Stephanie’s Deal by Jennifer Brock Twelve-year-old Stephanie Brooks used to be an eleven-year-old boy who didn’t mind his parents. When they punished him for peeking at his Christmas presents by making him dress in girls’ clothes, she became more comfortable with herself and turned into a responsible, considerate girl with a much sunnier disposition. In this episode, Stephanie starts attending her new school, a liberal institution with an unorthodox approach that just might be what our girl needs. As we begin, it is Monday, February 4, 2008. (After far too long, the author has found enough free time to release an update, and she promises to try to do better next time.)

Episode 23

Stephanie had spent three hours the night before picking out what she would wear to her first day at Hutchinson. It was tricky finding the right balance. She thought most girls would be in jeans, but she didn’t want to look too much like a boy. But if she went in a really girly dress or skirt, it might look like she was trying too hard and call just as much attention to herself. With Mom’s help, she ultimately settled on wearing her brown corduroy jumper over her white turtleneck and her new white leggings and her brown shoes. She’d have to change for her karate class halfway through the day, so she’d pack a pair of jeans in with her gym stuff and if it looked like not enough girls were in skirts she’d switch when she changed after class.

Having a “Plan B” made her a little less nervous, but when she woke up Monday morning she still waffled a little on what jewelry to wear and how to do her hair and makeup. She ended up going with her silver star stud earrings, a simple chain necklace, and just her watch on her wrist — she’d wanted to wear her charm bracelet for luck, but it just didn’t go with the ensemble. Almost as an afterthought, she clipped her new school ID card to the strap of her jumper. She pulled a white headband on and then brushed out the back of her hair so it flared out with a little more body than usual. After arguing with her mother over what would be appropriate, she went with just some gloss on her lips as her only makeup. She dabbed on a little cologne and checked herself in the mirror. As far as she could tell, she looked like a typical girl ready for her first day in a new school.

Her next crisis was figuring out how to manage all her things. She had a pocketbook, a backpack and a gym bag, (which were all pink, since her mother had picked them out and thought that was what a girl would want) and she needed to carry them all at the same time. It dawned on her that since she didn’t have any books yet, she could stuff her gym bag into her backpack. She wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea to put her purse in there as well. Back when she was a boy, Steven hadn’t paid attention to what the girls at school carried around with them. Stephanie decided that she’d feel more comfortable if she could see her pocketbook, so she kept it outside her backpack.

Elephants were doing cartwheels in her stomach, but Mom made her eat breakfast anyway. Throwing some scrambled eggs down on top of the elephants slowed them down a little, but she still felt awful. And then even when Stephanie was finished eating, she had to wait for her mother to take forever on her own breakfast before they could go. Coffee was supposed to make grownups revved up, but Mom just sipped hers so slowly!

The drive took long enough that by the time they reached the school, Stephanie’s nerves had changed their mind and she now would rather stay in the car than get out and walk into the school. Mom talked her through taking a couple deep breaths to collect herself, and then she was able to go in.

She walked up to the receptionist’s desk and gave her name. The nice lady told her to wait a couple minutes and then the principal Ms. Lancaster came out to greet her. Stephanie had met her the previous week when she’d come for her admission interview. “Good morning, Stephanie!” She smiled broadly, and then leaned down to embrace her in a warm hug. She attached a cute little pin to Stephanie’s top, opposite her ID badge.
It was bright green and looked like an acorn. “This will let everyone know you’re a new student here. Wear it every day until you feel comfortable and confident finding your way around campus. Then it’s yours to keep as a souvenir of your time here. And then if you see anyone else wearing one, you’ll know that they could use a helpful friendly face.”

Stephanie thought that was a cool system. “Thanks! Where do I need to go next?”

“We’ll head on up to your homeroom, get you settled in.” Ms. Lancaster put her hand on Stephanie’s shoulder and started leading her down the hallway. “You’re up on the second floor in room 214. There is an elevator, but we encourage our students who can do so to use the stairs.”

Once past the area with the administrative offices, the hall was bustling with activity. Kids of all sizes and ages were streaming off to wherever they belonged, but it wasn’t like at her old school. No one was pushing or shoving anyone to go faster, and people were generally smiling and friendly to each other. There were dozens of voices talking at once, but nobody was shouting. And like magic they all got out of the way and cleared a path for Ms. Lancaster and her charge.

They went up a wide staircase and around a corner to a nice wide hallway lined in lockers where kids were dropping off their stuff. Ms, Lancaster checked a piece of paper she was carrying, and led Stephanie to Locker number 259G. She showed her there was a little electronic display screen on it that said “Brooks, Stephanie: Grade 6.” Next to it was a slot where she just had to slide her ID card and the locker opened. This school had some pretty awesome technology!

And it didn’t stop there. Inside her locker was a hook where she could hang her coat, and under it was a built-in tray to collect rain and snow and stuff and drain them away. There was a shelf where she could put her gym bag that had extra ventilation, and a space where Ms. Lancaster said they could plug in a chilled compartment if Stephanie was planning on regularly carrying her lunch to school. But the coolest part was that her locker had a built-in charging station for Stephanie’s brand new computer — it was a fancy tablet like she’d used to take her placement tests, and it came with a keyboard, a pen, and a mouse that all had their own special slots in the charger. There was a box in her locker for her to take home at the end of the day with another charger to use at home. All this was included in her tuition fee. Stephanie stowed her backpack, and took only her pocketbook and computer (in its carrying bag with the school logo on it) with her.

Ms. Lancaster then took her to Room 214, and introduced her to her new homeroom teacher, Ms. Dominguez. She was a tall, pretty lady with long wavy black hair and big brown eyes, dressed in a red and white striped sweater and a black skirt. Ms. Dominguez made Stephanie stand and wait in the front of the class until after the bell rang (It was more of a chime noise coming over the loudspeaker) and the rest of the kids took their seats.

The classroom was a little smaller than the ones at Stephanie’s old school, and there were way fewer students in it. There were just twelve desks, and only nine of them had kids in them. Ms. Dominguez told the class, “As you can see, a new acorn has joined us today. I hope you all will make her feel welcome.” She gestured toward Stephanie. “What name do you like to be called?”

That was a scary question. Was Ms. Dominguez in on her secret, and about to reveal it in front of everyone? “Um, Stephanie.” She swallowed hard.

Ms. Dominguez smiled. “Okay. I wasn’t sure if maybe you preferred Stef or Steffi, but it’s nice to see someone who uses her whole name.” She leaned in and whispered. “My first name is Cassandra, and I have some friends who call me Cassie even though I tell them not to.” She straightened up and returned to her regular tone of voice. “Tell us a little about yourself, Stephanie.”

The nickname thing was a big relief, and it took Stephanie a couple minutes to reply. “Oh, Hi. I’m Stephanie Brooks. Hi, everyone.” She gave her new classmates a little wave. “I used to go to Roosevelt, before it burned down, and ended up here because I like to draw and stuff, and they said the art program is good here.” She shrugged, unsure what else to tell them.

The teacher nodded. “Oooh, an artist! It will be nice having you around when the time comes to decorate our room for holidays. You can take a seat. We don’t have assigned seating here at Hutchinson, so just pick any empty desk.”

A blonde girl with pigtails, glasses, and a pink shirt on that Stephanie’s mother would adore, raised her hand and pointed at the desk next to hers. “Sit here!”

Stephanie went over and claimed the indicated seat. The girl’s name was Peace Hayes, and she started showing her how to turn on her computer tablet, but then Ms. Dominguez turned on her own computer and the big screen where the blackboard would be lit up.

Ms. Lancaster came on the screen and gave the morning announcements. It was like she was a TV news lady. She even gave a weather report, and then wished a bunch of kids each a happy birthday. The cafeteria would be featuring Moroccan stew for lunch. Finally, the principal gave shout outs to a couple students who’d just gotten back from being sick, and she ended by welcoming the newest student, Stephanie Brooks, to the Hutchinson family. It was kind of cool, but also kind of embarrassing.

Peace finished showing Stephanie how to get into her computer, (She just had to sign her name in a box with the computer pen thingy.) and even sent her an email. This school was definitely more high-tech than her old one. It was like she was finally living in the twenty-first century. Peace showed her how to check her schedule, and laughed when she noticed out that they had a couple classes together. They could also have lunch together on Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, but Stephanie was on her own for her first time.

It was nice meeting a new friend like that. It came much more easily for her than when she’d been a boy. Steven had had like no real friends, just classmates. But Stephanie was exchanging phone numbers with a girl she’d known for fifteen minutes. She liked the new her a lot better.

When the signal rang to change classes, she checked her schedule and campus map and saw that it was pretty easy to get to Room 261. Mr. Reilly, her Creative Writing teacher, was shorter than most grownup men. He had curly black hair and a lot of forehead, and his voice had a funny accent like he was from England or something. She introduced herself, and he told her to take a seat in the front. When the rest of the kids had all arrived he said, “We’ve got a new addition to our class today. Let’s show her how things work around here. Stephanie, stand up here where the others can see you.”

Putting the New Kid on display seemed to be the way things worked at Hutchinson. She sighed and left her desk to go stand next to the teacher. She tried to smile. “Hi, I’m Stephanie Brooks, and…”

Mr. Reilly cut her off. “No, don’t tell them any more. We are about imagination here, so we’ll have your classmates tell your story for you.” He looked at the other students. “As I point to you, I want you each to stand and tell me something about your new colleague.”

Stephanie was confused. “Am I in the right classroom? I’m supposed to be learning writing now.”

The teacher straightened his posture. “My dear girl, you are indeed in the correct place. Here you will learn how to master the written word and make it serve you. But the written word is but an approximation of the spoken word. We invented writing as a way to capture the ephemeral sounds of language in a form that could be more permanent. If you can write creatively, you can speak creatively.”

One of the other kids groaned. “There he goes again.”

Mr. Reilly continued, “I heard that, Tiberius Spencer. Perhaps I have given this speech before, but at least one member of my audience hasn’t heard it, and I believe at least one other member hasn’t listened to it. As a student of creative writing, I will endeavor to help all of you improve your skills as literal storytellers as well as literary ones. Some of the most significant writing in literature was intended to be received aurally and presented orally. Shakespeare is considered one of the greatest writers in the English language, and most of what he wrote were plays, meant to be performed, not just read. And for my money most poetry (with a few exceptions like cummings’ typographical gymnastics) can only really be appreciated when recited. The eye cannot guide the brain to understanding the tintinnabulation of Poe’s bells anywhere near as well as the ear can, as an example. So, in short, you will be expected to present your work in class through spoken presentation nearly as often as through written text. But don’t misunderstand; while I do aim to guide you toward being better able to articulate your thoughts into words, if you need assistance with the actual physical act of articulation that is handled in a different department than mine. Does that make sense?”

Stephanie wasn’t exactly sure what he’d just said, but somewhere in there he’d said she was in the right class, so she just nodded.

“Very well, then. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Students, let’s come up with the story for how Stephanie here ended up in our class. Tiberius, since you were so eager to start, you can go first.” He indicated a skinny boy with shiny black hair sitting in the back row.

His story was that Stephanie had witnessed a mob hit, and the FBI relocated her to Hutchinson. It was scary when he mentioned that her name wasn’t really Stephanie, but he didn’t guess that she hadn’t been a girl before, so she could breathe again. The other eleven kids then gave their explanations for how Stephanie arrived at their class, which ranged from her being a refugee from the war in Iraq to the daughter of a European prince forced to live in exile. It was fun hearing everyone allowed to just let their imagination run wild.

After everyone had gone, Mr. Reilly asked Stephanie to tell the others “her real story.” She didn’t want to miss out on the chance to play around like the rest, so she took a gamble that he didn’t really want the true story. So she explained about how she was a space alien sent as an observer, but had grown fond of Earth and its people and had been sending false reports back home for a while; she didn’t want the place overrun with tourists. It seemed like she’d guessed correctly, since she earned a smile from the teacher.

Stephanie realized that she hadn’t paid much attention to her schedule when she had to go back to room 214 for her second class. It turned out that her homeroom teacher Ms. Dominguez was also her math teacher. She also recognized Peace, who wanted her to sit next to her again, and a couple of kids from her Creative Writing class. Math was still math, so it wasn’t that different from at her old school. But instead of a textbook and a workbook, it was all combined on her tablet, and instead of making the kids get up to write out a problem on the board, Ms. Dominguez could make it so the big screen in the front of the class showed what was on someone’s tablet. She’d walk through a couple examples, and then let one of the students do the next one, and let others join in if they got stuck. They were studying fractions, and Stephanie was a little lost, but she did her best to follow along.

Ms. Dominguez showed Stephanie where there was a folder on her computer for her math homework, and that a new assignment would be appearing in there every day, and she could turn it in just by pressing a button, and she could email her if she had any questions. It was like she was going to school in the future or something; there was no paper anywhere.

Peace walked with her to her next class, Social Studies with Mr. Myers in Room 254. He explained that usually the class was divided out for the week with a discussion of current events on Monday, history on Tuesday and Wednesday, and a civics lesson (whatever that was) on Thursday, with Fridays calling back to any topic the students were interested in. However, this week would be an exception. Since the next day would be Super Duper Tuesday, they’d be focusing on the presidential primary elections all week. It was current events and civics rolled into one, plus there was a good chance history would be made, as the country chose its first female or African-American presidential candidate from a major party.

Stephanie had never paid any attention to political stuff, so she felt very stupid as all the other kids talked about which candidates they were rooting for and she had nothing to say. Mr. Myers was very patient with her though, and didn’t mind explaining all the terms he used even when she was the only one confused. He put up some maps and graphs on the big screen and talked about all kinds of “magic” numbers that the candidates would need to get to secure nomination. She wondered why they didn’t just pick the person with the most votes, and that snotty boy from her Creative Writing class laughed at her. But Mr. Myers said that was actually a good question, and explained that various groups had tried to revise the voting system to something less complicated, but the people who could change it were the ones who benefit from the way it was currently set up, so it was unlikely. She felt better about asking, and he gave her some extra reading assignments that would help explain things. The general homework he assigned everyone was to watch the national news every night, and read a newspaper.

Her next class was one of the ones she’d been looking forward to the most, as well as the one she was the most nervous about, her Tai Chi class. It was supposed to be some kind of cool martial arts thing, but she’d have to change her clothes and she didn’t want to get discovered. She put her computer back in her locker and got her gym bag, and then followed her campus map to get to “Gymnasium C.”

The gym area was complicated. You went through a set of double doors and then you had your choice of going in one direction for locker rooms, another for Gymnasiums A through D, or a third for Gymnasiums E and F and the Pool, or through other doors outside to athletic fields, tennis courts, and the playground. Stephanie wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, so she went straight to Gymnasium C. It was a squarish room with a mirror all along one wall and a thick mat on the floor.

The teacher there was an older guy with a gray beard and a long ponytail. He was barefoot and wearing a tight leotard-like thing that covered him to his ankles. He guessed who Stephanie was, and introduced himself as Elliot Mullins. He saw her bag and told her to go change into something she could move in, with either thin-soled shoes or barefoot like him. He recommended sandals for walking to and from the changing room in case she was afraid of athlete’s foot.

She went to the locker room and was pleased to see that they were separated between boys and girls. The bathrooms at Hutchinson weren’t, so she’d been worried about having to change in front of a bunch of boys. She went into the room and couldn’t figure out what to do; it was just a bunch of doors. She just stood there for a little while being confused, but then this girl came out of one of the doors. She was older, like a teenager, with boobs and stuff. She was dressed in a tight pair of blue shorts, a tiny little pale pink top with thin straps, and purple slippers. Stephanie was reminded that her new school went all the way through Grade Twelve.

Anyway, this teen girl saw Stephanie’s badge and said, “Oh hello there, Little Acorn. Do you need some help?” She nodded, so the older girl showed her how she just needed to run her ID card through a slot next to one of the doors, and it would unlock and let her into a little cubicle where she could change her clothes. Each changing booth also had an attached shower stall, so when she was changing back into her regular clothes she could wash off the sweat if she choose. She also showed Stephanie where there was a row of lockers that she could stow her gym bag in while she was in class. She demonstrated how, using her own bag. She picked a locker that said “vacant” on its little screen, ran her card down it so it would unlock, and stuck her bag in it. When she closed it, the little display now showed “Sparks, Artemis: Grade 11.”

Stephanie wondered out loud why so many students had such weird names, and realized too late that it was kind of a rude thing to ask. Artemis just smiled at her. “You can call me Missy; that’s not so weird, is it? But you’re right. A lot of the rich hippies who send their kids to Hutch do seem to go for unique names. As for me, I was named for a Greek goddess, but ever since Wild Wild West came out, everyone thinks my parents gave me a boy’s name. Sometimes I wish they’d just gone with the Roman version and called me Diana.”

Stephanie thanked Missy for her help and hurried to change for class. She put on the outfit her friend Debbie’s mother had assembled for her when she’d taken her to the mall the Saturday before. She stripped down and then started with her padded sports bra and thong panty (so there’d be no lines, which was supposed to be important) and then put on her light orange yoga pants and pale green tank top, and then layered a yellow spaghetti strap top over that. It was a very similar style to the top Missy had on, except she had no other layers under hers. She didn’t have any sandals like the teacher had said to wear, so she just went barefoot.

She was the last one to show up for class, but it didn’t seem like she was in trouble. Mr. Mullins had Missy lead the others in some exercises, while he gave Stephanie some one-on-one instruction, teaching her the fundamentals of Tai Chi, which was about focus and harmony and meditation. She’d been tricked. This wasn’t an exciting martial art like karate; it was like king fu being done in slow motion, and you never got to touch anyone or anything else. No wonder she hadn’t had to work very hard to get her Mom to let her take the class. But in the end it was kind of fun; she just had to imagine that she was fighting ninjas underwater. After class she changed back into her previous outfit. She didn’t think she was sweaty enough to need a shower, and she hadn’t brought soap or a towel or anything.

The next thing on her schedule was lunch. She knew where the cafeteria was, and had been shown how it worked when she’d come to take her placement tests. So for the first time that day, she didn’t feel lost or confused. But then when she left the line with her tray full of strange-looking but delicious-smelling food, she realized that she didn’t know where to sit. Steven would have taken his lunch to go sit at the empty table in the corner, and try to be left alone, but Stephanie wasn’t that sad, lonely boy any more. She was a friendly, outgoing girl. She took her tray over to a table where some girls that looked to be around her age were sitting, introduced herself, and asked if she could join them. It turned out she’d misjudged their ages and they were all a grade above her, but she was able to pump them for information about how her classes had been for them.

Her first class after lunch was “Health & Nature” which was the Hutchinson name for what her old school called Life Science. The teacher was a nice black (or was she supposed to call her African-American?) lady named Ms. Grimes. The students were in the middle of a unit where they were studying the diseases that kids their age usually catch in the winter, including how to treat them and how to avoid catching them. It was much more interesting learning something that could immediately affect her life, rather than just some general science stuff that wasn’t connected to anything. And the way it was taught with videos of actual viruses and stuff shown on the big screen, it was just better at keeping her attention.

To end her day, Stephanie had a double-length session, an art class in drawing and painting taught by Ms. Lucas, the teacher who’d recommended her to the school, back when her psychiatrist had shared some of Stephanie’s artwork with her. She gave her a welcoming hug, and set her right to work at a slanted desk with a pad of paper and a pencil on it. Stephanie had gotten so used to all her classes being on the computer tablet that it seemed weird to go back to paper, but Ms. Lucas insisted that she needed to be able to feel how the paper and the pencil were interacting, and the computer couldn’t do that.

She had a bunch of objects arranged on a table in the middle of the room, ranging from simple geometric shapes to a bowl of plastic fruit, to the top half of a mannequin draped in fabric. There were little spotlights from the ceiling pointed at some of them. Ms. Lucas told Stephanie to focus on part of the display, and to try to draw it. She’d always drawn from her imagination before, so trying to duplicate something exactly was a new challenge for her. Ms. Lucas roamed the room, giving the kids hints and pointers, and when she got to Stephanie, she showed her how she needed to be working from the general shape first, and then refining the details, instead of trying to get all the details right from the beginning. It was tough work, but it was definitely something she wanted to get good at.

She was so engrossed in her drawing that it came as a shock when the bell chimed to say that school was over for the day. There were more of those personalized lockers in the art studio, so Stephanie could save the drawing she’d been working on, and she could get back to it in the next class session. But Ms. Lucas did warn her that she rearranged the objects every week, so she shouldn’t spend too much time on any one drawing. She’d be getting plenty of practice.

Stephanie was so excited about her first day at Hutchinson that she spent the entire drive home telling her Mom everything that had happened, and then repeated it all for her Dad when he got home. He seemed more interested in her new computer, but he listened to her anyway. When she finally wore herself out and headed up to bed, her parents shared a knowing smile, glad that their child was finally thriving in an academic environment.