One wall of the studio is one big mirror in which Peter could see the entire class, dancing away in four long rows. All are dressed identically and he is definitely one of them. Seemingly all of the older girls have their hair tied tightly in a bun. Whereas bunches are common on those his own age or younger. He becomes conscious of his own mopped hair that just flops up and down… much like his exceedingly short skirt. “One, two, three, on-the. Beat, two, three, four. Good, two, three, four.” the teacher claps

The sound of some 20-30 pairs of feet, all tapping away in near perfect rhythm fills his senses. He closed his eyes for a moment and just danced and listened to the sound. “This is awesome.” he thought as he opened his eyes. He looked at the reflection of the entire class and for a brief moment he wondered which one’s me? “…two, three, on-the. Beat, two three, four. Good, two, three…” the teacher continued as she paced up and down.

The only thing that set him apart from all these girls was his white knee high pop socks (they all wore tights) and his hair. Their skirts flicked up way beyond the knicker line just as his did. If it wasn’t for his leotard, he and all the other girls would be flashing their underwear at the end of every fourth bar! He knew he should feel more embarrassed than he does in his short bouncy skirt, but seeing as this is part and parcel of a tap dancing class, it’s fine. “…two, three, on, the-Beat, two, three, good” the teacher claps as Peter tries to keep up.

He looks at his feet and listens to the beat… making sure he taps in time. His short bouncy skirt sways this way and that and he wonders why boys don’t wear shorts instead. He looked back to the mirror and took in the entire scene of dancing feet and bouncing skirts once more. He imagined he’d look out of place out if he was the only one not wearing a skirt. “On the beat Peter… good! Three, four” the dance teacher clapped, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“…three, four. Use your arms Carol, four. its-Not river dance, four. Like, me, three, four. Good Peter…” she went on. Peter did feel very self conscious being the only boy in a room full of girls, but every time he glanced in the mirror he knew he didn’t stand out too much. He was only one small part of a tap dancing troupe and was enjoying every minute of it.

Once the class is over, a gabble of girls encircled Peter and tell him he was really good “…for a boy” and other such misandrous compliments. The teacher claps her hands loudly and tells the girls to stop chatting and go and change. “I have another class after this one!” she states. The girls disperse and Miss Baxter asks Peter if he’s enjoyed his first class.

“Yes miss.” he replies, glancing at his sister.

“Well I think you’re not only very talented, but you’re also a very brave boy… so I’m more than happy for you return next week.” she smiles.

“Yes!” Sally exclaims as her brother says thank you and smiles appreciatively.

“You don’t mind joining in a class full of girls?” the teacher asked.

“No miss.” he replied, looking down at his costume. “I mean, I felt a bit silly at first but after a while it was OK.” he explained.

“Normally boys wear shorts or track pants.” Sally said.

“But there was only this in the changing room and I thought…” Peter replied, bashfully glancing at the other girls, “Everyone else is wearing one.” he adds, shyly thumbing the hem of his skirt

The teacher smiled the broadest of grins. “I think there’s been a bit of a mix up.”

A full on blush crossed Peter’s face as he realises his error. Miss Baxter explains that she only expected him to change his shoes. “You didn’t have to change your clothes too.”

“You mean… I wasn’t supposed to wear this?” he asked as the grinning teacher shook her head. Peter cast his mind back to when he was sent to the changing room. He did think he’d only be changing his footwear but when he saw the leotard hanging there, he thought Mrs Baxter must have meant that he had to change his clothes too. Everyone else wore a black leotard and tiny skirt and that’s exactly what was waiting for him in the changing room. Had he realised that it was just left there, rather than put there for him, he’d have only changed his shoes. Why does hindsight always come to late, Peter glumly thought as he looked down at himself. “Sorry.” he said.