Boy in a Girl's Body

Chapter 2

I just make to to my room to gather my books and crap together, when I hear the distinct sound of bells and $5 metal bracelets clanging. A wild Ashley has appeard. I throw my books in my black backpack, waiting for her to break the silence in the charming way that only a snotty thirteen year old can.

"You don't look any different, you know. I can still tell you're a girl," her voice came oozing out of her mouth in this weird nasal tone that she had suddenly picked up when she started middle school. What was supposed to come across as sophisticated, really only sounded like she had a nasty head cold. But I wasn't going to be the one to piss on her parade.

I barked out my reply, not bothering to look at her, a tiny bit of anger bubbling up inside me. Those words had been meant to sting, but being just as nasty to her wasn't something I had in me right now. I had more important things to worry about. Like, how to avoid getting the crap beat out of me, or chained to a wall, forced to wear a dress.

"It's what's inside that matters, Ashley. And, inside, I'm a guy. Always have been." Ashley was standing with her hand on her hip, draped in pastel colors, a flowered shirt and a skirt that, in my opinion, was way too short for someone her age. But, what did I know about fashion. The only color I paid attention to was black, and my idea of a great accessory was anything with chains or spikes. This was just one of the million things about Ashley and I that made us complete opposites.

 I had always thought that when we were older, the gap would be bridged, and we could form some sort of bond, but right now, that didn't seem possible.

She just needs some time. She's young, she'll feel differently when she gets older and accepts it. Just give her some time.

I flicked her square in the forhead as I sauntered past her, book bag over my shoulder. I tossed my a look back at Ashley, smiling despite the pout on her face.

"Are you coming or what? You're gonna be late for school."

Ever since I had gotten my lisence my mother had put me in charge of driving Ashley to and from school. It didn't bother me at all, since her school was just down the street, but I knew that having to get a ride from her tranny he/she of a sibling was destroying her social stock. I felt bad about it, I really did. Ashley had always been concerned about what otther people thought of her, not like myself. She wanted the entire social experience that come from middle school and high school. You didn't get invited to the cool parties if you were the sister of the tranny freak. That, of course, goes without saying.

Ashey sighed, stomped down the hall after me, ignore our dear mother's enthusiastic wishes that she have a nice day.  She doesn't know how good she has it. We stomped out to the car, squeezing into my small, off blue car. It was by no means new, but I didn't have to pay for it, so I wasn't complaining. Ashley flipped the radio to some pop/rmb station that plays the same 10 songs all day, kicking her feet up on the dashboard like she owned the place. She stared out the window, determind not to make eye contact with me, or say anything for the duration of our ride. 

I sighed to myself, the tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. I touched the back of my neck, a smile breaking through my anxiety. I loved my hair, I loved how it made me feel so much better about myself. So much more comfortable in my own skin. I felt more like the real me than I had in years. It was so crazy that a simple change in hair style could have this big of an impact on my self-esteem. Just one of those transgender things.

 I pulled out of the driveway, making my way to the middle school without saying anything to the blob of angsty pre-teen energy in the passanger seat. I choked down the repetative, slightly offensive songs, sliding up to the curb in the drop off area in the front of the cluster of brick buildings. Kids stood in groups, clustes, pairs, even a few loners speckled here and there. Differences in style and taste were clear, who was in was a plain as day. As for who was not, you could tell by the way that they hung thier heads, trying not to be seen, or the defiant glares of the mini-punks and goths. 

I had just rolled to a stop when Ashley flew from the car like it was on fire. I didn't wait for a goodbye, just following the line of minivans on out of the circle and on to my own personal hell.