Later in the afternoon when I returned from college, Peter was sat in the dining room doing his homework. I asked if he’d had a good day at school before asking if anyone had noticed that he’d been wearing make-up. “No.” he replied, adding that he’d spent the whole day worrying about nothing. I asked if he had a lot of homework to do. “Not much.” he replied, telling me he’d be finished in half and hour or so.
“Cool.” I replied. I took myself to my room to find the burnt CD-R ejected from my laptop. I closed the tray and checked that it had transferred the images properly, then double checked my hard-drive to make sure I’d copied rather than moved them. I took my laptop down to the dining room and asked Peter if he minded me joining him. I sat and ejected the CD tray. “Here… a present for you.” I said, handing him the disc.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“About two-hundred and fifty pictures of you wearing nice clothes for a change.” I grinned. “I’ll get going on Sunday’s pictures and you can do Saturday’s.”
“I’ve got my homework to finish first.”
“I know… just letting you know so we don’t edit the same ones.”
I batch processed Sunday’s images, reducing them from their vast original size to a more manageable 1280×960 pixels, then each would need the head cropping off, and splitting to show just the top or skirt where necessary. We tapped away in relative silence for a while, until Peter said “I was looking at that school you and mum mentioned last night.”
“What school?”
“Ashford Academy… where the boys and girls all dress the same.”
“Oh that school!” I exclaimed. “Why?” I asked.
“Because I didn’t believe you.” he replied.
“And?”
“They’ve got a website.”
“Show me?” I asked as I got up and took the seat beside him. He typed ‘Ashford Academy, Kent’ into the search box and tapped ‘go’. The first result is the official .edu website. Beneath this is a number of news websites and headlines such as ‘controversial school storms local league tables’ and ‘new uniform rule triggers wave of transfers from Kent high school’. Peter clicked on the official website and from the home page, clicked on the ‘uniforms’ tab. I chuckled at the image of two pupils; a boy and a girl wearing almost identical uniforms. “He’s wearing ballet shoes.” I said.
“Is that a skirt or those clot things?” Peter asked.
“Culottes.” I corrected, before reading the description. “It says they are but they look very similar to the girl’s skirt.”
“It also says that boys can wear either culottes or a skirt.” Peter added.
“Which would you wear?” I asked.
“Culottes I guess… I’d rather wear shorts than a skirt.”
“Click on the gallery.” I suggested. Peter did and we browsed through the various images; kids in class, kids at play, kids cooking, doing science, reading, debating, receiving awards and so on. “It’s hard to tell which are the boys and which are the girls.” I said. Peter claimed that the boys have short hair and girls have long hair. I listed a couple of short haired girls we both know, before drawing his attention to a pupil with bunches and said “He’s definitely a boy.”
“No way.” Peter claimed before having a closer look. “Maybe.”
“Definitely.” I insisted.
“I hope you’re studying and not just surfing.” Mum said, popping her head around the dining room door. Peter told her that he’d pretty much finished his homework, before asking her opinion as to whether the pupil in question was a boy or a girl.
“What’s this?” Mum asked. We told her and she took a closer look at the enlarged image. “Boy.” she claimed, before asking why we’re looking at that particular website. “You’re not hoping to transfer are you?” she asked.
“No way!” Peter replied.
“Good, the bus fare to Kent would be extortionate.” Mum grinned. “Why are you looking at that school?” she asked again.
“Because I didn’t believe you so I did a search and found it… I was just showing Emma.” Peter replied. “Must be horrible having to go there.” he muttered.
“It wouldn’t be that bad… you’ve just spent two days wearing girl’s clothes and that wasn’t horrible.” I said.
“But that didn’t involve walking to and from school and all my mates seeing me.”
“If you went there all your mates would be wearing the uniform too… it’d be strange at first but I expect they get used to it soon enough.” I replied.
“Maybe.” Peter frowned.
“What’s this?” Mum asked, noticing a CD-R on the table with Peter’s Photos written on it. I told her and she asked if she could borrow it. I told her that Peter needs it to help me edit all the images I’ll be using to sell my old clothes on FleaBay. “Well, when you’ve done that, can I borrow it?” Mum asked.
“I guess.” Peter reluctantly replied. “…just…”
“I know.” Mum chirped. “I won’t show anyone.”