Dreaming of a New Me

  All the school kids so sick of books, they like the punk and the metal band…

  I whisper-sang under my breath, the lyrics of “Walk Like an Egyptian” looping in my mind like a lifeline. At the back of the lecture hall at Green River Community College, the hum of fluorescent lights and the professor’s monotone voice blended into a lifeless drone, the faint smell of stale coffee hanging in the air.

  My notebook y open on the desk, a bnk page staring back at me except for a few doodles in the margin—a microphone, a guitar, a tiny skirt. My pen tapped a restless rhythm, but I couldn’t focus, not when tomorrow night was so close.

  When the buzzer rings (oh-way-oh), they’re walking like an Egyptian… In my daydream, it was tomorrow night at The Firehouse, the stage lights—so bright they felt warm—bathing my face in a golden glow as I sang my big solo. I could almost feel the swish of a new skirt against my thighs, the weight of my hair falling in soft waves over my shoulders, the crowd cheering as I stood there as Dani—the girl I loved being, even if just for a little while. My lips curved into a small smile at the thought, but then I shifted in my seat, and the rough fabric of my baggy jeans scraped against my legs, snapping me back to reality.

  I tugged at the brim of my baseball cap, the long hair I’d tucked underneath itching against my neck. The oversized fnnel shirt hung heavy on my shoulders, like a costume I didn’t want to wear. I’d thought this morning, What difference does it make? as I’d pulled on the boyish clothes, trying to convince myself it didn’t matter. But it did. Being “Danny” made me feel so out of pce, a heaviness I couldn’t shake. But at rehearsal, thanks to Jeannie’s makeover, I’d felt so much lighter—so much happier. Imagine feeling like that all the time, I thought, a pang of longing twisting in my gut. Then I scoffed softly. Never going to happen. Not here, not at school, not with my parents still in the dark.

  “Finish reading chapters 20 and 21!” The professor’s voice cut through my thoughts, jarring me as students around me started packing up their books. I scribbled “20, 21” in my notebook—the only notes I’d taken today—and frowned. I should have paid attention. A sense of dread crept in. They’d told me Art History was an easy A, but not at the rate I was going.

  I bolted out of the room, my backpack slung over one shoulder, the weight of my double life heavier than the books inside. But as I stepped into the chilly afternoon air, a spark of excitement flickered in my chest. I had just enough time to get home, change, and meet Jeannie for our shopping trip. She’d texted me st night, insisting we needed new outfits for the band’s next gig, and I couldn’t wait to spend the afternoon as Dani—out in the world, even if just for a little while.

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  At home, I dropped my backpack by the door with a thud and headed straight to my room, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. I locked the door behind me—a habit I’d picked up since starting to dress as Dani—and moved to my closet, pushing aside a row of old hoodies to reveal my one “girl” outfit: the tartan skirt, a fitted green sweater, and a pair of ankle boots Jeannie had lent me. I really need more things to wear, I decided. I pulled them out carefully, ying them on my bed like they were treasures, my fingers lingering on the soft fabric of the sweater.

  I changed quickly, my hands trembling slightly as I pulled on the skirt, the familiar swish against my thighs sending a thrill through me. But as I gnced nervously at the door, my stomach twisted. What if Mom or Dad comes home early and sees me like this? The thought made my breath catch—I wasn’t ready for them to know about Dani, not yet. They still thought I was Danny, the quiet boy who’d always kept to himself, and I wasn’t sure that they would understand—I didn’t really understand it myself yet.

  I brushed out my hair, letting the waves fall over my shoulders, the length a small rebellion against my parents’ nagging to cut it. Just a little longer, I thought, running my fingers through the strands. Then I sat at my desk, pulling out the makeup Jeannie had taught me to use for gigs. I’d been practicing almost every evening, alone in my room after everyone else was asleep—no one would see it but me, but I needed to get better, faster. Foundation first, smoothing out my skin until it glowed. Then eyeliner, a thin line to make my eyes pop. Eyeshadow next—lighter on the inside, blending to a darker shade on the outside, just like Jeannie showed me. A swipe of mascara, a touch of blush, and finally, a soft pink lipstick that made my lips look fuller. I leaned back, studying my reflection in the small mirror on my desk, and smiled. The person staring back at me was Dani—someone who made me feel alive, someone I wanted to be more and more, even if I didn’t fully know what that meant yet.

  I stood up, smoothing the skirt with my hands, and took a deep breath. For the first time all day, I felt a lightness I couldn’t expin, a joy that came with being Dani. I grabbed my jacket, jogging down the block toward the pce where Jeannie and I pnned to meet. At the end of the block, the trees parted, allowing a view to the south and Mount Rainier. Shadows of clouds were being chased across the valley by the spring sun. I paused to take it in. Living up here in the Pacific Northwest, we put up with a lot of rain, but my goodness, at times like this it is the most beautiful pce on earth. Just then a car came up our street—our neighbor’s—I stepped behind a tree. Probably they wouldn’t recognize me, but better to not take chances. After they passed, I hurried down the block to meet Jeannie.