Alexa stood before her closet door and frowned. She shouldn’t be standing here, dithering over what dress to wear to the Homecoming dance but here she was, wondering if the red dress was too fancy and the blue one too plain. She didn’t want to buy a new dress just for a silly dance but she did want to look nice. She had the feeling Logan was going to dress to impress and she didn’t want to end up looking like his country cousin.
She took the red dress out and eyed it critically. Yeah, it would be OK. It had nice spaghetti straps with a sweetheart neckline and a skirt that flared out from an empire waist design. It was feminine but not excessively so; clean lines and a bit of black crinoline that gave shape to the skirt and peeked out from under the edge of the skirt.
Alexa hung the dress up and went over to her jewelry box. She opened it up and took out a pair of thin gold hoops and a thin gold necklace with a small ruby stone. She held the earrings up to her ear and looked in the mirror and smiled happily. This would look great with her dress. She was ready for the dance.
*****
Logan brushed the sleeve of the suit jacket with an admiring hand. He hadn’t known what to wear for the dance and out of sheer desperation, had posted a status on Facebook along the lines of, ‘what the hell do I wear to this thing? I don’t have a nice jacket.’ The next morning, Riley had rolled up to him and said, ‘Look. I’m not going to the dance. But I have this really sharp jacket that I think would fit you. If you’d like to borrow it, be my guest.’ Logan had thanked him profusely and had stopped by Riley’s house after school. After greeting Riley’s mom, he followed Riley to his bedroom where Riley had the jacket waiting on a hanger. Logan thanked Riley again, who shrugged a little but smiled, and then tried it on. It fit like it was made for him. He put it back on the hanger and carried it out to the car, carefully.
He pulled out a dark green dress shirt from his closet. The jacket was a dark charcoal that set off Logan’s colouring and eyes perfectly. He chose a snazzy tie and held it up to the shirt. Yeah, that looked sweet. He draped the tie over the suit and hung up the dress shirt next to the suit coat. ‘Take *that*, Frances,’ he muttered to himself. He was sure he could hold his own next to anything that Frances would wear. And besides, he was going with Alexa. Logan figured that made him the clear winner. He smiled and squashed down the guilty squirm in his belly at his thoughts.
*****
Frances flopped onto his bed. Ever since Alexa had excitedly told him that Logan asked her to the Homecoming dance, he’d been walking around in a black cloud. He knew he should be happy for her. She had a huge smile on her face and her eyes were lit up like stars; he just wanted her to look like that for him. Logan’s text a week ago made perfect sense, now. It was a pretty classy message, Frances had to admit. He didn’t think Logan had that sort of sense about him but he was proven wrong. Logan had written a sweet, respectful message and apparently sent it to the wrong person. Maybe it was for the best that Frances thought he was fooling around and sent a flippant response back. He figured after Logan received his response, it would take him a few days to grow a pair back and send Alexa that message. Frances grinned to himself as he imagined the look on Logan’s face when he saw Frances’ text back to him. Logan’s new phone was pretty sweet, too. Frances had wanted that model, himself, and was considering buying it when it was time to upgrade his phone but now he decided he’d wait and get the newer, better phone. It only made sense to him.
Anyway, Frances was going stag to the dance because Riley said he wasn’t going and he’d loaned his suit jacket to Logan so he could wear something dressy. Frances didn’t want to ask anyone else but Alexa and since that possibility was blown out of the water, he just decided to look as awesome as possible and show up everyone else.
He looked over at the suit hung up on his armoire and studied it with a critical eye. It was smartly cut and made his long, lean frame look even more slim and graceful. He had a dress shirt with french cuffs and some cufflinks that would show off the embroidered cuffs. He had his dress shoes polished to a mirror shine and he’d made an appointment to have his hair dyed a couple days before the dance. He was still trying to decide if he wanted to be a total noob and dye it in the school colours or if he’d do something a little more Bowie-ish. He was still up in the air about that.
He flung his arm across his eyes and sighed. He didn’t want to ruin what he and Alexa had together; he wouldn’t jeopardize that for the world. He just wished, sometimes, that their relationship was a little different. He wondered if a person could be someone’s best friend and boyfriend. He wished he could have explored that with Alexa. Damn.
Anyway, he’d be nice to Logan and give glowing compliments to Alexa that would have her blushing in that way she had that he adored. He sighed. It sucked trying to be a grown up.
*****
Miriam eyed the dress, warily. Her aunt had brought it over and said that she knew Miriam would absolutely look gorgeous in it. Miriam trusted her aunt’s judgment on most things but wasn’t sure she’d give her a dress that would make her look lovely. She didn’t want to look like second hand goods.
She touched the fabric and was surprised to find it was soft, softer than she’d first thought. OK, not so bad. She unfolded the dress and her mouth dropped open in an ‘O’ of oh, HELL no. The dress had splotches of colour all over it. It looked like someone had dripped random drops of paint and then let it spread out willy nilly. This wasn’t what she’d envisioned herself wearing to the Homecoming dance.
There was a knock on her door and she called out, ‘come in,’ with a subdued voice.
Her mom peeked around the door when she opened it and said, ‘Oh, honey. Did someone catch some butterflies and squash them to that fabric?’
Miriam giggled. ‘I know Auntie has a big heart and meant well but oh my....I can’t wear this. I’d be laughed at and I just...it’s hard enough being that girl that kids tease because I’m fat. I don’t want to add to it,’ she told her mom with a sob in her voice at the end.
Her mom held her arms out and Miriam came to her, resting her head against her mom’s shoulder. ‘I don’t mind, normally. I mean, it’s so stupid. I don’t look like a walking stick, so they feel they can make fun of me and stuff. And my friends...they’re so awesome.’ Miriam grinned at her mom, happily. ‘They’re like, whatever, and they like me for me. None of my friends treat me like I’m...like I’m this gross whale they’re being kind to, you know? It’s just...sometimes, I want people to look at me and see me for who I am, and it isn’t bad. And that they might go, ‘hey, wanna go out on a date?.’ That’d be really cool.’
‘I understand. Do you want my help with anything? Do you want me to talk to anyone?’ asked her mom.
‘No. I can handle it. I just ignore them. Frances is really funny. He says really awful things under his breath and has me giggling. Logan says I’m one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen. That’s really sweet, even though he’s totally gone for Alexa. And Alexa...she says I’m one of the best friends she’s ever had. And now that I’m getting to know people in the GSA club, they treat me like...like they don’t make a big deal out of my body or anything. One of the kids said that I’m curvy and that it looks great. Another kid said that she wished she had a body like mine because I look like I can kick ass. It’s really cool. But...I just want to wear a dress to Homecoming and feel like a queen. Even if I’m not the Homecoming queen, I can still give her a run for the money,’ said Miriam, her words tumbling over each other in a rush. She wasn’t thinking and she mentioned the GSA and oh god, what if her mom started asking questions? Like, ‘why do you go there?’ and what if she asked, ‘Miriam...do you...’ She almost missed her mom’s words.
‘Of course you can. Why don’t we go shopping? There is a new consignment store that opened up and I hear it has some pretty nice clothes for the ‘voluptuous figure’ as the ad said. I even have a fifty percent off coupon so I think we can find something a little extra special,’ said Miriam’s mom.
‘Oh, mom...that’s...wow...OK. Are you sure?’ Miriam asked, looking at her mom anxiously. Whew! Her heart was beating so fast. She was so glad her mom was focused on getting a dress for her, she must have not noticed Miriam’s slip up.
Her mom, Helen, smiled at her daughter, wiping a stray tear away from Miriam’s face. ‘As sure as I’ve ever been. I want you to feel as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside. Let’s get something that shows off your curves and has you glowing from head to toe, OK?’
‘OK! Um...what should we do with this dress?’ asked Miriam, looking at the dress she had flung onto her bed when her mother walked in.
Miriam’s mother raised an eyebrow and snorted. ‘I think I’ll make something useful out of that, instead. I’ll free those poor smooshed butterflies!’
Miriam laughed, the laughter belling out and her mother joined her. They grinned at each other and then left Miriam’s bedroom, leaving the dress behind.
*****
Riley just couldn’t make himself do it. Fortunately, he had all the right answers to offer to his parents when they asked, pulled him aside and leaned low with that flash of concern knitting their brows (he’d grown all too familiar with that look for the last year and a half) -- “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the dance?”
I’m sure, he’d said, once... a thousand times. There’s no one at school who I would even dream of asking. School dances are a waste of time and money, just an excuse to get drunk and have sex, and I know you don’t want me doing that... right?
The things he didn’t say were... a little less reassuring.
I thought this was going to be the year. The year when I started taking steps into who I really am. The year when I could look someone in the eye and ask them out and they’d be answering the real me. The year when I would dance on two fully-functional legs. The year when I asked you, quiet but firm, over my birthday dinner, to call me your daughter.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t face the dance, or even the idea of the dance, stuck like this.
*****
“What do you think, Dad?” Daisy asked, brushing her hands over the front of her knee-length skirt. She did a quick turn, feeling the fabric swirl out around her knees, her tights and bike shorts underneath keeping the act from turning lecherous or obscene.
“I think you look very nice, Daze. You know that -- I always think you look gorgeous.” Uh oh, Daisy thought -- here comes the ‘but.’ What would it be this time? The bow in her hair? The hint-of-color chapstick she’d applied and removed about a hundred times in front of her bathroom mirror. Was her top too tight? Her hair around her shoulders too suggestive? Her simple flats a promise of something far more deviant than a night of dancing? “But I just don’t understand why you want to go to this thing in the first place.” Mr. St. Clair set down his book and stood, coming towards Daisy. “You hardly have any friends to speak of, you don’t enjoy worldly music, and you don’t have a special boy to dance with.” His face froze.
“You *don’t* have a special boy, do you, Daisy?”
She could feel herself shrinking, her hands twisting into the fabric of her skirt. She didn’t -- she wasn’t doing anything wrong. So why did her father make her feel like she had?
“You know I don’t, Daddy. I just want to see how they live, how they spend their free time. You know we have to minister to each soul in its own way.”
Mr. St. Clair’s face softened. “Back before ten, Daze,” he said, brushing a hand over her head and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Daisy could feel her resolve returning. She straightened up. Why should she feel like a prisoner -- interrogated! -- in her own home? When she was doing nothing wrong!
As the door closed behind her, Daisy dug around in her small purse for the lipstick she hadn’t dared put on in the house. She hadn’t planned for it, but now that she had the opportunity, Daisy darkened her lips and wondered if anyone, if any *special boys* would ask her to dance.
*****
If anyone asked her, Wendy would assume a casual posture, shrug a single shoulder and smile lazily. She’d say “Oh, I just threw this together. You really like it?” when in fact, Wendy had been planning her outfit for Homecoming for weeks. Normally, she couldn’t get behind such blatant displays of heterosexual mating (and the inevitable slut shaming and date rape that would spin outward from the evening like a toilet flush) like school dances, but thanks to the GSA taking off, Wendy felt a little more confident.
And confidence, along with a well-tailored suit jacket, looked pretty damn good on her. After braiding her hair close to her head and leaving the back smooth to her shoulders, Wendy dressed in a blue dress shirt, black pants, and the piece de resistance, her jacket. It would probably come off once the dancing really started, but for now at least, Wendy felt proud, beautiful, and visible. She’d probably be the only one at the dance wearing pants -- the only one who wasn’t expected to, that is -- and that was actually okay.
Her mom had complained about her precious little girl going to the dance looking like a boy -- “You know Gramma won’t want to see a picture of that,” and her father had raised an eyebrow when Wendy slipped her car keys into the pants’ pocket instead of a purse (or her usual tote bag), but all of that slipped behind Wendy. Tonight wasn’t about all that bullshit. The heterosexuals could drink and fuck, the pretty blonde girls could wear the crowns. Wendy was going to be herself.
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