would never wear a bra to school. Even
if your doctor said you should.”

“Your doctor suggested that you wear a bra?” Zack asked, with amazement in his voice.

“Yes. A few weeks ago.”

“Well, that makes it easy then. Yes, if I had to wear a bra because of circumstances, I would,” Zack said.

Mouse and I stayed out of their argument. Peaches and Zack were nose to
nose; glaring. It was plain to see that Zack thought Peaches was being
foolish and Peaches thought Zack was being insensitive. I couldn’t
think of a thing to say to help them resolve their differences.

Zack continued. “You think that if I had a physical condition that
required me to wear something that made me appear to be ridiculous in
some people’s eyes, I wouldn’t do it. Is that right, Peaches?”

“I guess that’s what I mean,” Peaches said, but his voice had lost some of its conviction.

“Like my diapers?” Zack asked.

***

I had given the others the impression I knew exactly what I was doing.
Most of the time I thought I did. Every once in a while, something
would happen to make my perfect plans look like Swiss cheese.

I had thought Peaches might be just what the doctor ordered for me. I
wanted a boyfriend who wouldn’t tempt me. There had been a moment last
spring when I was almost convinced by Richie that sex was the answer.

My summer was spent getting my head straight. The goal had been to find
a boy who wouldn’t make me feel weak in the knees. A boy I could trust.
A boy who would let me put things like that on a back burner, until I
was at least a senior. Peaches. He was perfect. Except....

Except my knees did get rubbery when I was around him. Not just when we
kissed, but at the dumbest times; even when he did those goofy
impersonations.

At first, I was trying to prove to myself that Richie couldn’t dictate
to me how I should feel. When I kissed Peaches that first day in his
living room, I was trying to put everything that Richie did behind me.
Actually, Richie hadn’t done that much besides scare me. Even so, my
reaction had been to go into a shell. I shouldn’t have done that. He
had made me feel as if I was something to be used. He was wrong.

I was able to talk the whole thing through with Aunt Belle without ever
telling her what happened. Her advice was so important. I was surprised
by my physical attraction to Peaches. He was supposed to be my safe
boy. Who would have thought kissing him would be so exciting?

At lunch, Peaches had been more concerned about Judy and me than he was
about himself. Not because Richie had felt him up, but because of what
he had said about Judy.

If I hadn’t been holding his hand under the table, he would have gone
after Richie. There was a time I wanted revenge for what Richie did to
me. I was mad because he let me know that I was just like any other
girl. My family’s social standing had meant nothing to him when I
begged him to stop. After awhile, I realized I had been placing too
much priority on some of the things Mom thought were so important. Not
that I should thank Richie — he doesn’t deserve that. But

revenge is not what I want. I just want a normal life.

The school had a policy of notifying the parents about every detention.
I got home about thirty minutes after the call. Mom was waiting for me.
“Why today? Do you have some sort of pipeline into my office to pick
the worst days for this kind of escapade? How common!”

Mother was very proud of my father’s pedigree. Even before the American
Revolution, the Pryce family built and owned ships. A Pryce served
under John Paul Jones. Jones's name was recorded as John Paul — no
Jones — in our ancestor’s journals, which were shown off by Mom in our
living room.

“Ever since you’ve gotten back from Belle’s and taken up with that Smith boy, you’ve been acting different.”

“It’s only been four days since I came home from the Adirondacks; and
his name is Morgan.” I wasn’t ready to call him Peaches in front of
her. Peaches was still too much our thing. Even though I had been such a complete dork in Mr. G’s class, by telling everyone Morgan’s nickname.

“You watch your tone with me, young lady.” Mom was having a glass of
Merlot. She always had her glass of wine after work. I had passed her
in height. Because she had two-inch heels and I was wearing flats, we
could’ve looked each other in the eye, had we wanted to.

“I’ve got so much riding on you. I’ve built a future for you — if you don’t make a mess of your life.”

At this point in our enduring argument, Mom usually took great pains to
define what making a mess of my life might be. Getting pregnant before
I’m married would qualify. Any brush with the law, outside of a traffic
ticket — Mom had a bushel basket of those — would be horrific. But the
worst possible way to mess up my life, in Mom’s eyes, would be to marry
poorly.

“You’re getting to be of an age when you should be thinking of the right kind of gentlemen friends.”

~Gentlemen friends?~ Mom made a marriage sound like something arranged by Heidi Fleiss.

“You need to be ready to take over from me in a few years.” Mom took a
long drag on her cigarette. She was one of the few people I knew who
smoked. None of my dad’s friends smoked, except for an occasional
cigar. Mom’s voice had a husky quality to it that scared me. I had put
dozens of articles about cancer where she could find them, but she
didn’t get the hint. “The Betsons were at the club Saturday. After our
game, we had a sandwich with them. That young Richard is really
handsome.”

“I’m so not interested.”

“You’re one of the smartest girls in school. He’s a very bright boy.
You and he look so right together. He’s a football player; you’re a
cheerleader. I don’t know what you did last spring to make him so
upset, but if you gave it another try, I’m sure he would take you out
again.”

“That’s never going to happen.”

“Sure it could. You shouldn’t be such a pessimist.”

“Listen to me. Richie and I are through, over, done, kaput....”

“Don’t be vulgar, Melinda. Be the lady you are. Had I used words like
‘kaput’ your father never would’ve married me — and then where would we
be?”

My mind careened off into philosophical dreamland, as I tried to
determine where my being would be if I didn’t exist. So many of my
discussions with Mother ended with me feeling like I was standing on a
four-inch-wide plank over a pool of feeding sharks.

***

“Hi, Peaches.” I had practiced in front of the mirror, saying “Hi,
Peaches” a hundred different ways before I called him. I wanted to say
everything in those two words. If there was any doubt in Peaches’ mind
about being my boyfriend, I wanted to eliminate it.

“Uh … hi? Who is this?” It was only ten fifteen; he couldn’t already be
asleep? “Uh ... Melinda? Is that you? I must have been worn out from
today. I finished my homework and watched the ballgame for awhile, but
fell asleep here in the chair.”

“You’re not in bed?”

“No.”

I was disappointed. I had imagined that I would catch him in bed and
would get him excited with my sexy “Hi, Peaches.” Instead, I’m talking
to a half-awake guy who’s probably scratching himself. “Peaches, have
you decided if you’re going to wear a bra tomorrow?”

“Zack didn’t leave me much room on that one. I felt like such an idiot.”

“Does Zack always tell you what to do?” I asked.

“Only when he’s right.”

“Does your mom have a bra you can borrow?” I asked. “If not, I have
some old things that might work.” I knew he had at least one bra that I
had felt on him a few days ago.

“Uhmmm. I think Mom can find something for me.”

“You’ll feel a lot better.”

“I hope so ... Does a bra help when you bump something with your chest?” Peaches asked.

“It does sometimes. Mostly I don’t go around running into things with mine.” ~I shouldn’t have said that.~ He
doesn’t need to think about his breasts being like mine. That isn’t a
good image. “Peaches, do you want to hang out this weekend?”

“Sure, great....”

“There’s not much to do in Maple Ridge. I don’t know of any parties I
would want to go to after the game Friday. The boys will all be
drinking.”

“I don’t.”

“I know; I wouldn’t go out with you if you did.”

“Some of the guys who drink are okay; they just do it because they
don’t have anything else to do.” Peaches yawned. I immediately yawned
in response; just like an old couple.

“Peaches ... I really, really do like you.”

“Me too, Mel.”

I looked in the mirror over my desk. I saw a girl who was very happy.
What could possibly go wrong, now that I had found the right guy?

Chapter Ten — Zack
August 28th, Thursday Morning

Had I known what Peaches would look like in his bra, I don’t think I would have tried so hard to win that debate with him.

It was easy to imagine the support the bra gave to his breasts. They
were compressed. Nevertheless, the bra seemed to lift them and give
them a shape that was noticeable even under his oxford shirt.

It was the outline of the bra and the visible straps that made him look
so feminine. He was wearing a gray bra beneath his white shirt. On the
way to school, he told us he had tried a dark blue one and a black one,
but rejected them because you could see them through his shirt. We
didn’t tell him, but the gray one wasn’t exactly invisible.

Peaches told us that the tags said it was especially designed so it
wouldn’t get soggy, even on long runs. He said it was so smooth it
wouldn't chafe. He said it had a modified racing back to make it one of
the most comfortable means of support made. His babbling was indicative
of his anxiety. He said everything but the word “bra.”

Mrs. Smith looked anxious. The book she had been reading was peeking
out of her oversized purse. It was “So Big” by Edna Ferber. I had read
“Giant”, but had never heard of that book. My mother used to have me
trained so that when she said “so big” to me I would put my arms
straight up in the air. It helped her get my T-shirts on. ~Did Mom do that to me because I’m different?~

When we got to school, Melinda was waiting by the curb. She opened Peaches’ door and helped him out.

“Hi, Mrs. Smith.” She took Peaches’ backpack and swung it onto her
shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of Peaches today.”

There was a larger than normal crowd waiting to see the Melinda and
Peaches Show. If they were waiting for a PDA, they were to be
disappointed. Peaches and Melinda had decided to obey all the school
rules, for today at least.

Judy was standing off to the side, watching us with interest. I gave
her a few dozen leaflets. She helped Mouse and me distribute them to
the crowd.

We hadn’t quite got in the door when Cassie Dee asked, loud enough for
even the people just parking their cars to hear, “Melinda, is your
boyfriend wearing a brassiere?”

“Why yes, his doctor suggested it,” Melinda said. “And, unlike yours, his isn’t padded.”

High school clashes are like that. Then everyone paired off and told
their friend what they should have said. In this case, there was no
editing needed; Mel had nailed her. Of course, half the football team
had already nailed Cassie; that was no big deal. Not to them. I was
speaking from the perspective of a neophyte, well… not even a neophyte,
as I was still a virgin.

But ... if I wasn’t a virgin ... I would be a virgin as far as Cassie was concerned. I wouldn’t have touched her with forceps.

As we entered our homeroom, I inspected the board; there was nothing
that needed erasing. I shot a glance at the jock area, just for effect.
My upper body strength was feared and respected. I might not be able to
move very fast, but I could squeeze the crap out of any of them, if
need be.

Mr. Woodrow seemed less wooden than yesterday. His face broke out of his customary scowl when Judy walked into the room.

“Good morning, Judy.”

“Good morning, Mr. Woodrow.”

“Judy, I hear tell you used an offensive term in the cafeteria yesterday?”

“Uhhh — it won’t happen again.”

“I hope it won’t, Judy. The term you used — the term indeed does have
real and categorical substance, and is not a trifling disparagement.
The person such an epithet would apply to would be an aggressively
obnoxious personality, one who makes a truculent use of his lack of
social graces to intimidate his prey. No one can be one
unintentionally. Such a person should be held ethically answerable. Do
you understand, Judy?”

“A word or two, maybe.”

“Judy, we all have a duty to call ‘em as we see ’em. Should you find
yourself in such a position again, please try to refrain from using
such language. But Judy....”

“Yes, Mr. Woodrow.”

“I’m proud of you. I’m embarrassed to say, I learned from what you did,
and promise you I will be a better person because of your brave and
forthright deed.” The bell sounded as he finished his ringing
endorsement.

As I left our homeroom, LeighAnn was at my side.

“How ya doin’, handsome?”

“Gah — good morning, LeighAnn.” I had a lot I wanted to say to her. Nothing materialized that resembled rational thought.

“Zack, since you Yankees have different customs; girls kissing boys and
such — I’m hoping you won’t be too affronted if I ask you to have a
Coke with me after school.”

“I don’t drink Coke.” ~WHY did I say that? How rude. Open mouth — insert foot.~

“Well, you don’t have to drink a Coke coke. Have a cherry coke. Or, an
orange coke. Or, a root beer coke ….” LeighAnn was from that part of
the South where everyone calls soda coke.

“I suppose ... we ... we could go to Luigi’s.” My tongue was almost working normally.

“I’ll meet you in front of the building after school.”

“Ohh — okay.”

Was this all happening because of Melinda and Peaches? Whatever. I was set for the first date of my life.

***

As I stood in line getting two hamburgers and a slice of sausage pizza,
Cassie was in another line not too far from me talking with another
cheerleader. From the tone of her voice, the way her hands were flying,
and the occasional “I’ll get her!” I assumed she was talking about
Melinda. I moved closer while I got a glass of ice water.

“I haven’t worn a padded bra in ages,” said Cassie. She was addressing
the entire student body through her friend's ear. “Just you wait.
Melinda thinks she’s so hot. Wait until she finds out who is in charge
of the Country Club dances this fall. They’re invitation only, even for
members. She’ll find out who she’s trifling with.”

Cassie’s daddy had bailed her out of several jams. She had been caught
drinking in Veteran’s Park. That was incredibly stupid. She might as
well have been wearing a sign that said, “Arrest Me.” Her dad brought
in a high-priced attorney who got her off on a technicality and had her
record expunged.

Last year, we had a school assembly about vandalism. Cassie was asked,
as a cheerleader, to talk about the senseless practice of carving your
initials into a desk. She was supposed to talk about school spirit. Her
speech became a ridiculous rant. She warned us that you would never
know who would come along after you and — HORRORS! Your initials could
end up next to a nobody’s.

Cassie had been standing in the same spot, holding court, for two to
three minutes. She was blocking the line to the salad bar. A freshman
girl had said, “Excuse me” several times, but Cassie had ignored her.
Finally, the girl tried to move around Cassie’s blockade.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Cassie said. “Get back in line.”

“I’ve only got twenty minutes,” the freshman whispered.

“What was that, you worm? Why is it no one in this high school seems to know her place? For instance, your place, worm
— is in the butt end of the line. Get it? Butt?” Cassie laughed at her
own crude, dull humor. The freshman girl meekly walked out of the
cafeteria to find a vending machine that wouldn’t yell at her.

Mrs. Bechtold calmly surveyed her kingdom and smiled at the relative peace.

Chapter Eleven — Morgan/Peaches
August 28th, Thursday, After School

At lunch, Zack told us about LeighAnn inviting him to have a coke with
him after school. Mel immediately asked me if I wanted to go. Before I
could answer, she asked Mouse if she could join us. Luigi had an
afternoon special. It was two dollars off the first five pizzas he
served after school. There was a race to get there. Going with a group,
we wouldn’t be one of the first couples in the door. It was only a few
days into our thing and Mel was already taking me for granted, while I was considering us to be a couple.

As we walked out of the school building, Rich Betson was pushing his
way through the crowd on his way to football practice. The coach had a
reputation for being sympathetic toward players arriving late to
practice. Maple Ridge High School academics were so demanding he had to
be flexible. It was Rich’s own anal-retentive attitude and superego
that were driving him.

“Hey, dummy.” Rich yelled over his shoulder at Wayne Balyczek. Wayne
was a senior football player and was the largest lineman on the team.
He weighed over 250 pounds. “Wayne, when the big hand’s on twelve and
the little hand’s on four, we have to be in our pads and on the field.
Move it, ya big, dumb ox.” Wayne had dyslexia, which impaired his
ability to read, yet he was on the ‘B’ honor roll. He was one of the
kids in school who could take a joke, but he wasn’t laughing at the
moment.

When Rich turned around, he bumped right into Judy. Judy was standing
on the sidewalk waiting for a ride; she hadn’t seen him coming when he
shoved her.

“Out of my way, lard ass!” Rich growled.

I caught her before she fell across a bike rack. Rich continued on his way with no regard for what he had done.

“Are you okay, Judy?” I asked.

We picked up the stack of magazines Rich had knocked from her arms.
They appeared to be fashion-related. Some were written in French.

“I’m okay for a ‘lard-ass.’ ” There was a tear running down her cheek.

“Judy, a bunch of us are going to Luigi’s. Can you come with us?”

“I don’t know. I’ll miss my ride.”

“Isn’t that your dad’s truck over there? Mom can give you a ride home
at five, when she gets off.” The library was right across the street
from the high school, and Luigi’s was just two blocks away. After
talking to her dad, she came back to join us.

On the way to Luigi’s, Mouse told us more about her possible discovery.
“The Karner Blue has been the subject of an extensive recovery effort
in suitably correct habitat. It’s a beautiful butterfly, but it’s a
perfect example of the way we’ve ravaged nature.”

“I read a National Geographic article about it,” Judy said. “It made me cry.”

Just before we walked into Luigi’s, Mel whispered to me, “You know I’m paying.”

“No way. The boy should pay.”

“That’s right, my pwecious, widdle Peaches.”

“I guess I see. But can’t we at least each pay for our own?”

“Only if you give me the money before we go in. It would look bad if I
didn’t pay for my Peaches’ pizza.” I dug in my pocket for the money and
handed it to Mel.

The six of us found a booth and ordered a large house special. The
place smelled of pizza, hamburgers, and teenagers. Everyone was
chilling out after a day of school.

Confused by what was happening between Mel and me, LeighAnn insisted
that she pay for Zack’s. “My daddy will be scandalized when I tell him
about your Yankee ways.” I suspected LeighAnn had scandalized her
“daddy” a few times in the past.

Zack seemed to be at a loss for words. That was odd for a champion debater.

LeighAnn and Mouse spent about ten minutes choosing songs on Luigi’s
old-style jukebox. It was loaded with fifties music. Within minutes,
they had us listening to Dean Martin’s “Memories Are Made of This” and
Chuck Berry’s “Maybellene.”

Under the cover of the loud music, I whispered in Mel’s ear. “I hate
these booths. They’re built all wrong for me. It’s uncomfortable to sit
without support for my back. My feet barely touch the floor; so I
teeter. When I sit back, my thighs are too short for the seat; so my
feet stick up in the air.”

“I can solve that.” She put her arm around my waist and pulled me so
that I was leaning against her. She then moved her arm up to my
shoulder. I was firmly caught in her embrace. “Isn’t that much better?”

Zack looked at me and shrugged.

At first I was embarrassed, and then I realized I was much more
comfortable than I had been. “Thank you, Mel.” I had to look up to meet
her gaze. She was incredibly soft.

“Did you hear any other reactions today after Cassie mouthed off before school?” Mel asked me.

“No, the only other person who said anything was Mr. G.”

“Mr. G? I thought he would be the last one to make fun of you,” Mouse
said. Evidently, she had also fallen under the enchantment of Mr. G.
The kids in his classes never passed notes or whispered. That sort of
thing was rampant in all my other classes.

“No, he wasn’t being mean,” I said. “He took me aside where no one
could hear, and asked me if I knew my bra was visible through my shirt.
He was cool about it all.”

There are sophisticated teachers; and there are teachers who act
sophisticated, but really aren’t. Some of the ones who act like they’re
the friends of the students turn out to be sexual predators. Mr. G had
been with Maple Ridge High for nearly twenty years, and there had never
been any indication he was anything but a true friend to the students.

“I’m a little embarrassed; I was so silly about not wearing it,” I said. “Thanks, Zack.”

“Why are you thanking Zack?” LeighAnn asked. “Did he buy it for you?”

We all laughed, as Zack fumbled for an answer. LeighAnn looked confused.

“No, my good friend Zack told me that being an uncomfortable fool was no way to go through life,” I said.

“Speaking of uncomfortable,” Zack said. “Cassie’s out for retribution,
Melinda.” He went on to tell us about what she had said in the
cafeteria food line.

“She’s got the influence at the country club to make her threats
stick,” Mel said. “That’s too bad. All the good dances are at the
country club — you guys know that.”

“You can only go to them if you’re asked by a member,” I said. “You’re
the only one in this booth who’s ever been to a country club dance.”

“I’m such a complete zero,” Mel apologized. “I must have the I.Q. of one of Mouse’s butterflies.”

“Hey. Quit picking on my little pals,” Mouse said. We laughed.

“We need to do something,” Mel continued. “The dances in the school gym
are so pathetic. — It’s obvious. We’ll organize it so that no one goes
to the country club dances until they open them to everyone.” Mel made
it sound like her idea was a done deal.

“The next big dance is the ‘sock hop’ the Women’s Club is having,” Judy
said. “It will be in the Women’s Club building, so no one will be
excluded. A sock hop sounds like fun. It’s going to be a costume party.
They’ve announced great prizes. Some couple's going to show up with the
girl in a poodle skirt and with the guy's hair greased back in a
ducktail. They'll walk away with first prize.”

Judy was always neatly dressed, even though she looked as if she were
wearing her mother’s clothes. The Watsons had a big house and newer
cars. They could afford to buy her clothes like other girls’.

“We could all go, looking like the cast of ‘Grease,’” Mel said. You could tell that she already was planning on winning.

“Look at me, I’m Cassandra Dee,” I paraphrased the song from “Grease,” and sang it like Olivia Newton John.

“You would look good in a poodle skirt,” LeighAnn said. She laughed much more than the rest of us.

I was relieved when Mel didn’t jump at the idea. So far, I hadn’t been
able to say “no” to her. Our “Summer Love” was going strong, just like
another song from “Grease.”

“You’re going to have to take the plunge,” Judy said to me.

“Plunge?”

“It’s fine to run around making eyes at Mel and having doors opened for
you,” Judy said. “But, if you’re going to really reverse roles, you’ll
have to wear girls’ clothing.”

“Get real.” The blood rushed to my face for the fiftieth time since becoming Mel’s boyfriend.

“That’s insane!” Zack said. “He would be humiliated.”

“I agree. No way.” Mouse left no room for misunderstanding.

“I think Peaches knows what he can and can’t do,” Mel said. “If you
pull a cat’s tail, you’ll learn things you can’t learn any other way.”
She was holding my hand under the table and applying gentle pressure.
She turned to me and whispered in my ear so no one could hear. “Olive
juice.” Once again, I had no idea what she meant.

“Did anyone notice Stephanie, Marci, and Pam?” Judy asked. “They all were wearing lettermen’s jackets.”

Maple Ridge High School had lettermen’s jackets for boys and girls, but
only the boys ever bought them. The girl athletes bought the much nicer
lettermen’s blazers. When a girl was wearing a letterman’s jacket that
meant she was dating the owner. “Peaches and Mel are dating; am I
right?”

“We sure are,” Mel said. Under the table she gave my hand a big squeeze
and looked directly at me. “If I had a letterman’s jacket, I would give
it to you.”

“You do have a cheerleader’s sweater,” Judy said.

“Actually, I have four of them,” Mel said. “We have short-sleeve and
long-sleeve in white and gold.” The Maple Ridge Ridge Runner colors
were gold, black, and white. Melinda brightened as she grasped Judy’s
meaning. “Tomorrow’s the first big pep rally. Peaches could wear one of
my gold sweaters.”

“I don’t know,” I said. If there had been an escape hatch in Luigi’s
booth, I would have used it. I was trapped, in Melinda’s arms.

“Why not? Are you ashamed that we’re dating?” I shook my head. I didn’t
know if she was hurt, or playing with me, or what. “Boys wear
cheerleading sweaters all the time. Almost every school in our
conference, except for us, has boy cheerleaders. Wearing my sweater is
nothing compared to you wearing a bra. We’ll have your mom stop by my
place on your way home, and I’ll get it for you.”

She had closed the subject on the cheerleading sweater, and we were on
to the next topic. I was a little scared, but everything so far had
worked out okay. Better than okay. Mel was stroking my hand lightly
with hers between squeezes. Stroke. Stroke. Lightly running her fingers
up and down the length of my hand then gently cupping it and squeezing.
Stroke. Stroke. It wasn’t in time with the music. She seemed to have a
rhythm of her own. Her body arched into mine.

I could feel her warmth. Her personal fragrance was clouding my mind
with thoughts that would be more at home in a bedroom than a pizza
parlor.

She rubbed into me like an insistent kitten seeking attention. Every
time I sought to grasp her hand, she gently pulled it away to keep her
ministrations going. She kept a constant pressure on my shoulder,
pinning me to her ... as if I would have moved ... the building could
have caught fire and burned around me. I was going nowhere until Mel
tired of what she was doing.

“Several people asked me if it was all a hoax,” Mouse said. “Most either shrugged their shoulders or grinned like idiots.”

“What if someone else wants to do what you’re doing?” LeighAnn asked.

“People can do what they want,” Mouse said. “We can’t stop them. Mr. G
won’t allow anyone else to have the same project, so they would have to
do it for fun.”

“Fun?” I wasn’t at all sure wearing the sweater was going to be fun.

“You know you’re having fun,” Mel said, and squeezed my hand under the table.

“Did you see what’s playing at The Theatre Saturday night?” Mouse asked. No one had. “They’re re-running ‘The Sting.’”

“What’s that?” LeighAnn asked. “Is it a sci-fi movie like 'The Matrix’?”

“It came out thirty years ago,” I said.

“Was it any good?” LeighAnn asked.

“It won the Academy Award for best picture,” Zack said, “but it’s the
score that’s so good. Marvin Hamlisch kicked off a huge revival of
interest in Scott Joplin ragtime music.”

“Is he a good singer?” LeighAnn asked.

“No, he’s a piano player,” Zack said. “Actually he plays more keyboard lately, like me.”

“Oh, like Elton John,” LeighAnn said.

“Elton John doesn’t play ragtime,” Zack said. “Ragtime is special.
Here, listen to this.” Zack turned on his iPod and handed the earphones
to LeighAnn. “Scott Joplin wrote this.”

“Joplin’s music is better than it sounds.” LeighAnn said as she handed
the headset back to Zack, after listening for less than ten seconds.
“Have you guys ever thought about karaoke or picking a different
favorite kind of music?”

“You can’t change the music of your soul,” Mel said, and then whispered
in my ear. “Let’s go to the movie.” Somebody was playing “Yakety Yak”
on the jukebox. The guys who were singing warned me, “Don’t talk back.”

“Okay.” I was becoming used to her asking me out.

Once again, Mel leaned close and whispered, “Olive juice” in my ear. ~What the heck was that all about?~ I was busy thinking of ways to have her whisper in my ear again; it felt great.

“LeighAnn, have you ever attended a ragtime festival?” Zack asked.

“You Yankees have things I’ve never heard of.”

“There’s a small festival next month at State College,” Zack said. “I
could buy tickets when I’m there checking on using their lab for
testing soil samples.”

“That would be awesome,” Mouse said. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to go to a festival in Sedalia, Missouri?”

“Why Sedalia, Missouri of all places?” LeighAnn asked.

“Sedalia is the home of all things Joplin,” Zack explained. “They have
a huge annual festival in the summer, but there are smaller festivals
all year round. When you go to one of those, you really get into
ragtime. Everyone’s in costumes from the early part of the last
century.”

Zack had gotten a boost of confidence by kicking my butt in that
debate. He was acting almost average, pre-LeighAnn. Of course he was an
expert, having been to Joplin festivals.

“Mom and Dad were talking the other night about not using the corporate jet enough,” Mel said. “I’ll see if Mom will take us.”

Climb every mountain, ford every stream, follow every rainbow....
Anything was possible in her mind. I hadn’t said much for a while. It’s
hard to add to the conversation when you’re concentrating on NOT
moaning with intense pleasure.

***

When I got home later that afternoon, I removed the sweater from its
plastic wardrobe bag and was surprised to find its matching skirt. The
pleated skirt was only about 12 inches long. That was the first time I
considered what the cheerleaders must feel like wearing them.

The sweater was long sleeved with black on the bottom and gold on top.
There were accent lines of white between the two colors. The colors
formed a ‘V’ in front that started at the armpits and ended at the
navel.

I also

noticed a pair of gold briefs
in the bottom of the bag. They were made out of something silky. I was
lost in thought trying to decide what to do, when Mom called me to
dinner.

“Mom, when you were a girl, what did it mean when you looked at a boy and said ‘Olive juice’?”

Mom laughed and smiled. She reached across the table and ruffled my
hair. “Kid, you’re in deep trouble. First of all, I’m still a girl.
Once a girl, always a girl. Second, when you say the words ‘olive
juice’, your mouth looks exactly like it does when you say ‘I love
you’.”

“I ... ohhh.”

I helped Mom with the dishes and then did my homework. I had learned a
lot from Mom. I liked working in the kitchen. Maybe I would be someone
like Luigi. I wanted to cook for Mom, because I loved her. I wasn’t
good at telling her that. Maybe she could tell through my cooking.

After the dishes were put away, I slipped on the sweater to show Mom. It was surprisingly heavy.

“Hmmm ... it looks a size too big,” Mom said.

“Melinda’s bigger than me. Darn.”

“I was at least two inches taller than your father. We loved each other very much.”

“I didn’t mean anything. ‘It’s not the size of the dog in the fight
that counts, it’s the amount of fight in the dog that decides the
winner.’ President Eisenhower said that.”

Mom had me turn around several times. She was scowling. “Hmmm….
Hmmm.... I heard Melinda say that you wanted to wear this sweater, but
I haven’t heard you say it.”

“I’m not sure I do. I mean... I’m sure I will. But I don’t know that it’s the right thing to do. What do you think?”

“I think you’re entering dangerous, dangerous grounds. People might say
things or make assumptions about you. Are you prepared for that?”

“We want people to think. That’s part of the project. I can’t really
examine gender roles ... all roles ... without taking some risk. I
don’t understand what the big deal is? If people didn’t know that it’s
Melinda’s sweater, they would never know it wasn’t made for a guy.”

“But it is Melinda’s sweater, and people are going to think it’s very
strange that you’re wearing it. You’re making a statement about
yourself that you might find hard to rescind.”

“Are you asking me if I’m gay?” I asked, half laughing.

“No, you seem too enamored with Melinda to be homosexual. If you were,
I would love you just the same. I think you know you have my
unconditional love, no matter what lifestyle you might choose, or what
lifestyle chooses you.”

“What do you mean, Mom? How could a lifestyle choose me?”

“Peaches, you didn’t decide to be short or tall. You didn’t get to
choose the color of your eyes or the size of your hands. There are some
things about gender that aren’t a matter of personal choice. Maybe,
you’ll find some things out about yourself that neither of us knows
exist.”

“Do you mean, maybe by wearing this sweater I’ll discover I should have been born a girl?”

“I don’t know what I mean, Peaches. The only thing I’m sure of is I love you. I can’t imagine how that could ever change.”

Mom gave me a hug. As we separated she pulled the strap on the back of
my bra and let it slap against my back. It wasn’t painful, but I was
surprised.

“Peaches, when I was little, my mother told me to snap my daughter’s
bra for her if she wasn’t alive to do it. It was her way of telling me
to make sure you knew about her if she died before you were old enough
to have a bra. I didn’t remember that until just now. She died three
years before you were born. I guess I’ve fulfilled her wish.”

Mom kissed me on the cheek. She had kissed me every night at bedtime
for my entire life; but not like that. Her kiss clearly spoke of her
worry.

At about nine thirty my cell phone rang.

“Hi, Peaches. Did I catch you before you went to bed?” Melinda’s voice
sounded like she was about to burst out laughing or singing.

“Yep. I’m just brushing my teeth. I need to study history a bit more before I go to sleep. I want to work ahead a bit.”

“Did you try on the sweater? I’ll bet you look darling.”

~Darling? Should I be looking “darling” to my girlfriend?~ “It looks okay.”

“Just okay? A lot of girls would kill to be able to wear that sweater. What did your mother say? Did she see you in it?”

“Yes. She saw me.”

“And?”

“I think she thinks you’re forcing me.” ~That sounded terrible. It made Mom sound suspicious and mean.~

“Is that what you think? Do you think I’m forcing you?”

“No, not at all. I think it’s just another phase of the project. After
all, it wasn’t even your idea. It actually was Judy’s idea, but Mel,
why did you send along the skirt ... and the ... underwear?”

“Oh, were they in the bag? I just grabbed the bag from my closet. I keep each set together,” Mel said. “Okay?”

“It’s just, you’re sort of scaring me.”

“Scaring you? How am I doing that? Damn!”

~Damn ... I didn’t know she used that word.~ I could picture
her, as she looked this afternoon. Her perfume was lingering in the
sweater I still had on. I looked in the mirror and thought of her in
this sweater, not looking at my face or the Levi jeans I wore under it.
I was talking to Melinda Pryce. The thrill was even stronger than it
was a few days ago when she showed up on my steps.

“I thought you were going to give me the sweater with the short sleeves. Aren’t you wearing short sleeves tomorrow?

“Yes, we are, but I got to thinking about the hair in your armpits… Your armpits are hairy, aren’t they?”

“Yes....”

“Well, I assumed you didn’t want to shave your armpits. You don’t ... do you?”

“No. I’m sure about that. You sure did a lot of thinking about this.”

“Well, I can’t have my boyfriend looking bad.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” I agreed.

“No, we definitely want you to look your best at all times.” Mel said.

“This afternoon you asked if I would go to the movie as your girlfriend.” I said. “What did you mean by that?”

“I was asking if you wanted to go as girl friends,” Mel said. “When a
girl and guy go together, there’s a set of rigid rules. When girls go
together, it’s just pure relaxation.”

“So you meant to go as two girls,” I said. “I thought you meant you as a guy and me as a girl.”

“If that’s what you want to do, we could do that.”

“No, Melinda, I didn’t say that.” I was getting confused. I wanted to
do what she wanted. She seemed so happy, so content with me. I wanted
to find a place where the two of us could just have fun.

“Peaches, I want to have the best relationship with you I can. This project is important to you.”

“It is.”

“So, we should continue with what we’ve started,” Mel said.

“Yes, we should definitely continue.” ~She was giving me a chance to back out. Or was there more to what she had asked? Was she already trying to break up with me?~ “We should definitely continue.”

“We need to start having more fun with this,” she said. “To laugh often and much ... this is to have succeeded.”

~What? What was she talking about? I’d heard that before.~ “Mouse says that, too.”

“Dad says it’s from Emerson. I think we can have lots of fun with this
thing. I want to make sure that we win the project competition.”

“Mel — winning isn’t that big of a deal to me.” ~Unless I’m debating Zack. I’ll never debate Zack again.~

“Don’t worry; I’ve got plenty of competitive spirit for both of us.”

“That’s probably why I’m scared. Are you ever scared, Mel?”

“I used to be scared all the time, especially when I thought I would never find someone like you to be with. Olive juice.”

“I know what that means.” By telling her, I was taking the risk she wouldn’t say it again.

“You do?”

“Yes. Olive juice.” ~Oh geez! I hadn’t planned to say THAT!~

“Mmmmmmmm.”

“Did you just kiss the phone?”

“No, Peaches, I just kissed you.”

“Oh!” I was lying on my bed as I talked to her. I could smell her in
her sweater. I closed my eyes and imagined her kiss on my lips.

“Peaches, I almost forgot the big news.”

“What’s that?”

“At dinner tonight, I asked Mom and Dad about the plane; you know,
going to Missouri. At first Mom went, ‘No way.’ but then Dad thought it
was a good idea. He thinks Scott Joplin is a lot better than rap or
hip-hop. When Mom saw which way the wind was blowing, she decided to
cross over from the dark side and be the good mom. She’s going to go with us, as our chaperone.
Dad wants to make sure he picks up the full tab for the trip. Mom said
that she would provide the clothes we need from her costume shop. She
said that she has lots of things.”

I couldn’t squeeze a word in as she rolled on. “I was so pumped. I went
on the Internet and found the dates for the next festival. I told Daddy
to go ahead and reserve the corporate jet. We’ve got fall break then,
so we can leave on a Thursday and come back Monday night.”

Hobbits aren’t really wild about travel. We like our homes, our beds,
and regular meals. That petrified feeling was taking hold again. When I
was little, Mom read “The Wind in the Willows” to me. I used to think
how incredible it was that the dull Mr. Mole would get caught up with
the crazy Mr. Toad. I was caught up in Mel’s wild ride.

“You haven’t said anything,” Mel said. “You are excited, aren’t you?”

“Of course, I’m excited. I just don’t know exactly what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say, just enjoy.

About
Saturday night, we didn’t really settle that.” Mel had moved on again
at the speed of light, while I was still trying to start my engines.

“Saturday night?”

“Yep, you said you wanted to continue....”

“Yes, we definitely should continue,” I said. Is this what love was
like, not knowing from one moment to the next if you were in or out?

“Then I need to know ... are you going as my date, with me as the boy? Or with me as a girl?”

“With you as a girl.”

“Good, then we’ll be girlfriends.”

“Yes ... we’re going as girlfriends.” ~Had I agreed to that?~ I don’t think I agreed to that. I tried to hit the rewind button on my brain, but the remote wasn’t where I left it.

“Peaches, don’t you think we’re moving a little fast on this? Don’t you
think we should see how you look as a girl before you go out in
public?”

“Yes ... I definitely think we should make sure I look okay before we
go on our date.” What had I just said? Had I agreed to try to dress as
a girl?

“The football game is at four,” Mel said. “It’ll be over at about six
thirty. Mom will pick us up at the game. You can come over to my house
and we’ll watch a video.”

“Okay, cool.” She had done it again. ~Was I ever going to be the one to ask her out?~

“Olive juice.”

“Olive juice.”

As I fell asleep, I realized how Mel had taken most of the worry out of
wearing her sweater at school — by giving me something new and bigger
to worry about; a trip to Missouri. I didn’t know if Mom would let me
go. Melinda kept things moving so fast, I didn’t have time to think.

Chapter Twelve — Melinda

August 29th, Friday Morning

The weatherman predicted the overcast that greeted us Friday morning
would burn off by nine. The rest of the day would be sunny and warm. It
was going to be perfect for the first football game.

I wanted Peaches to look his best. I stood at the curb in front of the
school with a big pink umbrella, waiting to protect Peaches from the
light rain. I checked my watch for the fifth time in the last seven
minutes. When they arrived, Mrs. Smith smiled at me through the
windshield.

I wanted to hug the concern right off Peaches’ face, but I didn’t dare
do that in front of his mom. Arranging the umbrella over him, we walked
together to the door. My sweater was a little big for him, but he
didn’t look all that bad. I wondered if he realized how it called
attention to his chest.

“Look at what Mom gave me this morning,” Peaches said. He showed me a
gold, heart-shaped locket he wore on a sixteen-inch chain around his
neck. It was the perfect accent for the black on the sweater. I was
pleased his mother was taking an active part in our project. He opened
the locket and showed me the pictures. “This is my mom and dad when
they were in college. My dad gave this locket to her.”

“Your dad was so handsome! You have his smile.”

He blushed so often around me. Did that mean he was happy, upset, or confused?

“Your mother hasn’t changed a bit, except for how she wears her hair,”
I said. “I just noticed, you have you mother’s eyes, they’re
beautiful.” He blushed again.

We made it to his locker. Being dressed in my sweater didn’t seem to matter to him when I kept him busy talking with me. It did
matter to quite a few other students. As I looked up and down the hall,
every eye was on Peaches. It took him four tries to work his
combination. He finally found the books he needed, and we hurried into
our homeroom.

“Peaches, are you going to be cheering for us tonight?” One of the football players in the back of the room asked the question.

“No, he won’t be — and neither will his girlfriend.” Cassie Lee stood
in the door. She was wearing the same sweater as I had on; the white
and black version of the gold and black sweater Peaches was wearing.
Hers had a block C on the left shoulder, signifying the authority she
was about to wield. “Melinda, could I please see you in the hall?”

I don’t know why she bothered to move out of the classroom. There was
nothing private about our conversation. Cassie was screaming loud
enough for the entire school to hear. “TAKE THAT SWEATER OFF YOUR
LITTLE PAL — RIGHT THIS MINUTE!”

I wasn’t going to allow her to goad me into a shouting match. “Peaches
is my boyfriend,” I said quietly. “I gave him the sweater.”

“I DON’T CARE IF HE IS YOUR BOYFRIEND; I WANT THAT SWEATER OFF HIM —
RIGHT NOW!” She was poking me in the chest with her forefinger. I
thought about suggesting that she use her inside voice.

“No....”

“NO? WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ‘NO?’ “

“ ... I paid for the sweater he’s wearing. It’s mine to do with as I choose.”

“THAT’S A MAPLE RIDGE HIGH SCHOOL CHEERLEADER’S SWEATER, AND I WON’T STAND BY WHILE YOU DEFILE IT.”

Two students who were late for homeroom assembly passed by us. They
bumped into the lockers on the other side of the hall in an effort to
stay as far away as possible. The beginning of a zit was forming on the
left side of Cassie’s forehead. She had used cover-up. I could think of
nothing I wanted more at that moment than to see that zit erupt
sometime before the game.

“THAT SISSY SHRIMP REMOVES THE SWEATER, OR YOU’RE ALL DONE AS A CHEERLEADER.”

There was an audible slap. It had been the sound of my right hand
striking Cassie’s left cheek. There was a white mark on her face that
was rapidly becoming red. I could hear myself speaking. “DON’T you ever
say that about my boyfriend.”

“DON’T BOTHER COMING TO THE PEP RALLY; YOU’RE THROUGH.”

The sound of her tennis-shoe stomps was punctuated by the slam of her
locker door, about fifty feet from where I stood. She regally tossed
her hair as she went to her homeroom, where she no doubt had a throne
instead of a desk.

I walked back into my homeroom. Everything, except the slap, had gone
just as I had predicted to Peaches last night. “Mr. Woodrow, Peaches
and I will need passes to see Principal Halsted.”

“That’s a very good idea, Miss Pryce.” Mr. Woodrow smiled as he handed
us our hall passes. “Good luck. I’m sure everything is going to work
out fine.”

While we walked toward the principal’s office, the bell rang, and the
homerooms emptied of students. They all backed away from the center of
the hall leaving us a clear path. The quiet was eerie. The principal’s
office was on the same floor, just beyond Cassie’s locker.

“Mel, are you sure you want to do like we planned? I know how much
cheerleading means to you. Perhaps if I take off the sweater and find
Cassie and apologize, she’ll take you back.”

“Don’t worry; everything’s going to be okay.” We weren’t off to the
best start. I hadn’t kept my emotions entirely under control. My hand
stung a little.

The sign on the door said: “Principal Trudy Halsted.” I wouldn’t dream
of calling Mrs. Halsted “Trudy.” We were directed to sit on the
walnut-trimmed, oak pew that was right outside Mrs. Halsted’s office. I
could hear Mrs. Halsted chatting on the phone. She was making a lunch
date. I tried not to listen and didn’t dare talk to Peaches for fear
she would hear us. The sun had already broken through. A rainbow had
appeared over the basketball hoops on the playground. ~Was it Cassie’s rainbow, or ours?~

The secretary went into Mrs. Halsted’s office the minute she was off her phone. “Morgan and Melinda are here to see you.” ~Morgan and Melinda?~
The brevity of her message was unnerving. Shouldn’t she have said, “Two
sophomores, Morgan Smith and Melinda Pryce are here to see you?” At
least she hadn’t announced us as “those two troublemakers.”

“Good morning.” Mrs. Halsted directed us toward three comfortable
chairs arranged around a coffee table. On the table was a copy of the
New York Times. It appeared from the half cup of coffee and the partly
completed crossword puzzle, that Mrs. Halsted started her day with some
mental exercise. About fifteen words in the upper left hand corner of
the grid had been filled in. No others. Mrs. Halsted seemed to be an
avid cruciverbalist, a word my father used to identify his “only” vice.

“What can I do for you two on this superb morning?” She grinned. “Nine down: majestic.” She evidently had noticed me staring at her newspaper.

Having been disarmed by her charm, I almost started to whine about how
that mean girl, Cassie, was picking on me. Years of negotiating with
Mom had taught me to lead with the facts.

“Mrs. Halsted, Morgan is my boyfriend. We’re working together on a
project involving gender roles. I gave him my cheerleading sweater to
wear to school this morning to help with our research.”

“I’ve seen the literature you distributed. Please continue.”

“Cassandra Dee Lee demanded that I take back my sweater. I refused.
Cassandra has told me that my refusal is grounds for her to dismiss me
from the cheerleading squad.”

“That much I heard. Everyone with ears heard. Why are you here?”

“We, Morgan and I, believe our civil rights are being trampled.”

“Civil rights?” She frowned. “How are your civil rights being trampled, Miss Pryce?”

I had my thoughts in order. I took a second to give them one last
review. Somehow my oral argument didn’t sound as airtight as it had
last night in bed when I had prepared for this inevitable meeting.

“Our basic civil rights allow us free speech, Principal Halsted. Morgan
has a right to wear whatever he wants to, as long as it doesn’t violate
the school dress code. That brings us to the second violation of our
civil rights.”

“And what might that be?”

Peaches looked pale. I hadn’t had a chance to review my legal theories with him. I forged ahead with my prepared statement.

“Principal Halsted, it’s common practice for the male students of our
school to give the female students their lettermen’s jackets. Those
girls freely wear those jackets to school. Disallowing Morgan’s right
to wear my cheerleading sweater is clearly sexual discrimination.”

“Thank you, Miss Pryce. Those are interesting theories.
Philosophically, I agree with your assertion of rights. From a legal
standpoint — and I’m not an attorney, so don’t consider my remarks to
be gospel — but from what I’ve experienced and read, your theories
probably won’t prevail in our judicial system. The courts have made
very conservative rulings regarding school dress codes.”

Peaches’ shoulders dipped another notch. I wanted to reach for his hand.

“Miss Pryce, this can be a tough issue or an easy issue. It’s up to you.”

““Me?”

“Yes. As I see it, you have three clear options. We can do the easiest
thing. I could have Cassandra join us and we could arrange for Morgan
to wear the sweater for the rest of the day to conduct his research.
You would promise Cassandra that he would never wear your sweater
again. I’m fairly certain we can put all of this behind us and move
forward with things as they were before.”

“And the other options?”

“Are you’re rejecting my first proposal?”

“No, Mrs. Halsted, I would like to hear all three, and have a minute
alone with Morgan to discuss them, before we reach a decision.”

“I agree,” Peaches said. Once I asserted control over a minor portion of the meeting, he looked more comfortable.

“That’s prudent,” Mrs. Halsted said. “I can see that some of the good
things I’ve been hearing about you two during the last few days are
true.”

~Good things?~ Peaches actually grinned. That rainbow might be
ours. Mrs. Halsted was wearing lovely cologne. If she wasn’t the
Principal, and if I wasn’t up to my neck in a battle, I would have
asked her what it was.

“You could also decide to test this matter in court,” Mrs. Halsted
said. “I must warn you that courts can be unpredictable. Cassie’s
parents may or may not decide to support her battle. Your parents might
or might not decide to fund your position with the dollars to cover the
legal expense. This could become a battle of who can afford the better
attorneys. Let’s review the last option. Melinda, who elected you to
the cheerleading squad?”

“The students did — it was a school-wide assembly.”

“That’s right. We’ve tried to take some of the politics out of the
process by allowing the students to elect the cheerleaders. Since the
students elected you, it would seem logical that they should have a say
in whether or not you should continue to be a cheerleader. I think this
matter might be best settled in convocation by a student vote.”

“May Morgan and I have a minute alone to talk?”

She nodded, then picked up her Times, and went out to the outer office, closing the door behind her.

“Do you want to hire an attorney?” I asked.

“No, I couldn’t ask Mom to spend money like that.”

“Do you want to let Cassie win? Or, do you want to take our chances with the students?”

“What do you want to do?”

“Let’s fight her.”

“I was afraid you would say that, but I’m with you.”

I quickly gave Peaches a not so quick kiss. Our relationship had
already gone through more than most and seemed strong. I then opened
the door and told Mrs. Halsted we were ready. After she came back in, I
noticed that I had left a lipstick smudge on Peaches’ lips. I reached
over and wiped it with my finger. Mrs. Halsted didn’t give any
indication she had noticed our Private Display of Affection.

“Mrs. Halsted,” I said. “We would like to continue our research and
think the best option would be the convocation, which may provide some
fascinating research information in its own right.”

“Splendid! I’m pleased that you’re going to move ahead. I will schedule
the convocation for immediately after today’s lunch. I have every
confidence that you will make an excellent showing in your arguments
before the students. If all goes well, you should be on the field this
afternoon cheering the Ridge Runners on to victory.”

“Thank you.” I got up to leave.

“One moment, Miss Pryce,” Mrs. Halsted said. “I was set to call you two
in here this morning anyway, but you spared me the trouble.”

“Trouble?” Peaches said, with a choke in his voice.

“Oh, there’s trouble, all right,” Mrs. Halsted said. “But, nothing we
can’t handle. The school board has been answering calls about your
project.”

“Does the school board want us to quit?” Peaches asked.

“Heavens, no. Maple Ridge High School has a tradition of questioning
ourselves. Your project is a sterling example of the kind of projects
we hope all students will attempt.”

Mrs. Halsted picked up a letter from a folder on the coffee table.
“Doing my puzzle wasn’t all I’ve accomplished this morning. This is a
letter I received from the school board president. He has asked me to
look into this situation and propose recommendations.”

“Recommendations?” I asked.

“Yes, I've drafted a letter back to him,” Mrs. Halsted said. “Since
Morgan and you are going to proceed with this very interesting project,
I want the two of you to visit with a school counselor periodically, in
order to help you understand some of the issues that might come up.”

“What issues?” I asked.

“There might not be any, but we want to make sure you are both
comfortable in what you’re doing,” Mrs. Halsted answered. “I’ve also
recommended that the school adopt a transgendered policy. I’ve sent
them a sample policy for their consideration.”

“What would that policy say?” Peaches asked.

“It would be a broad statement of students’ rights to express themselves and assert their perceived gender.”

Peaches and I glanced at each other with looks that meant neither of us
really understood what she had said, but were content to learn as we
went along. It was obvious the first step was convincing the student
body that Peaches could wear my sweater; after that we would worry
about the school board.

***

Cheerleaders wore their uniforms in school all day on game day.
It made it easier for us to prepare for the pep rally before the game,
and it promoted school spirit. School spirit. I loved the concept of
school spirit — the idea of loyalty to a cause.

For the two hours prior to the convocation, I was a horrible student
who was barely there in biology and calculus. Peaches seemed to be
taking it pretty well. He took an active part in every class, as if
nothing much had changed. He passed me two notes offering to abandon
our project so I could continue as a cheerleader. There was no way the
kids were going to allow Cassie to have her way. My only decision was
whether I still wanted to be a cheerleader when I was given that choice.

There were twelve girls on the squad. I had heard from six of them who
backed me. Three of them said they would quit in protest if I wasn’t
reinstated. They thought our project had merit. I could tell, even
though they weren’t saying it, that they wouldn’t do what I was doing.
Yet, they were defying Cassie by siding with me.

It would be awful to have dissension on our squad. Reducing the number
of school cliques was one of the primary objectives of what Peaches,
Mouse, Zack, and I were trying to accomplish.

I had been in our gymnasium hundreds of times for other
convocations, gym classes, ballgames, and dances. It had never seemed
quite as crowded as it did once the convocation started. The purpose of
the convocation had been stated as “a meeting to support or reject the
censure of Melinda Pryce by Cassandra Dee Lee.” Students who wanted to
address the assembly would be given ample time to make their feelings
heard.

Just over five hundred students were sitting in judgment in the
bleachers. I looked for, and found, dozens of friendly faces. On the
wall of the gym, mixed in with conference championship banners, was a
sign with four words. The sign had a gold background to contrast with
the black, block print. The words were: Honesty, Fairness, Loyalty, and
Legality.

Principal Halsted opened the proceedings with a short statement
of fact, followed by a call for a logical conclusion. She then asked
how many students wanted to speak on behalf of my right to allow Morgan
to wear my sweater. Ten students raised their hands, including Peaches,
Zack, Mouse, Judy, me, and Wayne Balyczek.

Wayne’s support was a shock. I had expected the stunts Peaches and I
were pulling would rub football players like Wayne the wrong way. It
appeared lines were being drawn in some strange places.

When Principal Halsted asked for a show of hands of those who wanted to
speak against my giving Peaches my sweater, only six students
responded. They were Cassie, four other cheerleaders — every girl who
hadn’t talked to me — and Richie Betson.

Given that there were so many who wanted to speak, the principal
limited the time for each to two minutes. She said Cassandra and I
could each speak for up to five minutes. I planned to use only part of
my time. There was nothing I hated worse than listening to someone
ramble.

The students were asked not to react to the speakers. Any outbreak or
show of support would result in a hung jury, with the matter then to be
decided by the administration in closed session. Those responsible for
any demonstration would serve long detentions.

The names of all those who had requested to speak were put in a hat and drawn randomly.

Zack was the first. “Morgan and Melinda are toiling in the name of
science. The events leading to today’s dispute were part of an
experiment. Maple Ridge High School isn’t populated by Luddites. We
aren’t afraid of something different that might lead us to a better
existence or a changed perspective.” The Luddites smashed machines
during the Industrial Revolution, in an effort to preserve their way of
life. It was a great analogy, if enough kids had paid attention in eighth grade history, which was doubtful.

Beth Marie White stood. She was one of the cheerleaders. Her left hand
toyed with the hem of her skirt. “It’s just totally wrong for anyone
other than a duly elected cheerleader to wear the uniform. Maple Ridge
High rocks and so do its cheerleaders, and he isn’t one of them.” Beth
pointed an accusing finger at Peaches. I wanted to grab her pointer and twist it. Beth had gone out of her way to make me welcome on the squad, but she was Cassie’s closest friend.

“I want to start by apologizing to anyone I may have offended,” Peaches
said. “I was too worried earlier today about what everyone would think
of me, to give as much consideration — as I maybe should have — to
other peoples’ feelings. There’s room in this school for differing
opinions. There’s a need to be more tolerant. When Melinda and I….” He
smiled at me, and then almost lost his train of thought. “Ah …
discussed …ah … doing this, I didn’t see a difference between Melinda
giving me her cheerleader’s sweater and any guy giving his girlfriend
his letterman’s jacket. I still don’t, but I don’t hold it against
anyone who feels otherwise.”

~He’s such a sweetie.~

“This is how it starts,” Richie said. “No school becomes a haven
for the weird overnight. It is an insidious process. Little by little,
things change, until you can’t even recognize what was once a great
school. We all think our school is number one. After I graduate, I want
to come back for homecoming and see the same school that was here when
I entered the doors as a dork freshman. End this move to provide a home
for every fruit who doesn’t fit in any place else. Keep MRHS pure by
crushing this movement before it gains momentum. This school stands for
traditions; let’s be true to our heritage.”

~Oh, my goodness.~ I had dated that neo-Nazi. He had actually kissed me. I wanted to run to the bathroom and gargle.

Mouse spoke of the need to reach out to one another, rather than
building walls. She asked each student to consider who was on the side
of personal growth, and who was trying to keep the unquestioned status
quo. Mouse was so charismatic. A little make-up, some attractive
clothes, and she would have her pick of the boys. I was ready to help
her, whenever she asked.

Judy looked angry as she approached the microphone. “I’m here to speak
in favor of allowing Melinda to give Morgan her sweater. In fact, I
readily admit that it was my idea.” She tapped her chest and glared at
Cassie.

Gosh, I had forgotten that it had been Judy’s idea. I sometimes did
that — I would hear a good idea and become so devoted to it that I
thought it was my own.

“Cassie,” Judy said, “if you want to blame someone, blame me. But there
are more important aspects of this issue to discuss. I would like to
give this whole debate a name. My sophomore project will be about
bullying in our school. A few of you are grinning. Maybe by some
incredible stroke of luck, you’ve never been a target. Think about it.
Everything is funny as long as it’s happening to someone else.” Judy
had looked nervous at first but had steadied herself.

“Bullying is easy to identify when it’s physical. When a stronger kid
picks on a weaker kid, hitting, kicking, pushing, choking, and
punching; we readily spot bullying. We all can recognize verbal
bullying. Threats can be as debilitating as the actual act. Taunting,
teasing, belittling, starting rumors, or hate speech all are bullying.”

There was a lot of nodding going on.

“But there is another kind of bullying that isn’t as easily recognized.
That kind occurs when students use their social position and the power
of that position to bully a student who they believe is not their
equal. That bullying involves exclusion from activities. Cassie is
bullying Melinda. Cassie has a social position as captain of the
cheerleaders. Melinda is a lowly sophomore. Cassie has said, ‘Melinda
will either do what I want and act the way I want her to act, or I will exclude Melinda from cheerleading.’ That’s bullying, and it’s wrong.”

“For the rest of the year, I’m going to try to help each of you
recognize all forms of bullying. I will put notecards on the bulletin
boards for you to use to report incidents of bullying to me. Just push
them through my locker’s ventilation slots. Locker number 418. I will
categorize and tabulate those incidents and will make a report to the
school next spring, along with recommendations on how bullying can best
be stopped. Step one is today. Stop this bully. Stop Cassie.”

We were staggered by the importance of what she was trying to
accomplish. Despite Principal Halsted’s ban on a show of support for
the speakers, people were agreeing with Judy and were psyched. Up until
a few days ago, I hadn’t talked to Judy in ages. I had been missing
out. She had really shown everyone. ~Good for Judy.~

The other three cheerleaders all said that Beth Marie had covered what
they were going to say. I would have respected them more if they had at
least tried to defend Cassie’s position. They all looked over at me and
tried to give me a little smile. Cassie was going to be upset.

Three other supporters of our cause said some very positive things
about Peaches. I was proud of my boyfriend. I didn’t want any other
girls getting ideas. I had found him first, and I was going to keep him.

Wayne Balyczek made his way to the microphone. He had to bend over to
talk into the microphone even though it was fully extended. He had
dated Sally Forest last year. They had doubled with Richie and me one
time. Wayne had been very sweet toward Sally.

“As a senior, I’ve been around this school for a long time. I’ve seen
good things and I’ve seen bad. I never thought I would see it as bad as
it’s gotten the last two years. I never thought I would be ashamed to
call myself a Ridge Runner. When did we start thinking we could tell
each other what to do? When did we start thinking we could label each
other? To tell Melinda she can’t demonstrate her feelings for Morgan is
wrong. I would like to see things change around here. I would like to
see some things go back to where they were a few years ago, and I would
like to see some other things move forward. We all have seen how
Melinda and Morgan have made everyone think. Let’s give them a chance
to see what they can do by supporting their efforts. — Judy, your idea
is one of the best things I’ve ever heard. If I catch anyone fooling
around with her bulletin boards or interfering with her project in any
way, they’ll wish they hadn’t.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself. Who said guys aren’t sensitive?
Wayne moved from my nice-guy column all the way over under the heading
of hero. If I wasn’t so captivated by Peaches, I would ask Wayne out.

Cassie’s eyes were darting around the room as she walked to the
microphone. She had used too much mascara. Her lipstick was all wrong
for early afternoon, and she must have used a trowel to put on her
foundation. That zit looked promising.

“I speak to you as the person who is charged with
maintaining school spirit. It isn’t easy being the captain of the
cheerleaders. Oh, sure. It’s an honor, but it’s hard work. We have to
pick out uniforms, hold those bake sales, wash cars, and learn all the
cheers. We were practicing already — way last spring. Some nights we
have to come in after school and practice. And for what — so Melinda
can make us all look bad by dressing up her Peach in her
uniform? I don’t think so. I’m not a bully. Anyone who says I’m a bully
is clueless. At least I don’t hit people. I could’ve gotten a black eye
when Melinda hit me. How would that have looked at our game? You owe it
to me to throw Melinda off the squad, to protect the good name of the
other cheerleaders.”

Cassie droned on past her five-minute limit. After the first thirty
seconds, she had said everything she had to say. There was quite a bit
of fidgeting. She was asking for pity. Her plea sounded greedy,
especially after what Judy had said.

I stood at the mike for about fifteen seconds without saying a word.
During that time I tried to make eye contact with as many people as I
could. There weren’t many frowns. Peaches gave me a big encouraging
grin. I went over my remarks in my head and deleted about half.

“Three days ago, Morgan and I planned to shake up Maple Ridge High
School. In the process, I found a terrific boyfriend and several other
new, outstanding friends. If I have to trade my membership on the
cheerleading squad for all that I’ve gained, I would consider that
grossly unfair. Unfair in that I would have enriched my life far, far
more than what I would be forced to give up.”

Not too many people bought that. ~All they see is an empty-headed cheerleader trying to be something she isn’t. I have to finish and hope they understand.~

“I was going to talk to you about free speech and sexism. Instead, I
want to talk to you about how great I feel. I’m truly very, very happy.
For the past few days, Peaches and I have been learning about the
happiness that comes to you when you’re trying to help other people be
more content in their lives. I admit we’ve been trying to motivate all
of you to examine your habits. Our reason wasn’t meanness or a sense of
self-importance. We did it because we believe there just might be a
better way. I don’t know if the other cheerleaders would be happy
giving their sweaters to their boyfriends. I do know they’ll never know
until they try. I’m asking you; please don’t stand in the way of trying
new things. Thank you for listening. And ... one way or the other,
let’s all go to the game and yell our loudest for the Ridge Runners.”

~I’m a cheerleader; it’s what I do.~

Principal Halsted asked the students to restrain themselves for a few
more moments. She reminded them that they had to vote for either my
expulsion from the squad or an immediate reinstatement with no further
harassment. She actually said, “Harassment.”

“Would all those who think Melinda Pryce should be expelled permanently from the cheerleading squad raise their hands?”

About twenty-five, who had spent their summer around the country club
pool, meekly put their hands in the air. As they looked around, many of
those hands were taken down.

“I’ll remind you all, once again, to keep these proceedings on a high
level, please; no displays. Would all those that believe Melinda should
be immediately reinstated with no further harassment, please raise
their hands?”

Almost five hundred hands went up.

A junior, John Kurt, yelled out, “Dude ... Peachguy! You should wear the entire cheerleading outfit next week.”

Peaches emphatically shook his head.

Principal Halsted stepped to the mike again. “The pep rally will
commence with a full cheerleading squad. Its duration will be twenty
minutes shorter than planned. John Kurt, see me out in the hall for
detention.” She turned from the microphone and waved Cassie and me to
her side.

“You two need to put this behind you. In a week, I’m going to meet with
the entire squad. I don’t expect to find that this incident has created
a split among the cheerleaders. If I do, neither of you will cheer for
Maple Ridge High again. Is that understood?” We nodded.

Cassie looked resigned to find another way to make my life miserable. I was too happy to care.

Stay tuned for Part 3: Peaches and Mel decide to go a bit deeper
into exploring Peaches’ femininity. Mel’s mother is very concerned
about her image, yet suddenly she seems to be very helpful. Peaches has
a birthday.

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