"No! No! No!"

The music came to a ragged halt.

"This music was not written for sissies! This music was written for a bull! You're playing it like a girl!"

I suppose you're wondering what's going on. We were midway through rehearsals of the All County Youth Orchestra. A pretty grand name for twelve high school seniors, but we're a pretty small county. More like a chamber orchestra, I suppose. Our conductor/adviser was someone we had never met before, and I wasn't the only one wondering how someone with so little sensitivity and so much ego ended up in the position.

Foremost among us who were less than impressed by Mr. Hathaway was Ciara Lennon, my steady girl and a violinist in the orchestra. I was another violinist and was seated right next to her. From that vantage I could practically see the steam rising from her copper-colored hair. Since I was just complaining about insensitivity, I hesitate to point out she is of Irish extraction and has the type of temper that has long been associated with that hair color.

"Mr Hathaway? Could that be because there are eight women in this ensemble? That's precisely twice the number of men. That was a very sexist comment, sir." Ciara's voice was deadly calm. I doubt he realized how pissed that meant Ciara was.

"This is not a math class, young lady. You are here to make music, and by god you will make great music!"

"I'm glad to hear it. Could you explain how making sexist insults a contributes to that effort?"

"Are you here to play that instrument or to question my authority?"

"Since you seem to feel that as a woman I cannot play music properly, I suppose that I am questioning your authority."

"In that case, we will start over from the beginning and those of you who wish to be professional about your art can take part."

He raised his baton and we began to play, rather more raggedly than would be hoped. He never did answer Ciara's question. It was a long, long rehearsal.

 

After a number of hurried phone calls to parents, most of us gathered at a coffee shop near the school where we had been rehearsing.

"I'm not sure I want to keep up with this whole thang." That was Brad. He was from the other High School in the county. "How did that jerk ever get the job. He's a complete asshole."

"Politics?"

"He sounds more like a football coach than a music teacher."

"If he's an asshole maybe he kisses ass real good."

"He can kiss my ass with that sissy shit!" That was Henry, a dude big enough to play football instead of viola. "I took up viola so I didn't have to deal with that macho sports crap."

"If we're going to make it through another five weeks with him we have to do something. His misogyny just doesn't cut it with me," Ciara opined.

"Me either," said Leslie Ann. "You really gave him both barrels, Ciara."

"And he never did answer me, did he?"

"Good thing this isn't during regular school or you would have been in detention for six months."

"And I would have written a professional misconduct complaint, or maybe sexual harassment if I was feeling really upset."

"I'd have joined you for a class action suit," growled Shelly.

"Maybe we need a union?"

"Union miners, stand together!" warbled Grace. "Do not heed the owner's tales…"

"Keep your hand upon the fretboard, and keep practicing your scales," continued Miriam.

"I don't think that's how it goes," commented Gene.

"We're musicians, not miners. It's the folk process."

"We could always go on strike."

"Quick, call the AFL-CIO!"

"That would be AFM Local 100"

"Nah, that's the traveling musician's union."

"We travel to get here."

"How did we get here when we started out bitching about the conductor?"

"Free association. Very psychological."

"We have to do something. 'Play it like a bull.' What does he want me to do?" demanded Ciara. "Grow as set of balls?"

"Now who's being sexist?"

"Maybe you can borrow Pete's!"

"Now wait a minute!" I cried. "This is getting personal."

"As if you don't want to get personal with Ciara."

"Hey Pete," Ciara grinned. "Want to get together and have a ball?"

"Any time, lover."

"Will you two get a room or get back to making music?"

"We will make beautiful music together, lover!" purred Ciara.

"Sure, let's fiddle around, sweetie."

"To quote someone who shall remain nameless, 'No! No! No!' " Debra was incensed. "There will be no punning contests. This is serious stuff."

"Don't you have to have a subscription to listen to Sirius? Ouch!"

"I said 'NO', Rodney James Wilson."

"Ooh! Three names, you're in trouble now, Rod."

"It's getting late, we're all going to be in trouble if we don't get home soon."

"Party pooper."

"Better than getting pooped on by my folks."

"We still haven't thought of what to do with the girly-man man."

"He sure does make me want to hurl-ey like a girl-ey."

"Haven't you been listening?" growled Debra. "I said no more puns, Gene. And no more sexist comments, either."

"Of course I was listening, it's the comprehension part I have trouble with."

"And I can't comprehend how anyone can be so opposed to puns, Debra."

"Stuff it, Miriam. You don't have to live with my brothers. They're incorrigible."

"Is that anything like a dirigible?" asked Rod.

"You're both full of hot air?"

"Technically, a dirigible is an airship that can be steered or directed. Since Rod is incapable of being directed he couldn't be a dirigible."

"I've always wondered how you could corrige something so that you couldn't be corriged."

"We learned that in Latin - it comes from corrigibilis, able to be corrected."

"I guess that Mr Hathaway must think the word is a perfect description for Ciara."

"Humph," replied Ciara. "He's the shining example if he keeps up this 'play like a girl' shit."

"Yeah, there's got to something we can do about it."

"Put on your thinking caps, ladies and gentlemen. We'll come up with something. Got to go - see you next week."

 

It being a Friday, Ciara and I managed to get lost on our way home. Somehow we ended up down by the river, taking the time to watch the submarine races. The view was much better from the back seat of the car, if you know what I mean.

The only problem was, I had the feeling I was petting a grumpy tiger as I snuggled up to my girlfriend. She was still incensed. Finally, my tentative probes found the right spot.

"Mmmm, you can keep doing that, lover."

"You mean… this?" After a pause: "Or … this?"

"Oh yeah! You may not play like a girl but you sure know how to play with a girl."

"A natural talent."

"But even the most talented need to practice. Keep practicing!"

"Want to do a duet?"

"Do we have enough time? We have to be home, but I bet I could play with you until you sounded like a girl?"

"I don't do sucker bets."

"Wait a minute!"

"Uh, OK?"

"No! Keep doing that. I just had an idea."

"Am I in trouble again?"

"Maybe."

"Uh, how?"

"I was just thinking. What if when we do the concert that old sexist Hathaway had to look at an all-girl orchestra?"

"I'm not going to quit after all that work."

"You don't have to. We would just look like an all-girl orchestra."

"I don't get it."

"That's just because you think like a man."

"I bet you know just what I'm thinking right now."

"I bet if you move your hand about two inches I'll have a better idea."

"I think you do have a better idea."

"Ummm, nice. I'll give you a week to stop that."

"You're getting to sound like Hathaway - you just changed the subject."

"I did, didn't I?"

"You did. What kind of trouble are you getting me into this time?"

"Not just you, all of you guys in the orchestra."

"I suppose it will be good to have company."

"The good news is I think you won't have to wear a tie."

"I like that part. What's the catch?"

"Actually, there would probably be three catches."

"Do they multiply like wire coat hangers in a closet?"

"Not really, the catches would be on your bra."

"Wait a minute!"

"I told you, you have a week to stop. No need to wait. Wouldn't it be a kick if all of us were wearing floor length black skirts and fancy white blouses? That way we could all play like girls for Hathaway."

"You need to make an appointment with Ms Jenkinson on Monday. If anybody needs a guidance councilor I think you do."

"Isn't that just like a man. If a great idea isn't his own he thinks you're crazy."

"And you consider us guys wearing skirts and bras for a performance in front of our parents to be sane?"

"Oh. I guess it could use a little refining."

"Sugar, you may be a refined woman, but I have my doubts about your connection to reality sometimes."

"C'mon Pete! It'll be fun."

"For who?"

"Me? I could take your bra off after the performance."

"Promises, promises."

"Just think of the possibilities."

"Yeah, like getting kicked out of school just before we graduate, having to visit my father in the hospital after he has a coronary, having every jock in the school ready to squash me like a bug. There are lots of possibilities."

"Piddelty-tush!"

"Piddelty-tush? Where did that come from?"

"My Grandfather. That's what he said when he was trying not swear around us kids."

"It doesn't work for me. This could get me in deep shit, you know."

"I like it when you talk dirty."

"You're changing the subject again, not that I want to keep discussing me in a dress."

"If I convince Henry to do it will you go along?"

"Only if you're there when I tell my folks. I'm not going to be all alone when they hit the ceiling."

"No problem."

"That's easy for you to say."

"Hey guys, what's up?"

"Ciara," I answered. "She's still at about fifteen thousand feet she's so pissed at Mr Hathaway."

"He is a bit hard to take, isn't he?"

"He's a stinking sexist pig, he's…"

"I get the idea, Ciara. Not much we can do about it, though."

"That's where you're wrong, Henry. I've got an idea."

"From the way your boyfriend is grinning I have the feeling I'm either going to love or hate it. Want to give me a clue, Pete?"

"No way in hell, Henry. She's on her own on this one."

"That bad, eh?"

"I think it's a perfectly lovely idea, Henry. Remember how the old… bugger..." Ciara made a visible effort to control her language, "was ranting about how we were playing like girls?"

"As if I could forget. I just wish I could play half as well as you do, Ciara."

"Uh, thanks, but that's not the point. What do you think would happen if when we walked out on stage for the concert we were all dressed like girls?"

"I think you'd better have a fleet of ambulances standing by. 'Course my mom would be laughing her ass off and getting in the way of the stretcher bearers. When I told her about this 'play like a girl' stuff she was ready to call in the ACLU and the National Guard."

"See Pete? I told you that my idea wasn't so extreme."

"I guess tears of laughter beats tears from tear gas."

"Would you be willing to do it, Henry?"

"Jeez, Ciara, I don't know. I'd look pretty stupid."

"If you put a skirt on Henry," I offered, "You'd need a brass bra and a helmet with horns. You'd look more at home in a Wagner opera than a chamber ensemble."

"What kind of idiot would want to wear a brass bra?" asked Ciara. "It would be damned cold!"

"A frigid woman?"

"What was the name of the ice queen in Frozen? Maybe she could tell us."

"Elsa, but she was a princess, not a queen."

"And I'm not sure I want anybody calling me a fairy."

"C'mon Henry. I know you're really a pussycat but what kind of jerk would take a chance on pissing off someone your size?"

"The jocks on the football team? They're as big as me, you know."

"I guess, but how many of them would be going to a concert of classical music?"

"Word gets around, kid. This comes off and our pictures will be in the paper, sure as blazes."

"Wouldn't that be sweet. They'd have to print the story of why we did it!"

"I nominate you to be the one to explain it to the school board. I want to graduate, not get expelled."

"It won't get that bad. It's just a prank. High spirits among the students. I can come up with a million reasons why we did it. I might even tell the truth and get all the feminists pissed right along with us."

"And just where would you find clothes that would fit me? You'd have to stuff my bra with a couple of footballs. Hey! Maybe that would mollify the jocks if I said I was playing football."

"You'd really do it, Henry?" I asked.

"Why not? As long as we don't screw up the music, it ought to teach Hathaway a lesson."

I was sunk. Ciara was going to hold me to my promise and I was going to be wearing a skirt on stage.

"Hey Mom," I asked. "How do I know what size bra I wear?"

"You go upstairs and get my sewing tape and we measure your chest."

If I was hoping for outrage or something I was out of luck. Ciara just stood there with a shit-eating grin on her face."

"Well, go get the tape, lover."

"You're going to pay for this, lover!"

"OK Ciara, what are you two up to now?" asked Mom. I had stopped at the top of the stairs to listen. No way I was going to miss this.

"Payback for a sexist pig, Mrs Swanson."

"Well, at least it starts out interesting. Do continue."

I quickly got the tape and returned to listen to the rest of the story. Ciara had gotten pretty good at telling it, after all she had convinced Rod and Gene to go along before tackling my Mom.

"... so we decided to teach Mr Hathaway a lesson about misogyny."

"And converting my son to a crossdresser is only a side effect."

"I think he'll be pretty cute when I get done with him."

"No doubt. I'll have to tell you the story of the frat party his father was in just after we met sometime."

Time to make my entrance - I just had to hear this one.

"Why not tell it now? I'm all ears, Mom."

"I don't know. I'm not sure I want to give you any more ideas…"

"C'mon!"

"Well, OK. Naturally it involves football and a lot of beer."

"Dad!?"

"Yes, your dear old Dad. I guess you're old enough to hear the story now. We met in our sophomore year in college, standing in line to get the same course at registration. Intro to Psych, if you want to know. One of those courses that we needed to make us well rounded graduates of our sort-of-prestigious university. Actually, it was pretty interesting, and we got together to study quite a bit. Your Dad had pledged to the Psi Phi fraternity, a complete bunch of geeks, as you can tell from the name. When Homecoming came around, some genius decided that the frat should march in the parade as the Psi Phi sorority, probably because they were such geeks they couldn't get it together to do a panty raid, so they had to wear the panties themselves."

"You forgot to start with 'Once Upon a Time', Mom. Isn't that how you're supposed to start a fairy tale?"

"I do hope you're not using that word in a derogatory sense. I can assure you he has no such tendencies."

"Mom! Since the whole purpose of this is to have me dressing up like a woman in bra and panties and skirts and such, I could hardly be thinking of something like that."

"I suppose that makes sense, even if this whole thing is pretty silly."

"Blame it on Ciara."

"Think of it as striking a blow for gender equality." Ciara was grinning broadly.

"Anyway, your dad needed help - big time - so he turned to me. We had been sort-of dating for only a couple of months, so I had my doubts. Was this going to be a send-up or a serious try at looking like a woman? He thought he could get away with stuffing a couple of balloons under his Hooters T-shirt and a pair of cut-off shorts."

"You aren't serious!"

"The honest truth! Your Dad had a lot of maturing to do back then."

"I'll say!"

"So, I told him if I was going to help he would do it right. Actually, I had a ball taking him to the lingerie department and getting him a real bra."

"You going to do that with me, Pete?" inquired my so-called girlfriend and helpmate.

"Maybe I can get my Dad to help me if he's been through it before."

"Wouldn't that be cute! Two clueless men in the women's wear department discussing the fine points of which bra to buy. I want to watch that happen, son of mine."

"If you were there I wouldn't need dad - or my girlfriend."

"Trust me - you'd need us even if your Dad was there."

"So what happened?"

"I couldn't help myself. I got him the frilliest, laciest, sexiest bra I could find that was big enough for him. I even told him he was going to be a C cup despite his innate longing to inflate his cups until they runneth over."

"Tell me you have pictures hidden away somewhere."

"We do. Give me a minute."

Off she went and Ciara looked at me with a smile that gave me chills.

"You really need to have a bra that shows some sexy lace through your blouse. And don't tell me you haven't drooled over the lace on my bra when I'm in performance costume."

"I've drooled over the lace on your bra whenever I get the chance. I like the lace on your panties, too."

"Just keep that in mind as I dress you up, lover. Want to wear matching undies to the show?"

"Sounds like a good deal to me."

"Here they are!" Mom was back with a slim photo album. Think I did the job properly?"

"That's dad? Wow, he looks … well… normal. For a girl, that is."

"I hope Pete doesn't whine as much as Sam did when you dress him up, Ciara. I had to make some interesting promises. And no, you will never know what those promises were. Period!"

"Sounds promising to me, Petey." Ciara purred."

"As you can see, he turned out pretty good. We promoted a wig from a friend in the theatre department and a dress from one of the girls on my floor. We had to buy him some flats and stockings and he groused about the makeup the entire evening. It all went splendidly until the party after the parade."

"Oh?"

"That's where the beer came in. Not your father drinking too much, but those frat parties can get kind of wild. It was a senior named Otto Davis who valiantly tried to kill an entire keg by himself that decided to come on to the big chick who was just sitting there talking to some of the more well-behaved party animals. Your Dad wasn't amused, but he hadn't any experience in shutting down unwanted advances. It's not a great idea to shout 'Bug off, you sot!' to a drunk who's trying to chat you up."

"He didn't!"

"He most certainly did. Otto was pissed - well he was boozy-pissed to start with and got angry-pissed at having his advances spurned, so he grabs at your father's left boob and suddenly it was Niagara Falls. We'd used a couple of water balloons to fill his bra and Otto was more than the rubber could take.

"I don't know who was more surprised, Otto or your father. You wouldn't believe how much water came out of that rather modest C cup, but it was everywhere and everything was soaked. That kind of ended the party for us, so we went back to my dorm room, which was where your father had left his regular clothes. My roommate just about crapped in her panties when we came in with him dripping wet and with only one boob."

"Good thing you took the pictures before the party."

"Oh, no. We made him dress up again the next day so we could take the pictures. Used double balloons to stuff the bra so there were no accidents. Whatever you use, Pete, I wouldn't recommend water balloons."

"Listen to you mother, Pete. Could you imagine what would happen if you sprung a leak in the middle of the performance?"

"I won't even try. Ciara, do you know any experts in padding out a bra?" I asked.

"Just about any girl who is waiting for a visit from the boob fairy."

"There's a boob fairy?"

"Don't you wish, lover."

"My mother's listening, Ciara."

"No, your mother's laughing her behind off."

"Can you blame her?"

"Nope. Off with the shirt and let me measure you."

"With my mother watching?"

"Do you think she'd be any more comfortable if we went to your bedroom to do this?"

"Now that you mention it…"

"Now why would I worry about you alone in the bedroom when you stay out half the night necking in the back seat of the car?"

"Mom!"

"I'm old, not stupid. I bet you have experience with bra hooks, don't you Pete."

"Uh, fifth amendment?"

"I thought so. Just don't make me a grandmother too soon, OK"

"Should I tell her I'm taking The Pill?" Ciara stage whispered."

"Cut that out!"

"Use a rubber, too. Don't take chances, son"

"Mother!"

"He looks cute all pink like that, doesn't he, Ciara"

"Right! He blushes like a girl.?"

I just gave up, there was no way I was going to win here.

 

OK, since the subject has come up, what did I use to fill my bra if water balloons were out? As a child of the digital age, naturally I opened up the computer and visited Amazon. C'mon, what else do you do when you need something you aren't going to find at the corner store?

I was shocked to find twenty-one pages of breast forms there. Twenty-one pages? How many women needed the darn things, anyway?

I suppose the more relevant question in my case was how many men needed them? And they were cheap. I had always thought that such things were expensive! Well, the really good ones were pretty steep, but I needed something for one night that would fill out my bra - even if I still had a problem with the phrase my bra. So I blew thirty bucks on a pair and blessed my folks for having a Prime membership. No shipping, yea!

Mom has a nasty streak in her sometimes, she waited until dinner was done to hand me the box while Dad was watching. Of course she had told him about the 'play like a girl' caper, but she had told me about his little foray into femininity so I guess things balanced out.

"So Pete," Dad inquired. "Do we get to see how they look?"

"What?"

"We're going to see you at the concert, so a preview won't hurt."

"I… I…"

"Embarrassed, eh? I was, too, but your mother wasn't letting me off the hook."

"Sure, blame it on me, honey. Who would have looked like an idiot in a Hooter's T-shirt if I hadn't come along?"

"That would be me. I know Ciara took you bra shopping and you got the regulation white blouse required of every woman in an orchestra."

"No excuses," Mom added. "And don't tell me you don't know how to put on a bra. I'm sure you've helped Ciara once or twice."

"Mom!"

"You're embarrassing the boy, Vera."

"And you're not?"

"Just doing my job as a parent."

So what else could I do? I went to the bedroom and took them out of the box. Weird! They actually felt like a real breast, except they weren't warm; Mom was right about what happened in the back seat of the car so I knew!

I put on the bra, stuffed it with the freezing cold forms (You try it and don't tell me room-temperature silicone isn't freezing cold when it hits your chest!) and buttoned up the blouse, fumbling a bit with the reversed buttons. I looked downright stupid in just the blouse and jeans, so I put on the skirt, too.

"Satisfied?" I growled, returning to the dining room.

"Looks like it fits you pretty well. Do you have shoes to go with it?"

"Shoes?"

"Peter!" Mom cried. "Haven't you ever looked at any of the girls in your orchestra? Have you seen them wearing white sneakers for a performance?"

"I'm starting to think quitting the orchestra will be easier than this whole thing."

"Should have thought of that before you made that bet with Ciara. You wouldn't want to go back on you word."

"How come I didn't get a pair of standard-issue parents that went ballistic over their son dressing like a girl in public? The kind that would forbid me to do something so stupid? It would have made life a whole lot easier."

"You're just lucky, I guess," Dad answered

"So why don't you come to the performance in a skirt if you think it's such a great idea?"

"What do you think, Vera? Could I pull it off after all these years?"

"Nooo-ooo!" I wailed.

"There's a bit more of you than there was in college, Sam."

"Just more to love. Think we should call the fathers of the other boys and see if they want to offer their support for their sons?"

"We could give it the old college try."

I was doomed. I'm going to finish High School in Iceland or New Zealand or somewhere else miles and miles from here.

 

"Ciara, I need help!"

"Say that again with the volume down. If you shout into the phone I can't understand you."

"I need help! You've created a monster."

"I'd hardly call you a monster. Your feminine presentation won't win you any beauty contests, but it's hardly Frankenstein class."

"Not me! It's my Dad. He's threatening to dress up like a girl to 'support' me at the concert."

"Why that's downright cute!"

"Cute!? It's bad enough you've got me doing it, but my Dad? It's just too much!"

"Pete, you're overreacting just a teensie bit."

"That's easy for you to say. I'll never live it down. Your parents wouldn't want to adopt me?"

"Oh yeah, that would work. I'm sure they'd love to have my boyfriend living in the room next to mine."

"Your girlfriend, then?"

"Peter Matthew Swanson, turn you brain back on before you say another word. Your solution to being embarrassed by appearing as a girl for a few hours one evening is to become one for the rest of your life? Are you contemplating surgery, perhaps?"

"Uh, I guess that wouldn't work, would it?"

"Do I really have to answer that question?"

"Maybe I'd better hang up and call you again with my brain working."

"Look, it's Friday night. You haven't got anything planned, do you?"

"If I did, you would be involved. So no."

"And your bargain-basement breast forms arrived as scheduled?"

"Yes. That's how this whole thing started. They made me dress up and put them on and then Dad went psycho."

"Then you still have the clothes on?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Good! Get out your instrument and tune it up. I'll be over in ten minutes and we can practice playing some duets while you're dressed up."

"Would it do me any good to say no?"

"Not in the slightest."

"I thought so. Mom told me I need to get some black shoes to wear - sneakers aren't appropriate."

"Duh! Even a dumb male ought to be able to figure that one out. There's a DSW on the way over, I'll be there in half an hour with a pair of shoes."

"As if I'm going to swallow that one! There is no way on this green earth that you could be in and out of a shoe store in only twenty minutes."

"Time me, buster. Three, two one, MARK!"

The line went dead. As dead as I'm going to be before this is over.

 

"Mom?"

"You're still dressed up!"

"Yeah, Ciara is coming over to practice duets with me while I'm dressed up."

"She's a sensible girl. I'm sure you will need to get used to the clothes and having breasts to get in the way of your bowing."

"I never thought of that!"

"Isn't it nice that she did?"

"I'm bursting with joy - not."

"Before she gets here, let's see if we can do something with your hair."

"My hair? What's wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing, you do take good care of it, but you need more than long hair hanging down from your head if you want to look like a lady."

"That supposes I want to look like a lady."

"You are a crab tonight. I hope Ciara can put up with you long enough to teach you how to be a lady. Sit down and let me get my implements of destruction and we'll have you looking beautiful in no time."

I was doomed, no way around it. Besides that, those cheapo breast forms were starting to itch.

 

The doorbell rang while Mom was still ripping my hair out by the roots. I've always liked my hair long, but a brush through it and a tie on the pony tail and I was through. I was afraid I was going to end up with ringlets or a beehive for all the messing around she was doing. I glanced at my watch and damned if Ciara hadn't made it in twenty-seven minutes.

"Mrs Swanson, that's just perfect! A little makeup and some deportment lessons and Petra will be the hit of the show."

"PETRA? Give me a break."

"I've got your shoes, Petra. I couldn't find any black flats in your size, but these only have a two inch heel, you'll be fine in them in no time."

I took a look at them.

"Two inches? Say more like two inches below the summit of Mount Everest! I can't wear those."

"If I wasn't so mad at Mr Hathaway, I'd tell you not to be a sissy, but that would sort of defeat the purpose of this whole scheme."

"Darling," said Mom. "I've seen cowboy boots with higher heels than that. You'll be fine."

"If I fall on my face and crush my violin, I'll remember your advice."

"Your pretty new breasts will cushion the fall. Put your shoes on, darling. I'm done with your hair."

At least they fit, but the strap felt strange. I guess they wouldn't fall off my feet too easily. So OK, I didn't actually need Ciara's support to leave the room, but any excuse to hold on to her is welcome.

We settled in the living room, tuned to each other and started to play. Funny how I completely forgot how I was dressed as the music took hold of me. I love playing with Ciara - musically, mind you - we seem to be completely attuned to each other. The harmonies rolled off our instruments, blended effortlessly and took us to a place where nothing existed but the music.

At some point I realized that a flute had joined us. Dad! He's more into jazz than classical music, but somehow he found a place for his flute in the melody as we followed the written music. When the last page was turned and we brought the music to an end it was both satisfying and sad. I wanted to have it continue forever.

"Mr Swanson, that was amazing!" gushed Ciara.

"Wow, Dad. We need to find time to do this more often. It's been ages since you played your flute."

"And I'd almost forgotten just how wonderful it can be to make music with my friends. Thank you, Ciara, Petra."

I didn't mind being called Petra at all.

"If you don't mind me saying it," Dad offered, "while you were playing you were a glowing young woman completely in tune with the music. I'm not trying to impugn your manhood, just observing that you have nothing to worry about on that stage. You're a musician first and foremost, you can become anyone you want to be while you're making music."

"I have to say I felt something I've never felt before, there was a force or a presence that just burst forth inside me. For the first few minutes, brushing my breasts as I bowed distracted me, but soon enough it became just part of me. Maybe adding some feminine sensibility made me more able to find the life in the music."

"As good a theory as any. You got anything else we can play together? Asked dad.

"How about some Hayden?"

"You start, I'll find somewhere to sneak in."

Mom soon joined us and that evening passed in a blur. I was going to nail this playing like a girl stuff.

This was going to be one of the most rehearsed shows I'd ever been in. In addition to our usual rehearsals, the four of us who were going to be temporary girls got together several times in full regalia. Ciara provided the space, her parents just looked confused and tolerant as we gathered and shook their heads. I guess they were used to her enthusiasms.

It took a little time to get used to my friends in their alternate personalities, but we managed. No matter how we were dressed we wanted to be the best musicians we could be.

The stories of how we each broke the news to our parents were interesting; but somehow we all managed to convince our parents this was something we needed to do. What I didn't know was that Mom and Dad had been talking to the parents of all the musicians and they were organizing a strike force and instant response team. No matter how well we organized our plot, we didn't know how Mr Hathaway would react.

The night of the concert, we all gathered and the girls did our makeup and hair and recited some unnecessary advice about how to be a woman before an audience. We carpooled to the venue, arriving twenty minutes before the start of the performance.

Mr Hathaway was getting worried, but when the first girls walked through the door he visibly relaxed. When the ninth body became visible he just stared and stood stock still. Soon there were twelve women, instruments in hand, ready to perform.

He didn't get mad, but he spoke forcefully.

"I don't know what this is about, but I will expect a professional performance and nothing less."

He turned on his heel and left, followed by some guy we had never seen before.

"Who's the shadow?" asked Henry."

"Don't know. Maybe his bodyguard so the girls don't beat him up?"

"Too bad we don't run to kettle drums - I could think of a good use for those mallets," grinned Debra.

"Showtime, people," announced Ciara, and we moved onto the stage and started to tune.

There were murmurs in the audience as they compared our pictures in the program to our faces on stage. Our parents were quietly queried and tried to explain, but Mr Hathaway appeared on stage at precisely eight o'clock and did his introduction without elaboration as to the discrepancies. He even had the presence of mind to change his usual 'boys and girls' to 'young people' on the fly. He raised his baton and we were off!

If I do say it myself, we excelled that evening. It was clear we played that infamous passage with big enough balls for rutting bull, then continued to play with all our hearts and souls. The evening was a triumph. As much as he was a sexist pig, he had wrung a superb performance from us.

After the show Mr Hathaway had us gather in the cafeteria, and his mysterious sidekick was right there, too. After most performances we conducted a post-mortem. I use that term advisedly, because I figured we were all dead. The phony boobs in my bra felt like they were made of lead and I was sure we'd all be kicked out of school from the look on Mr Hathaway's face. Before much could happen, though, our parents started to come in.

"Miss Lennon," he started. "Would I be correct in thinking this charade was you idea?"

"Whatever gave you that idea, Mr Hathaway?" Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

"Perhaps it has been your attitude during our rehearsals."

"Oh, you mean my displeasure when you continued to insult me and anyone of my sex? Is that what gave you a clue?"

"Miss Lennon!"

"Mr Hathaway!" That was my Dad. "Having listened to some of the recordings of your rehearsals I must join Ciara in expressing my displeasure. You do realize that just about every student has a cell phone capable of recording whatever is happening around them? Recording things like rehearsals where the students are being taunted because of their gender? I will admit you have managed to produce an excellent program, but I am disturbed that a professional educator could be so misogynistic."

"Perhaps that is because I am not a professional educator but a professional musician."

"Well, that goes a long way to explaining why you sound like such a horse's ass when dealing with people." I'm not sure whose mother that was, but she was spot on. "Musicians need an outsized ego to get up on stage in front of the world and you damned well qualify."

"Now wait a minute, Serena!" exclaimed my Dad. "I think I'm a passable musician but I don't feel the need to be insulting to my peers."

"Sorry, Sam. Wasn't thinking of you. Anyway, I thought this was a pretty good way of making a point. What kind of crap is this 'play like a girl' business? We aren't talking baseball here."

"In any case, sir," That was Ciara's Mom, "I question your fitness to be instructing young people of either sex. Sexist stereotypes have no place in education or in music."

I won't go on any more, but Mr Hathaway got roundly chastised and most of the parents appreciated our creativity in dealing with the problem. Sure, there were a couple who were not sure it was appropriate, but they were outnumbered and held their peace.

I don't know if the parental displeasure got through to Mr Hathaway, but he was not looking quite so superior by the time we all ran down.

"If you are quite finished," spoke Hathaway. I guess he wasn't completely cowed. "I would like to introduce Mr Clark Morris from the statewide youth orchestra organization. I had asked him to attend your performance and he has invited us to be part of the statewide competition in two weeks. I realize this is short notice, but after experiencing the level of parental support shown tonight I'm confident that every one of these young women will be willing to be a part of the competition."

With that he left the cafeteria and, we soon realized, the school.

Good lord, what had we done?