Twenty minutes later and the driver announced over the Tannoy that the next stop was Denbury. I quickly checked my makeup before getting my handbag and case ready. The train pulled to a halt and I nervously joined the queue of people waiting to alight. Once on the platform, I checked the time; 10.22 and asked the nearest guard which platform I needed for the next train to Beckford. “Platform 4 son,” he said cheerily. “Half term is it?” he smiled, looking me up and down.
“Yes,” I replied. I felt myself begin to blush.
“St Ursula’s is it?” he asked.
“Yes.” I gulped.
“Well you’ll be looking forward to a week in pants eh?” he chuckled, glancing down at my lower half.
“Yes sir.” I smiled. “Thank you sir,” I said before making my way to platform 4. I checked the time; 10.25. I checked the time the 10.30 train was expected; 10.39. “Ten minutes late.” I sighed. I glanced up and down the platform, hoping no one that knew me was waiting for the same train. I glanced down at my shoes and socks, then turned to see my reflection in the waiting room window. I made sure the tops of my knee socks were straight before checking my reflection once more. Then a face caught my attention through the window, its eyes looked directly into me. I turned my back, fearful I’d been recognized. Paranoia told me their eyes were burning into my back, so I walked a few yards down the platform and out of their field of view.
I perched on a vacant bench, opened my handbag, checked my make-up in my vanity mirror, and reapplied my lipstick. If I want to be mistaken for a girl I’d better act like one, I figured as I made sure every strand of my fringe was straight. This was easier said than done with the chilly autumn breeze dancing around me as it made its way along the platform. I put my vanity mirror away and made sure my skirt was straight. I used to wonder how girls coped with only a little skirt between them and the wind. I imagined the chill would bite into their exposed flesh, but it’s not so bad in reality. Although keeping my knees and ankles together makes all the difference.
Finally, the connecting train arrived and I spent the next twenty minutes worrying that I’d be recognized as the train rolled closer and closer to my hometown. The same twenty minutes I spent wondering how I’d react. Would I run? On a train? Where to? And in these shoes! Would I stand my ground? If so, what could I say? “Yeah, I’m dressed as a girl! What of it?” or “I’m at boarding school and all the boys dress like girls.. I don’t want to dress like this, I have to!”. Truth be told I have no idea how I’d react if I’m spotted. All I can hope for is I look so much like a girl that nobody will see the boy I am.
I checked my makeup again and reapplied my lipstick. St Ursula’s is a school where pristine hair, perfect makeup, and a spotless uniform is as important as our academic studies. As such, the teachers encourage us all to pay particular attention to our appearance. Each class starts with an inspection and ends with us inspecting ourselves. We carry our handbags everywhere as they hold our stationery, pocket money, ID card, vanity mirror, make-up, and tissues. At first, I found applying eye-liner and mascara nigh on impossible but now it’s second nature. I carefully arranged my fringe again before closing the mirror, replacing it, and closing my handbag. I looked out of the window. The outskirts of my hometown would soon be in view.
A few nervous minutes passed before an announcement over the Tannoy informed me that the next stop would be Beckford. As long as I pass as a proper girl between the station and home, I should be OK. The train ground to a halt and I nervously alighted. I kept my head down as I walked down the platform towards the exit. So far so good… until “Peter! Peter!!”
I looked up and saw my mother waiting for me. She trotted towards me and gave me a big hug. “Oh I’ve missed you,” she said as she squeezed the air out of me. She pecked me on the cheek before stepping back and looking me up and down. “Well don’t you look nice.” she grinned.
I gulped. “They wouldn’t let me come home in my own clothes,” I said mournfully.
“Well, I’m glad they didn’t.” Mum grinned, looking me up and down once more. “I’ve been dying to see how you look.” she gushed. “Your make-up looks nice too. Very pretty.” she smiled.