by Karen Bass
“I don’t think he’d talk to me. He was pretty ticked off when he left. Said I should phone him when I’ve decided to be me again.”
“Give it a few days. Taylor isn’t the type to stay angry for long.”
The doorbell rang. “That’ll be Heather.”
“Do you want me to answer the door so you can go get dressed?”
“What would be the point? She’s going to tell me what to wear anyway.”
James chuckled. “What do you girls have planned today?”
“We are going dress shopping.”
“Again?”
Sid started for the front door. “This time it’s for the wedding. Guys are so lucky. They throw on a suit, run a comb through their hair and they’re done.” She paused before entering the hallway. “Do you have any idea what a woman has to go through to get ready on a regular day, never mind what she does for a special occasion?”
James unfolded his lanky form and headed to the sink with his coffee cup. “I have a vague idea. I used to live with a woman, you know.”
“Live with?” Oh, right. The woman who had resigned from motherhood. The one Sid apparently looked like when she was in costume. She wrinkled her nose and purposely kept her tone light. “With your age and how long ago that was, I’m surprised you remember anything.”
James flicked some water at her but she was already moving. The doorbell rang again just as she opened it.
After several hours of shopping in new shoes, Sid’s feet were screaming. She had never tried James’s foot massage machine but she was eager to give it a shot.
While Sid’s feet soaked, Heather outlined her plan of attack. The girl was thorough. Besides a laminated instruction sheet for putting on makeup and styling hair, she had written up a list of what Sid was to wear to school each day this week, listing underwear and bangles and colour of eye shadow. She had even talked her guy into swinging by a few minutes early so they could drive Sid to school every morning. To keep tabs on me, Sid thought.
By the time Heather left, Sid was definitely feeling nervous. It was one thing to play dress-up on the weekend, but to actually go to school like this? Was she crazy?
No, as Heather liked to point out, she was desperate. She was going to prove to the band that she wouldn’t embarrass them if she was their drummer. The reinvention plan was moving forward. And with Heather’s help, it had shifted into high gear.
Now Sid felt more than nervous; she felt sick. Before she retreated to the basement to drum the uneasiness away, she called Devin to ask him her underwear question.
He laughed. “You are in a weird head space lately, Sid.”
“Answer the question. Do guys know when girls are
wearing lace?”
“Not if nothing is showing. We just live in hope, little sis. We live in hope.”
Now it was Sid’s turn to laugh. When she headed to her drum kit, the nervousness was gone. Sure, Heather was helping, but this was still her plan. She had it all under control.
11 | single stroke roll
Sid had followed Heather’s instructions to the letter, only jamming the mascara brush into her eye twice. It was weird to look into the mirror and see someone James said looked like her long-forgotten mother. She wondered if she should feel sad. Or lonely.
Mostly what she felt was exposed. The skirt felt too high and the top too low. When had she ever worn a top that showed cleavage? Even her bathing suit didn’t. It wasn’t much, barely any, but it was enough to make Sid feel like she had a flashing sign and arrow just below her neck that said, “Look here!”
Once she got to school guys were looking. So were girls. Even the teachers did double takes, if they recognized her at all. It was a good thing the blue top didn’t clash with red, because Sid figured her face had to be scarlet.
The lunch bell rang. Sid tried to hurry through the crowded hallways. She seemed to be getting bumped more often than usual. A few times she thought she felt fingers brush her legs, but when she turned no one was looking her way. She made it to her locker and hurled her books onto the top shelf. She got her lunch bag out of her backpack – relieved that she had planned ahead so she wouldn’t have to eat in the cafeteria – and jammed her combination lock back into place. Before she could spin the dial, a body thumped up against her locker.
She startled and took a step back. Wes Remichuk grinned at her. “New look. Heard about it but didn’t believe it, so here I am.”
“Here you are. In my way.”
“What’s your hurry? Hot lunch date? That why you’re –”
His gaze dropped to Sid’s neckline and lingered. “Who knew? You have boobs.” He shouted, “Hey, everyone! Sid Crowley has boobs!”
Up and down the hall, guys cheered. A few shrill wolf whistles cut through the din. Sid was certain that Wes had planned this but heat still scorched her cheeks. She started to walk away. Fingers tickled her thigh. She wheeled and plowed her fist toward Wes. His cupped hand caught hers and he squeezed, a grin telling Sid he had expected her reaction.
“That isn’t very lady-like. Got to play the part if you’re going to dress it, babe.” He released her hand and walked away, whistling.
Sid watched him go, her stomach a boiling stew of fury, embarrassment and confusion. She hated the way Wes said babe. She beetled to the library to eat her lunch in private and to regain enough calm to face her afternoon classes. It might be easier if she could talk to Taylor, but they didn’t share any classes and the one time she had seen him, before classes, he had turned away and started talking with someone. All she’d done was change the way she dressed. Was that criminal? How was she supposed to ask Taylor what was wrong when he wouldn’t look at her?
While she was wasting time in the music section of the stacks, someone came up behind her. Sid turned. Stared. Closed the voluminous Rock and Roll Year By Year and hugged it against her chest. Mousy, Rocklin had said. Joanne wasn’t, not really. Her hair was maybe mouse-coloured, but clean and soft looking. She didn’t wear makeup but her face was clear, cheeks rosy. Clean-cut, Sid thought.
Joanne held up a hand and whispered, “Don’t freak on me, Sid. I’m not here to get rejected a second time.” Sid continued to stare. Joanne released a slow breath. “I just needed to tell you...that you don’t need to do this.” She waved her hand up and down. “You always looked so confident before. You’d walk down the hall saying hi to people, saying “He’s rockin,’” when anyone asked about your brother. You’re not afraid to look anyone in the eye. I only feel like that on the court. Today you look, I don’t know, awkward.” She’d grown increasingly anguished-looking as she spoke, as if it were costing her a lot to say anything at all.
Sid licked her dry bottom lip, then remembered Heather’s admonition to not lick. “Takes time to get used to a new style.”
“I hope I don’t have anything to do with this. A friend told me you might be interested, otherwise I’d never have... This new style isn’t you freaking out over that party, is it?”
Sid shook her head. “I just need to fit in, for other reasons.”
“You did fit in.” Joanne turned and walked away with the lithe grace of an athlete.
Sid frowned. Maybe she did fit in, but not with the guys who counted. Not with the guys who could give her the break she needed to get on stage.
History class was a drag. Sid was relieved to get to the shop and finish up her project so she could take it home for the wedding this weekend. She ignored everyone, though it was difficult because she could feel the stares. She even caught Mr. Franklin looking at her oddly.
Halfway through the class she developed a case of dropsy. A screwdriver hit the floor first and she bent down to pick it up. She immediately realized her mistake and looked around to see half the class watching her. Wes gave her a wolfish grin as if silently telling her how much he liked bl
ue lace.
Next to fall was a chisel she had been using to level off one foot of the bridal chest. She considered it with dismay, then knees clamped together, awkwardly inched down into a crouch, going only far enough for her fingers to pinch the chisel and get it off the floor. Then she bumped her pile of sandpaper and several pieces fell to the floor. Maybe she could go down on her knees, but then how would she get back up? Rick appeared at her side and scooped up the abrasive sheets. She mouthed, Thank you. He smiled.
He returned to his station and Wes took his place. “I like it better when you bend over.”
“Leave me alone, Wes.”
“What’s this change for, anyway? Got some hot gay chick you’re trying to impress? Or are you hoping to sleep with Rock to get the drummer spot?” He leaned close, so close they could have been getting ready to slow dance. “Way too little, way too late, babe. I was talking to him just after we met at lunch. He’s going to give me a trial run. I’ll be practising with the band all week.”
“You’re lying.”
He grinned. “Don’t have to. But don’t worry, dressed like this you can always apply to be a groupie.” His fingers touched her leg just below her skirt’s hem.
Sid spun and charged out of class. It was either that or deck Wes again. She heard Mr. Franklin call for her to come back, but she veered into the nearest bathroom, locked herself in a cubicle and sat down. Her legs were shaking. He’s lying. He has to be lying.
When the bell rang, she still hadn’t moved, but at least she had stopped shaking. Girls came into the bathroom in small flocks, laughing and talking in animated voices. Sid listened, expecting to hear her name, expecting it to be accompanied by hysterical giggles, straining for word of tfd. It didn’t happen. She stayed where she was until the bathroom was silent, left the cubicle to wash her hands and splash water on her face. She frowned at the smears of colour her makeup left on the paper towel, tossed it and crept into almost empty hallways.
No one was near her locker. She stuffed books in her backpack, relocked the door and looked up to see Mr. Brock walking toward her. He was strolling, like his route was accidental, but his face was a mixture of sympathy and concern. Sid headed toward the nearest exit, her strides long and probably totally inappropriate for someone wearing a skirt. She didn’t care. To her surprise, Brock didn’t order her to stop, to demand an accounting or a confession or a sob story.
She charged outside. A block away from the school, the low clouds began to spit and sputter. A perfect ending to the day. The spitting increased to a steady drizzle.
Sid hadn’t thought to bring a coat this morning. She walked home, the rain plastering her clothes to her skin and washing away the rest of her mask.
12 | double bass triplets
Getting up on Tuesday morning and following Heather’s directions for what to wear was painful. Sid might have abandoned her plan except for two things: she didn’t have to wear a skirt today and she was sure Wes was bluffing. Because they all knew she was the better drummer.
She examined herself in the mirror. Tight jeans instead of her usual baggy ones, and a scoop-necked red t-shirt that hugged her body and would have showed off a lot of boob if not for the white lace of a camisole. Sid doubted her hair and makeup were done to Heather’s standards, but since she had never bothered with any of that before the plan, the result was still surprisingly feminine. She wondered if this process would get less painful. Her right eye still stung from being jabbed with the mascara brush.
She slid her feet into the same navy flats she had worn yesterday. The shoes, at least, were getting comfortable. She sighed. Was this work worth the effort? Would the guys from tfd even notice that she was no longer an embarrassment?
Imposter, said a tiny voice in her head. Shut up, she replied and left to face the day.
At the sidewalk, she reflexively glanced toward Taylor’s house and saw him walking down the driveway. She quickened her steps. The slap, slap, slap of her shoes against the cement annoyed her. She was used to sneakers and the way they let you, well, sneak.
Beside Sid, a horn honked. She started. Taylor looked her way and for a long moment they stared at each other. Then Taylor turned away and Heather called out the window of her guy’s car, “Hey, Sid, get in. We’re running late and I have a chem test.”
Sid frowned at Taylor’s retreating form, then climbed into the silver Honda’s back seat.
Heather peeked around her headrest. “How was yesterday?”
“Don’t ask.”
Heather scowled prettily. “I just did.”
Sid returned the look. “You never told me that short skirts make guys think you want your legs stroked.” She kept her other thought to herself, that Heather hadn’t warned her to not bend over in a skirt. She didn’t want her cousin to know how clueless she was about what should have been obvious.
Heather smirked but said nothing. She faced front again and turned up the stereo. A rap song – Eminem, Sid thought –
filled the silence. Sid crossed her arms and sank down in her seat. What she wouldn’t give for some hard-driving metal or a little Rush to cheer her up.
As she was getting out of the car across from the school, Heather’s guy said, “You look good.” Like Heather hadn’t told him to say that.
“It’s all my doing,” Heather said.
“I know, babe.”
They kissed. Sid snorted and walked away, wondering about the difference between the affectionate way he said babe and the condescending way Wes had said it. It almost made Sid feel sorry for Wes’s busty girlfriend. Was she anything more than a big set of boobs to him?
Not many people were in the wing with Sid’s locker. She put away all her books except for math. Her most hated class. At least she got it out of the way early each day. As she was spinning the combination lock’s dial, Mr. Brock stopped beside her. Hardly an accident.
“How are you doing, Sidney?”
“Fine.”
He gave her a moment to expand but she didn’t. He nodded. “Good. I still expect to see you on Thursday during last class.” Right, the touching base session. He gave her a gentle smile that she supposed was intended to inspire confidence and headed toward the office. A few steps down the hall, he halted and glanced back. “By the way, you look nice today.”
At that, the few people who were nearby all paused and stared at Sid. She felt her cheeks warming and retreated, shoes clacking on the linoleum. She wanted to run home and change into her favourite baggy, stone-washed jeans and In Flames t-shirt. But that would mean giving up on the plan. She should have known it would take people a while to get used to her new look. Change always made people take notice. Next week she’d be yesterday’s news. Next week the band would have realized she could do cool and she’d be part of their fold.
She was in the math classroom before the hallways got crowded. During break, as she made her way to her locker to exchange math books for bio, a few guys brushed against her. She thought she heard a whisper: “Show us your colours.”
That was stupid. There wasn’t any gang activity in this school. The communities that fed into the high school were middle or upper-middle class. Over-achievers were common; gangs of any stripe not so much. And strict rules about wearing gang colours kept things that way. Every year, a group of parents tried to press the idea of school uniforms. To Sid’s relief, they had yet to win the vote. The thought of jackets and plaid skirts were enough to make her want to puke.
After bio, Sid braved the cafeteria for lunch. It was already buzzing when she arrived. Another whisper, the same
whisper, reached her ears. “Show us your colours.” Scowling, Sid got in line for a helping of overcooked chicken fingers. She slopped some dipping sauce onto her plate and asked for a scoop of tossed salad which she covered in a thick layer of Ranch dressing.
As she waited
for her turn at the till, a hand cupped her left butt cheek. She gasped and was about to dodge when breath stirred her hair with a whispered, “Show us your colours, babe.”
Sid suddenly understood: colours referred to her panties. She turned and faced Wes Remichuk. She gave him a faint smile. “Touch me like that again and I’ll kick your balls through the window.”
He winced, then laughed. “I’d rather you do something else with them.”
Sid tipped her tray and shoved it against his chest.
“Hey!” Wes jumped back and the person behind him spilled his tray against Wes’s back.
Sid walked away as Wes began to swear. She spotted Taylor sitting by himself in the corner to the left of the main doors and veered toward him. He watched her with something like dismay wrinkling his forehead. But at least he didn’t run away.
She sat across from him and soaked in his presence. She hadn’t realized how much it added to her peace of mind, almost as much as being able to talk to Devin. His tan cheeks were underlaid with a distinct pink tone. Was he embarrassed?
Sid’s stomach growled. Taylor said nothing. Narain sat beside him and Taylor looked relieved. Sid had always liked how they blended, stepping stones from Narain’s dark to her light with Taylor in the middle. Sid frowned and glanced toward the cafeteria line-up where a server was helping Wes get cleaned up. A teacher’s shadow fell across Sid.
Mr. Franklin, looking pasty under the fluorescent lighting, said, “You have to pay for your lunch, Sidney, however you choose to dispose of it.”
He was being very calm. Sid figured he must have seen what happened. She handed him a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
Franklin tugged his scraggly beard then took the money, shook his head and walked away. Sid sighed. No doubt he’d report to Mr. Brock. She was going to face a lot of questions in that next counselling session. Which was massively irritating considering it was Wes’s mouth and Wes’s hands that kept getting her into trouble.
