Becoming Her (Trans)

Chapter 12

For the next few hours, I haven't had to pretend to be Matthew the "Hulking Jock", as Joey the mega bitch had described me when we first met. Instead, I was Miya the "Girl in the Wrong Body". The women were happy to include me in the event the manager never had to be involved in any serious arguments. 

Not only did I have fun dancing and singing along to the songs playing on the speakers, some of the regulars there offered me make-up tips, hair style tips, etc. I don't know how they know I need them, but I gotta say the pieces of advice will definitely help in the future. 

So, I become a little sad when the bartender shouts out, "Last call!" Some of the people who wants a last drink hurries to the bar section to get them. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and start my way out the club. Darlene's still by the door, and she's eyeing me. It could be she has a question she wants to ask me. 

I nod at her. "Thank you for letting me stay here," I say. "It was a lot of fun."

Darlene smiles. "Any time, hon. If you want, there's going to be another Ladies' Night here next Wednesday." She grabs her purse and puts her wallet in. 

"That'll be great," I reply. "I hope to see you here then." We shake hands, and I go to my car. As soon as I get in the driver's side, my phone is buzzing furiously. I pick it up and answer. "Yeah?"

"Where are you?!" Mom exclaims. "You were supposed to come home after you finished your homework." Her tone is harsh; she's probably still pissed about Kelly. 

I check the time on the stereo. "It's only 9 o'clock," I say. "Besides, the school's giving out more homework than eve--"

"Don't you start lecturing, young man." I flinch. "I'm your mother, and what I say goes. Right now, you need to get home." Mom hangs up on me without even bothering to wait for my defense. 

Growling, I put my phone down and go on my way home. If I was a cartoon, steam would be blowing out of my ears. I understand why Mom's acting like a strict parent, but it's as if she almost never listens to us anymore. 

_______

Kelly smirks at me on my way to my room. "You're in trouble," she sing-songs. 

"Shut up."

My sister rolls her eyes at my comeback and plugs her earbuds in. "Whatever," she says. "I have awesome shit to listen to before the dragon comes up to yell at me again." She slams her bedroom door. 

I mutter, "That's great to hear." I gently close my door behind me, leaning against it. After a few seconds, I get off to go under my bed. I lift up the huge blanket to see the heels I stashed here a couple of weeks ago. 

Now that I felt the courage to let Miya out, even for a few hours, I hope to let her out a little more. I'm curious as to how the heels would feel on my feet. I reach under my bed and grab the shoes. Letting the blanket fall over the hole, I sit up to try them on. It takes a bit, what with me being so used to wearing running shoes, until I feel the pumps fit nice and snug. 

If I was a normal person, I'd be standing up and strutting around my room like I own it. But because I'm, well, me, I just look down at them with a stupid smile on my face. I'm so pretty! The 4-year-old me says. I don't hesitate to agree with the child me. 

Slinging my arm over my bed, I get up and wobble a little. As much as I've wanted to wear high heels, it doesn't mean I actually know what the hell I'm doing. I take a shaky step forward, and I immediately trip. I catch myself in time, and pick myself up again. Taking a deep breath, I try again. 5 minutes and several footsteps later, I'm getting the hang of it. I'm still smiling like an idiot, but at the moment I don't care. I'm wearing high heels!

Suddenly, I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I hurriedly kick off the pumps and shove them under my bed. I've barely stood up when Mom barges in. She has on a look of anger.

"Matthew! What you did was irresponsible!" Mom starts. I've notice the wild hand gestures. She only uses them when she's angry. I bet if I tie her hands up and try to make her angry, she'd be mute. "I expected it from Kelly, not you!"

Hiding the snicker from the image, I bow my head down. "Sorry," I mutter. "The homework was taking me longer to do."

"You're lying," Mom accuses. "Ever since you were in first grade, you were able to complete them fast and easy. Now," she crosses her arms, "what were you really doing for the last few hours?"

Instead of answering her, I defend myself. "My English teacher is giving us only a few days for an assignment, and she hasn't told us much on what we're supposed to be writing about." The lie comes out quick. I don't know if I should be proud or ashamed.

She glowers at me. "Don't talk back to me like that," she says. "If I ask you a question, then I darn better get an honest answer from you. Are we clear?"

I don't answer.

"Are. We. Clear?" Mom punctuates every word sharply.

I purse my lips. "Yes," I say. 

She uncrosses her arms, but doesn't leave yet. "Where were you?" she repeats. 

Looking at her in the eye, I calmly say, "I was at the coffee place at Subway, drinking hot chocolate and doing my homework." I don't say anything else. Hopefully, Mom doesn't press on further. Just because I can lie doesn't make me a good liar. I learned that the hard way in third grade with what I like to call the "Pencil Incident".

Don't ask. It's too embarrassing for me to explain. 

Mom stares at me for a long second before looking satisfied. "From now on, if you're going somewhere, text me. If you're going to come home late, text me. If you're even going to your job--"

"Text you," I finish flatly.

"Good. We understand each other." She pauses. "Right?" I nod. Mom nods back and turns her heel. As soon as she leaves the room, I exhale, not realizing I was holding my breath for about a minute. 

Since Mom hasn't closed the door on her way out, I do so. I then look at my bed, where I know the prized possession is located at. I want to wear them again, but think twice. Once is enough for the night.