It all happened so fast, I couldn’t believe it. It was a warm summer day and I was sitting in the shady backyard of Theresa’s house. Just Theresa and Sandy, my two best friends, wondering what to do in the quiet early afternoon heat.

“We should paint our nails,” Sandy said. She was a pale-skinned girl with long blonde hair, still pudgy with babyfat. I loved playing with her since she always had a mischievous spirit and thought up ideas that would call for something daring and adventurous.

“No, we can’t. My mom will kill me,” Theresa objected. I always wondered how the two girls became such close friends. Theresa was the exact opposite of her friend, skinny, dark complexioned and with dark hair that flowed to the middle of her back. Theresa was much like me, always scared to disobey our parents or teachers or to try the least thing daring.

“Come, why not?” Sandy pressed.

“That’s not fair to John,” Theresa said, pointing to me. “We can hardly paint his nails. He’s a boy.”

Sandy seemed to accept that, and the three of us continued to sit cross-legged under the large oak tree that shaded my friend’s yard. Theresa’s dad had fashioned an old-fashioned rope swing from one of its sturdy limbs, and even though we were all ten and about to enter the 5th grade in fall, we still loved to swing in it.

“I suppose we could go tease those boys playing ball down the street,” Sandy said.

I knew she was trying to get the attention of Ryan Stemper, who was a cute boy who was a year older than us. Even though the boy had always rudely pushed her away – both literally and figuratively – she was convinced it was because he liked her, but didn’t want to show it in front of his mates.

“You’ll just make him strike out,” Theresa said, giggling.

“All those boys get crazy trying to show off for you,” I said. “Besides, I don’t want to go down there.”

“That’s right. Sorry, John,” Sandy said.

“They shouldn’t treat you like that, John,” Theresa agreed, referring to the many times I had been bullied and humiliated by the boys.

“You girls are my best and onliest friends,” I said, reaching out to both of them so that we could link our little fingers together, our sign of sisterhood. I had been accepted at the start of summer by both girls as a “sister,” worthy of being linked with them as best girlfriends together.

“We’re just like the girls in the ‘traveling pants’ book,” Theresa said on that rainy day in June when they decided I could be a member of their exclusive girls' club.

“Yes, it’ll be our secret together, just us three girls,” Theresa said then.

“Does you like being our sister, John?” Sandy wondered. “You don't hafta be a sister if you don't wanna be. We can still be friends.”

I remember blushing, wondering how to respond. I knew I liked being with the girls, even though I was a boy. But I hated those games the boys played, and they could be so rough. I knew I wasn’t too strong, and the guys kept taunting that I threw like a girl, which was probably accurate.

“I guess it’s OK, being your sister, but don’t tell anyone else.”

“Cross our hearts, John,” they both pledged.

And thus it was that I was their secret sister that summer. We even began calling ourselves “The Bunnies,” a name we chose because we all liked bunnies. All three of us, we discovered, had a favorite stuffed bunny, including me. They began calling me Joannie, but they only did it when we were alone. For some reason, I grew to like the name; after all it was my grandma Baumann’s name, and she was always nice to me. I was the only child of a single mother, and was often sent to grandma’s place when mom’s work took her away from the house. Other days, Theresa’s mom kept an eye on me. All of the older women agreed I was well-behaved and easy to watch over.

I relished the idea of being a girlfriend to Theresa and Sandy, though I didn’t say as much. I wanted to accept Sandy’s idea of painting our nails; I wondered how it would look and whether it would make me just like other girls. Yet, I knew it might be hard to totally clean off the polish and might cause both me and the other two being disciplined.

“Let’s braid our hair,” Sandy said.

“Yes, we can do that,” Theresa said.

“You too, Joannie?” Sandy said, looking at me.

I hesitated before answering, finally nodding: “Yes, it might be fun, and besides we can easily unbraid it, right?”

Sandy giggled. “Or you can keep it braided. You’ll like your hair that way, Joannie. It’s cooler in summertime,” she teased.

“No, I can’t leave it braided. Those boys will beat me up and call me a girl,” I protested.

“Well, you’re one of the sisters, aren’t you?” Sandy continued, her eyes reflecting a mischievous glint.

“That’s just between us,” I said.

Theresa broke into the conversation. “She’s just teasing you, Joannie. We can easily unbraid it.”

I started to giggle then and jumped to my feet; the other two quickly joined me into a three-way hug and began to jump up and down gleefully, giggling and squealing as only little girls can do. Suddenly, I was one of them, and the prospect of putting my longish, dark hair into braids felt just perfect.

We rushed into the house and Theresa’s mom, stopped us short as we barged into the kitchen on the way to Theresa’ bedroom.

“What are you kids up to now?” she said sternly, grabbing her daughter by the arm to stop us from continuing our quest to Theresa's bedroom.

"Nothin'," Theresa said, not looking at her mother.

“Nothing? You three seem awfully giddy to be doing nothing,” she demanded. Then she looked at me and added, “John, what are these two girls up to?”

“Ah . . . errr,” I stammered.

“Oh we’re just going to braid each other’s hair, Mrs. Collins,” Sandy said.

Amanda Collins nodded, “I guess that’s alright, then. But I don’t want any of you doing anything with your hair that can’t be undone, like cutting it or anything.”

“We won’t,” the three of us said, almost in unison. We had spent so much time together that summer that we often seemed to think and act as if we were a chorus singing in perfect harmony.

“OK then, but what are you going to be doing, John, while Theresa and Sandy are doing each other’s hair?” she asked, looking at me.

“I guess I’ll watch and see how they do it,” I lied.

“We’re going to braid his hair, too, Mrs. Collins,” Sandy said boldly.

I could have strangled the brash girl right there; this was just going to be our secret and now she had to tell Theresa’s mother.

“What?” Mrs. Collins shouted. “You’re going to put his hair in braids, too, but he’s a boy. You can’t do that.”

“He’s OK with it,” Sandy said.

“John, are you OK with that?” Mrs. Collins asked. “Did those two girls talk you into this little escapade?”

“Well, kinda, but we’re just doing it for fun,” I replied.

Mrs. Collins shook her head. “I don’t know that’s such a good idea, kids. It’s just not right.”

“Aw, mom, we’ll undo the braids and besides we’d like to see how braids look on a boy,” Theresa said. “There’ll be no harm done.”

In the end, Mrs. Collins agreed to let us go ahead with our plans; I knew she was concerned that I was being prodded into the hair-braiding party and that I might be laughed at should anyone ever find out I had had my hair tied in braids. I had not had a haircut all summer – in fact since about March – and it already flowed down beyond the back of my neck. My hair was dark and full and already I had been mistaken for a girl more than once.

*****
My mom had been on my case to get a haircut, but I had artfully avoided having it done. The previous week, as we did at least once a week when mom’s work made it difficult to cook supper, she and I had gone to dinner at a family restaurant and the waitress turned to me while taking our orders and asked: “Now what will the young lady want?” I was surprised when mom didn’t correct her, and the waitress continued to address me as “miss” or “young lady.” At first, I was mad because mom didn’t tell her I was a boy, but as the meal went on I found myself liking the idea of being thought to be a girl.

“Mom, why didn’t you tell the waitress I was a boy?” I asked mom as we drove home.

“Darling, I didn’t want to embarrass you,” she said, glancing over at me. “So, don’t you think it’s time for a haircut?”

“Maybe,” was all I said.

“With your hair so long, you’re beginning to look more and more like a girl, you know that don’t you?”

I didn’t respond, but looked away from mom and looked out the window, hardly seeing the string of fast food places that populated this stretch of Century Drive in the suburban area of our town. Instead, my mind was occupied with the idea that I was a girl; yet, how could I be a girl when I had boy parts? Since I began playing with the “Bunnies” nearly every day, I realized how much fun it was to be with the girls. I never seemed to like being with boys. Girls were so much more fun.

*****
“Now watch, John, as I braid Theresa’s hair,” Sandy said once we had entered Theresa’s bedroom.

“Then when we’re done with mine, you can help me do Sandy’s, OK,” Theresa said.

“Yeah, maybe you could become a hairdresser,” Sandy giggled.

I know I must have blushed, but I was intrigued by the whole process and watched closely as Sandy began on the Theresa’s dark hair that flowed down the right half of her head. She then took and separated out the hair in three sections, and began weaving the hair all of the way down to create a braid.

“John, see those bobby pins there,” Sandy said, nodding her head toward a dish,

I nodded.

“Now here’s how you can help. Take two pins and secure them right at the top of the braid, as close to Theresa’s head as you can.”

I did as she was told and positioned one of the pins near the head.

“A bit closer,” Sandy said.

I moved right so that my hand was hard against the back of Theresa’s head. I looked to Sandy, and she nodded. I put first one pin and then the other.

“Good girl,” she said to me. Being called “girl” surprised me for a moment, but I let it pass. Hadn’t they began calling me Joannie?

Sandy told me to tie a light blue ribbon at the end of the braid, while she held the twisted hair. We repeated the process on the left side of Theresa’s head. When it came time to do Sandy’s hair, I helped Theresa do one side, and then she had me do the other side by myself.

“Wow, have you done this before, Joannie?” Sandy asked when we finished. “You’re good.”

“No, but it’s kinda fun,” I said.

“I can’t wait to work on yours, Joannie,” Theresa giggled.

“Do you have to? Maybe I’ll just stay as John,” I said. Suddenly, I was feeling strange. The truth was that I loved helping braid their hair and I wanted mine to be done the same. But, then I was a boy, wasn’t I? It just wasn’t right, as Mrs. Collins had said.

“No Joannie, you can’t be one of the Bunnies if you won’t get your hair braided,” Sandy said.

In the end Sandy and Theresa braided my hair in a way that matched theirs. While Theresa’s braids were tied with a blue ribbon, Sandy’s had a yellow ribbon and they gave me a pink ribbon. I’m sure Sandy arranged it that way, just to make me feel more like a girl. It did.

“Isn’t she cute,” Sandy squealed, when they had finished.

“You have to see for yourself, Joannie,” Theresa said, steering me to her mirror.

It was true. I looked very much like a cute girl, maybe even a little younger than my ten years. I loved how I looked, but it was embarrassing, too. I supposed to be a boy, but here I am appearing to be very much a cute little girl.

“You know, her clothes are all wrong,” Sandy said, referring to the boy jeans and tee shirt that I was wearing.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“If you’re Joannie, you should look like Joannie, not like Johnny and you’re wearing Johnny’s clothes.”

Theresa nodded. “Look, she’s about my size. Let me find something for her.”

“No, don’t” I pleaded.

“You know you want to look more like us, Joannie,” Sandy said.

Theresa went into one of drawers of her dresser and pulled out a pair of light blue girl shorts and a pink tee shirt with bunnies emblazoned in blue across the front.

“Perfect,” Sandy giggled. “Do you have any more shirts with bunnies on them?”

“You know I do,” Theresa said, her love of bunnies well known by her two friends.

“Then we can look all the same, like the Bunny Girls,” I said, gaining confidence in my new role as a girl.

I went into the bathroom to change. Theresa had also given me panties (with a bunny design, of course) to wear. “You can’t be a real girl with boy stuff on,” she said.

The clothes felt so light and soft against my skin, not at all like my boy briefs. When I finished, I looked at myself in the mirror; I was truly cute and very much a girl. The pink tee shirt had very short sleeves, exposing my slender, soft white arms. The shorts seemed to make my hips look wider, and with my narrow shoulders, I realized I looked very natural as a girl.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Theresa and Sandy squealed with delight. They rushed to hug me and we jumped up and down in unison, yelling together, “We are the bunnies, we are the bunnies.” I never felt happier to be one of them, to be totally accepted into this group.

“What’s going on in here?” Mrs. Collins burst into the room.

“Look at our braids, mommy,” Theresa said.

“You’re making such a racket, I just knew you were up to no good, and what did you do to John?”

“We just made him one of us, Mrs. Collins,” Sandy said.

“It was just for now, mommy. Just for fun.”

“Are you OK with that, John? Did they force you into it?”

Suddenly, I felt I should be ashamed by the realization that I enjoyed being a girl and that it might have been real joy that I experienced in this brief episode. Rather than answer, I looked down, refusing to look up into Theresa’s mother’s face.

“John, are you OK?” the woman persisted.

I nodded slightly, signifying a “yes.” I wanted desperately to tell Mrs. Collins that I enjoyed being treated as a girl, but I was afraid to admit to such feelings. What kind of boy would want to be a girl?

“I don’t think you are OK with this, John,” she said firmly. “Girls you unbraid John’s hair now and I’m sorry, but maybe after you get dressed in your own clothes, John, you better go home.”

“Oh mom,” Theresa pleaded. “I know John really likes this. Don’t you, John?”

All eyes were on me. Both Theresa and Sandy moved closer to me and I suddenly realized they had flanked me on both sides, and put their arms about me.

“We’re the Bunnies, mom,” Theresa proclaimed. “Aren’t we girls?”

“Yes, Mrs. Collins, and Joannie is one of us,” Sandy said.

It seems I got caught up in the spirit of the moment suddenly the three of us began jumping up and down, singing, “We three are the Bunnies. We are the Bunnies. We are the Bunnies.”

Mrs. Collins was not impressed. “Stop that girls. Now I want John’s hair unbraided and he should get dressed and both Sandy and John, you have to go home.”

“But, mom . . .” Theresa moaned.

“No buts, young lady and that child’s name is John, not Joannie. Now, all of you do as I say.”

With that, Theresa’s mother turned on her heels and left the room. She left the door open, a sign that she’d be keeping an eye upon us to see if we followed through on her orders. The door to Theresa’s room opened onto a small hall and into the Collins’ kitchen, making it possible for Mrs. Collins to keep an eye on the happenings in the room when she was in the kitchen. Though she had gone into the living room out of eyesight, she could easily come back at any moment to check on us.

“I guess we better do what she says,” Sandy said, for once straying from her mischievous nature.

“Yes, Sandy, or else I’ll be grounded and my phone taken away.”

Sandy turned to me and began to undo my braids and I felt like I was going to cry; for some reason I wanted to keep the braids and show everyone how cute I was as a girl. And now, my braids would be gone, probably forever.

As Sandy completed the task, she must have felt me tense up in my efforts to hold back tears. “What’s wrong, Joannie?”

“Oh, it’s hard to . . .” I began, only to be interrupted as I broke out into intense sobbing. My crying became uncontrollable and I tried hard to keep my sobbing as quiet as possible so as not to attract the attention of Theresa’s mom.

“Oh my dear Joannie, you’re crying,” Sandy said, taking me into her arms and letting me sob into her soft, chubby body.

Theresa soon joined us into a group hug until I finally could control my crying.

“I . . . I . . . ah . . . was one of you. I was a girl,” I said, breaking away from them.

“And a cute girl, too,” said Sandy.

“Didn’t you like being a girl, John?” Theresa said. She was always the sensible one of the three of us.

“That’s just it, I loved it. I felt I was a girl, just like you two.”

“And you wanted to continue being a girl?” Theresa asked again.

I nodded my head. It was a “yes,” and then I added: “But I’m not a girl. I’m a boy.”

The two girls looked at me strangely. “Really, John?” Sandy said, reverting finally to my boy’s name.

Again I nodded my head in a silent “yes.”

*****
"Hi, honey, have fun today?"

"Yes, mom," I mumbled, my voice so soft, mom had to ask me again.

"Yes, mom, I had fun," I said louder now, hoping I sounded convincing.

She looked at me curiously, as if she didn't believe me. At that moment, all I felt like doing was crying and crying and crying, burying my head in my pillow and crying. Somehow, I managed not to break into tears right in front of her.

"I'm going upstairs, mom," I said.

With that I bounded up the stairs and into my room, flopping face down on the bed, still dressed in my jeans and tee-shirt. And I burst into tears, uncontrollable cries of anguish. Burying my head into the fluff of the pillow to drown out the sounds of my sobbing, I drew my stuffed bunny – my beloved Bobbi – to me and hugged her for all my might. How I needed Bobbi at my side, even though she had become gray and matted with my constant hugging. I urged mom not to wash her, for fear she'd disintegrate into an ugly mass of fiber. We were girlfriends together, weren't we?

With the comfort of Bobbi at my side, I finally stopped crying.

Yes, I was Joannie, a slender, sweet girl, I realized as the tears dried on the pillow. With my left hand I began massaging my right upper arm, easily encircling much of it with my fingers, feeling its smoothness and marveling how soft it felt. Just like a girl's, I knew. I recalled how natural I looked in Theresa's dress. Soon I felt much better, and I'm certain if someone were looking at me he'd see me smiling.

Then, I fingered my hair and began twisting as if to braid it. I loved how it made me look like a cute little girl.

My sweet reverie was interrupted by mom's entrance into the room, after she had given my door a pre-emptive rap. She sat on the bed at my side, and put a hand on my shoulder, saying, "What's the trouble John?"

"Nothin'"

"Something's bothering you. Mother's can tell, dear."

She wouldn't take "nothing" as an answer. Finally I lied and said that on the way home from Theresa's the guys down the block teased me.

"Don't let that bother you, John," she began. "Did they hurt you? Throw stones at you?"

"No, just called me names, is all," I said, continuing to lie.

"Was it Billy Humphries, again?"

I didn't answer.

"Well, I suppose it was. I better call his mother. This has got to stop," mom said.

"No, mom, don't do that," I pleaded. "It'll just make it worse."

"Well, if it continues I need to do something, John," she said.

"I'll just avoid Billy," I said, hoping to satisfy mom.

"But did you have fun with Theresa and Sandy today?"

"Tons," I said, maybe too enthusiastically.

Mom smiled at me. "Sometimes I wonder if I am raising a little girl instead of a boy," she said.

I blushed. Was she reading my mind?

"I'm glad you and the girls enjoy each other, but John you should really start trying to express yourself more as a boy," mom said. "Soon you'll be in high school and by then boys and girls will be very different. You need to be experiencing more boy stuff, dear."

"I suppose," I said.

With that mom got up to leave. "Now clean yourself up; it's soon time for supper," she ordered.

"Yes, mother," I said. She left the room, but left the door open.

After a few minutes of trying not to cry again (my mother's urging that I act more like a boy help to make me depressed again), I finally got up and went into the bathroom. I couldn't help looking into the mirror; all I saw in my mind's eye was a girl, a cute, little girl with long dark hair. She was wearing braids. Right then, I knew who I was.

The End