As we prepared to board the bus and make our way home, Miss O’Neill told me that she’d put the photo she’d taken of Becky and me on the school website, before saying ‘well done’ for taking part. “I know it’s not easy being the new boy in a mixed girl’s school…” she said, “…but you seem to be settling in quite well.”
“Oh er… thanks Miss.” I replied.
“When I arrived home, Mother asked me how the day trip was and I told her all about it, including the photo of me and Becky that will be put on the school’s website. “Oh let’s have a look!” Mother said.
“It won’t be there yet!” I claimed. Mother checked anyway and low & behold, there it was. With the bonnet covering my short hair, it’s hard to tell that I’m a boy, I figured. “Oh don’t do that Mother!” I whined.
“Why not?” Mother asked as a full colour A4 glossy print slowly shuffled out of the printer.
“Because you’ll show it to everyone.” I sighed. Mother told me that ‘everyone’ can see it on the website anyway, before asking after the girl who’s dressed as ‘my’ ladies maid. “That’s Becky Jacobs.” I replied, “She’s playing the lead in the school play.” I added.
Mother asked if I had a part in the play too, but I told her I was helping with the scenery. “Oh that’s a shame?” Mother replied. “Oh… a latter came today… from school.” she added.
“What about?” I cautiously asked as a letter home can often mean trouble.
“Prom week.” Mother said as she fetched the envelope.
“Prom week?” I asked.
“Aha.” Mother nodded as she pulled the letter from the envelope. “The last week in June is prom week and each year has their own Prom in the school hall.” she read. “Jane’s is on the Wednesday evening and yours is on the Tuesday… and you know what day that is?” she asked with a hint of joy. I shrugged cluelessly, but then thought. “It’s your birthday!” Mother announced.
I’d never been to a Prom before and to be honest, the concept didn’t really gel with me. Mother handed me the letter and I skim read it. Last week of June blah blah, year seven on Monday blah blah year eleven on Friday 6.00pm until 8.00pm, buffet, disco, dance, presentations. “Do we have to go?” I asked.
“Well you don’t have to go but it is your birthday.” Mother replied.
Jane emerged and asked “Have to go were?” Mother told her about prom week and I passed her the letter. Being a girl, she was naturally a lot more excited than I, and reading the letter to the end, she read out a detail that I hadn’t noticed. “Students are advised to wear party dresses and girls in years 10-13 may wear ball gowns.” she stated before pining about not being in year ten and therefore is not allowed to wear a ball gown. Mother said there’s a fine line between a party dress and ball gown and was sure she’d look lovely anyway. “I wonder what Mathew will look like in a party dress?” she said in an almost accusational tone.
“I don’t ‘have’ to wear a dress do I?” I whined, before insisting that I wouldn’t go if I did.
“But it’s your birthday.” Mother said. “You don’t want to be all on your own at home when all your friends are having fun at the Prom.”
“I don’t want to spend it dressed as a girl either.” I sulked.
“Well it is a school day, so you’ll be dressed as a girl anyway.” Mother retorted, “And I was toying with the idea of maybe buying you a nice dress or something…” she paused and smiled at me then looked down at my skirt and legs. “…something that isn’t your uniform.”
“Why?” I whined.
“Because it’ll be nice.” Mother claimed. “Like I say, I was only toying with the idea… I was going to ask you first.” she told me. “I wouldn’t have just gone and bought you one.” she added. I cast her a pursed smile and said I’d rather not have a dress. “I know but… now you’ve got a Prom to go to you’ll need one.” my mother said as a huge grin swept her face. Of course I instinctively had a further moan about this, but Mother reminded me that all the other boys will be wearing dresses too. Then I light went on in her mind. “I’ll bet there’s photos from last years Prom on their website.” she said as she began to search the web pages on her laptop. “Oh, show your sister your photo.” Mother suggested.
“Wow that looks amazing!” Jane said as she looked at the photo of me in an 18th century dress and my classmate dressed as a lady’s maid.
I told her how tight the corset felt, and how heavy it was. “There must have been ten layers!” I exclaimed, trying to recall them all.
“I’d love to try on a dress like that!” Jane stated. I played the experience down and said I’d have preferred it if my teacher had selected someone other than myself. After a moment observing every detail of mine and Becky’s attire, Jane looked at me and asked, “You’ve worn that in front of your class and you’re worried about wearing a prom dress?” she paused before adding, “Boys are weird.”
“No we’re not… we’re just not used to dressing like girls… That’s all.” I replied.
“Well you’re more used to it now that you was at Easter.” Jane replied. “And you said yourself it’s not so bad.”
“Yeah but that doesn’t mean I like it.” I retorted.