DISGUYSED

Things I'll Never Say

The next morning, I woke up to 20-pound bags being dropped on my stomach.

When I arrive in Chicago, I’ll have to visit the nurse, thanks to Victoria packing my bags early for me. She’d loaded them up with all my necessities. The gauze for over my chest, a bunch of hand-me-down boy clothes from my college brother, and even my other whoreish sisters' old ex-boyfriend's clothes, a plastic bag of…girl things, since it’d be hard to get out of school to buy them every time I required them.

My mother and father drove me to the airport at 5 in the morning. My flight was at 8 o’clock, and the airport was an hour away. I said goodbye to my mother, father and sister, ran into the airport bathroom, and got dressed as a boy to get to my new school.

******

After the plane came to a stop in Chicago, and the pilot had told us to depart, I grabbed my carry-ons and walked into the airport. I quickly caught my reflection in a mirror that a younger girl was using. I actually looked like a guy, apart from the girl-ish physique. Not that I was curvy.

Well, I wasn’t hourglass curvy like Vic or my mom. But, I was tall and slim, not stick slim, I was naturally muscular. I suppose I inherited the “tall and slim” traits from my father’s side, the "natural athletically muscular" must be some kind of mutation of the "curvy hourglass" from my mother.

I also grabbed some contacts before I left the house. My glasses made me look girly. Plus, I was wearing them when I met Paxton, so he’d probably recognize me.

If he even remembered me.

I ran a hand through my wig hair nervously as I got outside.

My wig. My wig was my new best friend. It was so comfortable I never took it off. And it never came off easily, I was always tugging and pulling it off with pain; I lost more hair taking it off than anything else, so I wont be taking it off anytime soon.

I knew why they called Chicago the windy city now. Crisp wind blew in from every direction, and it didn’t help that the sun was covered up by rain clouds. The pilot did say we might experience some rain. It was definitely different here then it was in Florida. I buttoned up the jacket I was wearing, and grabbed my hat from my bag. My mom had arranged my uncle and aunt who lived around Chicago to come pick me up. She had also noted that I cut my hair a little. They were, let’s say, disappointed. My aunt, out of all the people in the world, adored my hair the most.

Finally, I saw their black Mercedes pull up. My uncle rolled down the window, staring at me like I was a whole different person. “Ronnie, wow! You’re hair! You really did cut it!” He said, his mouth hanging in shock.

I nodded, trying my hardest to grin. This was the trickiest part of getting in. I couldn’t let my aunt and uncle visit at all, or they’d figure out I’m trespassing on an all boy’s boarding school, and think I’m some stalker—which I’m totally not, by the way. I knew the wig and absence of girls clothes would be a bit of a give away, but my aunt and uncle were, luckily for me, not the sharpest tools in the shed.

“Hey, Uncle Eric,” I said, beaming. I leaned in the window to see my blonde haired, brown eyed aunt, “Hey, Aunty Grace.”

My Aunt’s brown eyes went as wide as two saucers, “Veronica! You’re hair—you’re beautiful, beautiful hair! It’s all gone!”

Oh, Aunt Grace. Hasn’t changed a bit. Perhaps it was true what they said about ‘dumb blondes.’ For a few specific people, anyway. Like my aunt.

Uncle Eric chuckled to himself, “Well, don't just stand there Ron, get in.” He said, gesturing to the door in the back.

Quickly, I got in, throwing my bags to the side. I wanted to get out as soon as possible to find Paxton. That was the whole purpose of the mission. I bent over my uncle’s seat to whisper in his ear, “How far is it till we get to the school?” I asked anxiously.