“Young Master Yu, your breakfast is ready.” I slap my hand on the nightstand, feeling for my glasses. I think the maid is pulling back the curtains since something bright is hitting my face. One of my eyes opens and looks around. Putting on my glasses, I notice a tray of hot tea and toast at the foot of my bed. It motivates me to sit up and stretch. Father’s daily journal assignment waits for me by my studies. My eye lid twitches. When was he in here? No, more like: How much does he know?
The maid mixes in some sugar into my pot of tea and butters my toasts. “Young Master, if there’s anything you need at all, I’ll be at your beck and call.”
“Thank you, Shina.” Shina bows down and leaves. With a piece of toast in my mouth, I scratch my head. I wonder if Jean’s awake yet. Jean—the memory of yesterday: wearing a skirt out in public view, and putting on hair extensions in the restroom—all of these things come back to me.
Right. My solution to Jean’s problem…Digging through my backpack, I see the female uniform and hair extensions from yesterday. My eye lid twitches again. Right. It seems that cross-dressing will be a new hobby of mine, for now.
Grabbing the daily journal assignment, I write my feelings and goals down. I reread what I wrote, tore the page out, and started writing again. No matter what I write, the words cross-dress and Jean keeps popping up. Yes, maybe a surprise approach to Jean’s problem was a bad move on my part, but the promise we made lingered in my mind.
No matter, I’ll make this work somehow. My pencil pauses as a thought occurs to me. What is it about girls is Jean afraid of? It sounds silly, but fear affects people in different ways. Is Jean scared of girls because of their appearance or the way they act? Heck, I’m a man that’s choosing to be like a girl for his friend’s sake; I need to know. It’ll be a waste of my time if Jean’s isn’t scared of a girl’s looks and I don’t mean how they look before applying make-up.
I made a silent agreement with myself that I would cross-dress after school. It’d be too much of a pain if another new student shows up out of the blue. Adjusting my glasses when I got to school, I sit at my desk in class and watch Jean talk with the guys across the room. If none of this cross-dressing ever started, everything would be the same—well, it’s not like anything changed. Jean’s still afraid of girls. We have all of our classes, breaks, and lunches together. Most importantly, for the girls’ safety, Jean gets to do her own gym activities, separately.
Yes, maybe I was overthinking too much. After all, I’m her fear-coach. I have to make her comfortable around girls if I ever want to have a normal life again. My eyes glance over at Jean and her eyes lock on mine in an instant. She gives me her toothy grin to let me know that she’s okay. I grab a book from my backpack and start reading. I really need to get Jean off my mind.
Without fail, the professor’s lectures and assignments were so powerful that I fell into my zone. I didn’t care about the person next to me or the girl that was chewing her gum way too loud in the back corner. My eyes were on the board and my pencil did all it could to keep up with the quick notes. Weird. In the future, I shall conduct an experiment on how lectures and assignments motivate students. I don’t know. Just looking at things from a psychological viewpoint makes everything…interesting.
The bell rings and we get our fifteen minute break. The door slides open and Student Council President, Lola Annette, walks in with a checklist and pen. “Kenji. Jean. Follow me.” She wags her index-finger like we were dogs. I see Jean’s hands shake as she stands up. I follow behind her, ready to tackle Jean down if she sprints for safety or if she wants to land a black eye on Lola. “There are some props in the theatre room that I would like both of you to get. Naturally, my height isn’t the best at getting things.” She says all of this without looking up from her checklist. Jean tightens her fist, and I didn’t blame her. Out of the three of us, Jean’s height is the disadvantage and Lola’s only an inch shorter than me. What sort of game is she playing?
Well, Jean managed to control her anger as Lola led us to the storage room. She finally looked up from her checklist. “Jean, there are a few boxes up there I need you to get.” She points to the tallest shelf and slides over a ladder. Did the world go upside down while I was sleeping or what? Holding back any expression on my face, I look down at Jean.
Her eye lid twitches. Her lips are pursed, like she wanted to say something. Maybe her fear of girls—gynophobia—got the best of her. Jean did as she was told, but she took her steps up the ladder a little louder than she would if she were happy. Lola tugs my arm and leads me deeper into the storage room.
Like a jar of beans, her mouth spills in whispers. “He seems comfortable around me.” I see. She’s indirectly part of the “Let’s-help-Jean-Squad”, but I wouldn’t say Jean felt friendly-friendly with Lola.
“What’s this all about?”
Lola writes something on her checklist. “As Council President, it’s my job to make all students feel welcome and comfortable with one another.” She pushes aside a rack of clothes, and I lean over to look. Even though she is on the ladder, Jean could barely reach the boxes on the top shelf. Lola tugs my arm and leads me deeper into the storage. There’s a crash where Jean was, but Lola has a hold on my sleeve. “I guess there’s another reason why I’m doing this too.” Her voice is faint, but mine felt like it was going two octaves higher.
I take a step back, but Lola takes a step closer. Who turned the temperature up in this room? I guess, this is the game Lola wants to play. I guess I had it coming to me right from the beginning. She could have picked any other theatre student, but she chose me and Jean. Jean, so Lola could have some sick entertainment, watching a poor shorty reach for boxes. Me? Why, Lola’s a slippery snake that likes to have someone in her grasp, that’s what rumors say. No wonder so many Student Council members are never fully the same, emotionally and socially. I’m stuck. My back’s against a wall, and we’re hidden behind racks of costumes and props. I don’t hear Jean. Is she trying to find me?
Lola reaches to touch my hair, but I slap the hand away. Her mouth drops. “Nguyen..?” In a way, I’m sort of glad she didn’t use my first name. Using the gentleman skills I still have left in me, I do what any dear gentleman would do in this kind of situation.
I push Lola back. “Look, I don’t like you in that way, Ms. Annette.”
“Nicely said, Sherlock.” Lola and I turn our heads. Emerging from a rack of costumes is Jean, wearing a gray cloak, a pillow under her shirt to represent a fat stomach, and a bubble-pipe in her mouth. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Dr. John H. Watson.
Jean blew into the pipe and mini-scented bubbles float around us. Getting a good grip on my hand, Jean pulls me out of the darkness. What a scenery change. I know Jean’s wearing a wig and colored contacts, but I can see her, the real Jean. The Jean I’ve always known. The Jean I met so many years ago.
To say the least, my mind wandered off for the rest of the day. When the bell rang for us to go home, I waited for the class to empty before following Jean to our hangout vending machine. I told Jean that fear lessons would be starting in a few minutes, and she basically spat all of her apple juice at my face. She tried to run for it, but I lifted her up and carried her damsel-in-distress style.
She wouldn’t keep still. Her mouth shot off into space. “Let me go! Help!”
I led her to a restroom by the gyms before I went inside. I made Jean swear to her grave that she would wait outside while I…changed into something less comfortable.
“It’s not like anyone will come and see your figure,” Jean said. I can hear her lean against the door.
“Safety precaution,” I remind her. Opening my backpack, I start changing. It’s funny. I didn’t care about wearing a skirt or putting on hair extensions yesterday. I guess I was so focused on surprising Jean that my mind just flew over the idea of cross dressing. Licking my lips, I knock on the restroom door.
“You ready?” Jean asks. If I could describe her voice, it sounds like she’s dying but she’s spared, for now.
“No, but can I ask you something?” I hear Jean shift her leaning body around.
“Fire away, princess.”
“What about girls are you scared of?” I half-expected Jean to fluster and mumble under her breath, but all’s quiet beyond the restroom door. “Jean?” I put my ear by the door. I can her shift her leaning posture.
Jean signs. “It’s hard to say. Girls are pretty scary by looks alone, but I just feel uneasy even if I don’t look at them.” She doesn’t elaborate and I don’t push her. It’s best to take things slow and let Jean open up on her terms. Pulling the skirt over my gym shorts, I hear Jean playing her video game. The volume’s off, but her thumbs tap the buttons like there’s no tomorrow.
Video games always made Jean happy. Maybe I should sneak in some girl games into her game boy. Then again, I’ll be digging my own grave, but how can I help her? How far can I go? No…How far is she willing to let me go? Jean’s shaky fists the other told me she wanted to beat the snot out of me. At least she had the common curtesy to say, “Hi.”
“Jean, can I ask you another question?” I still hear Jean tapping away on her game boy. I bite my lip. “Jean, are you scared of your own reflection?” The tapping stops. Did I unleash Godzilla or will Jean cut my legs off? It’s funny. For as long as I’ve known Jean, I never bother to ask her questions like this. I jump when the door gets pushed open. Is the going to jump me? No. I can hear her a lot clearly now.
“Truthfully, no. I guess since my fear of girls is so bad, I’m not scared of myself. It’s hard to explain.” She pauses, probably searching for the right words. “If you see yourself every day, are you really going to faint every time you see your own reflection? Sounds stupid to me.”
Hmm…There’s something more that’s behind this fear than she’s letting me know, but I figure Jean’s done with questions for today. I put on my extensions, fix myself a high ponytail, and signal Jean that I’m coming out. I take a deep breath, running the imaginary checklist in my head. Hopefully, Jean’s mind will still remember that I’m a guy under girl’s clothing, a fellow sheep wearing wolf’s fur. I push the door and Jean’s gone. Correction. Jean’s hiding behind a potted plant.
“L-Let’s get this f-fear t-training started.” She raises a shaky arm.
These upcoming lessons have to be accurate if I’m going to help Jean. If I’m going to look like a girl, I have to start acting like one. I put my hands on my hips and imitate Lola’s voice. “Come on, Jean. As Student Council President, It’s my obligation to make sure each and every student is comfortable with one another.” That tips Jean over the edge.
“Never use that voice again.” Yeah, I know I’m digging myself a grave now. Jean’s on the defense. “That girl…She’s the worst of the worst. She tried to be funky with you earlier.”
How can I forget? It wasn’t a good memory to keep, and I still feel chills every time I think about it. Okay, not the best start of lessons.
If light bulbs appear when you have ideas, there should be one above my head right now. “Alright, first lesson: Let’s unleash the stored violence and anger you’ve got bottled inside your heart.” Digging through my backpack, I pull out a picture of Lola and some markers and push it towards Jean’s hiding spot. She takes it. Silence.
“Why the heck do you have her picture?”
“Instead of hurting me during our lessons, you can vandalize something to get yourself calm.” Jean pops the caps off, and stabs the markers onto Lola’s picture. A good five minutes later, Lola looks more like mud than usual. I figure it’s safe to go towards Jean now. I put a soft hand on her shoulder. Imitating her voice, I say,
“Alright Jean, you can do this.” Jean touches my hand and looks up. Her hands and arms start shaking before she passes out on the floor. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I document the result.
“It seems that a head-on approach yields little to nothing.”
ns 15.158.61.20da2
