show off Kylie’s curves without strangling them. I love it immediately. It’s the perfect podium look. It says, “I’m smart, chic, and sassy. Call me.”
The problem is, Kylie’s not really a red sequins kind of girl. Or a dress girl. Kylie’s not really an anything kind of girl. She is an extremely fluid concept. For once, I’m happy she’s not here, negative nabobing in my ear. I’m inclined to buy one for her and one for me. We should show up to graduation in matching red sequins. It would sure give Freiburg something to remember.
I throw on a black chain necklace, very eighties. And spiky black patent heels.
Ding ding ding. We. Have. Got. A. Winner. People.
I exit the dressing room to admire the look I’ve just curated, ignoring the tweaky stares I’m getting from tweens and their moms. I stand in front of the three-way, staring at myself from every angle, which is when it hits me. I’m actually kind of over the whole cross-dressing thing. At first it was fun—lots of shock and awe, which was a kick. But lately it’s been less satisfying as people have become slowly inured to my look.
Girls’ clothes feel different on the body. They cling, they hug, and they drape. It’s sexy and pleasurable to have a different relationship to fabric, but I’m kind of starting to miss the fit and feel of a finely tailored men’s suit. Nothing like a European-cut Tom Ford to make you feel dapper. The honest truth is, I like stylish men’s clothes as much as the next guy. Maybe even more than I like women’s clothes. Maybe it’s time for a change. Maybe I don’t have to shove my gayness down everyone’s throat. Maybe I should consider the possibility of a suit at graduation. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. The kid needs to give this one a good think.
The one thing I do know is that Kylie absolutely must wear this dress. It rocks.
“Will Bixby, what the hell are you doing?”
I turn around to see Lily Wentworth staring at me. She is wearing the exact same dress. Stokely Eagleton hovers behind her like some kind of military helicopter, ready to whisk her away in case of emergency.
Lily Wentworth? What is she doing slumming at Forever 21? She’s such a label whore.
“What’s wrong with you? You look totally gay,” Lily says.
“I am totally gay, Lily,” I remind her. “I’m buying it for Kylie.”
“I don’t think so. I’m buying this for graduation, so you might as well just put yours back,” Lily insists, like she’s the boss of me or something.
Stokely nods in solemn affirmation, as though the word of God has just been handed down.
I am suddenly back to wanting to shove my gayness right up Lily’s ass, along with the stick that’s been in there for a while now. So much for the suit.
“Kylie will be wearing it to graduation. Deal with it.” I flash Lily a toothy grin just because I know it will drive the knife even deeper. “If I were you, I’d find something a little more…forgiving. Maybe try the plus sizes or something.”
Lily doesn’t say anything. She just glares at me. I turn and sashay back into the dressing room like I’m working the runway.
“Does this make me look fat, Stokes?” I can hear Lily asking. Mess with me, beyatch, and I will mess you up.
“Not at all. You’re a size two. It looks great on you. He’s just jealous. He knows you’ll totally show up Kylie if you wear the same dress. I mean, Kylie Flores? Please,” Stokely says.
“You’re right. Besides, who cares what weird Will Bixby thinks, anyway?”
“Totally,” Stokely echoes.
Man, I hate Lily Wentworth. I can’t believe we were best friends in kindergarten. What was I thinking? I walk out of the dressing room, firmly clutching my red dress, and march over to Lily, getting all up in her grille. I am so over being called a loser.
“Hey, Lily, shouldn’t you be at Dolce or Prada?” Lily noticeably flinches. I’ve hit a nerve. “I mean, wearing a dress from Forever 21? Everything all right at
The problem is, Kylie’s not really a red sequins kind of girl. Or a dress girl. Kylie’s not really an anything kind of girl. She is an extremely fluid concept. For once, I’m happy she’s not here, negative nabobing in my ear. I’m inclined to buy one for her and one for me. We should show up to graduation in matching red sequins. It would sure give Freiburg something to remember.
I throw on a black chain necklace, very eighties. And spiky black patent heels.
Ding ding ding. We. Have. Got. A. Winner. People.
I exit the dressing room to admire the look I’ve just curated, ignoring the tweaky stares I’m getting from tweens and their moms. I stand in front of the three-way, staring at myself from every angle, which is when it hits me. I’m actually kind of over the whole cross-dressing thing. At first it was fun—lots of shock and awe, which was a kick. But lately it’s been less satisfying as people have become slowly inured to my look.
Girls’ clothes feel different on the body. They cling, they hug, and they drape. It’s sexy and pleasurable to have a different relationship to fabric, but I’m kind of starting to miss the fit and feel of a finely tailored men’s suit. Nothing like a European-cut Tom Ford to make you feel dapper. The honest truth is, I like stylish men’s clothes as much as the next guy. Maybe even more than I like women’s clothes. Maybe it’s time for a change. Maybe I don’t have to shove my gayness down everyone’s throat. Maybe I should consider the possibility of a suit at graduation. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. The kid needs to give this one a good think.
The one thing I do know is that Kylie absolutely must wear this dress. It rocks.
“Will Bixby, what the hell are you doing?”
I turn around to see Lily Wentworth staring at me. She is wearing the exact same dress. Stokely Eagleton hovers behind her like some kind of military helicopter, ready to whisk her away in case of emergency.
Lily Wentworth? What is she doing slumming at Forever 21? She’s such a label whore.
“What’s wrong with you? You look totally gay,” Lily says.
“I am totally gay, Lily,” I remind her. “I’m buying it for Kylie.”
“I don’t think so. I’m buying this for graduation, so you might as well just put yours back,” Lily insists, like she’s the boss of me or something.
Stokely nods in solemn affirmation, as though the word of God has just been handed down.
I am suddenly back to wanting to shove my gayness right up Lily’s ass, along with the stick that’s been in there for a while now. So much for the suit.
“Kylie will be wearing it to graduation. Deal with it.” I flash Lily a toothy grin just because I know it will drive the knife even deeper. “If I were you, I’d find something a little more…forgiving. Maybe try the plus sizes or something.”
Lily doesn’t say anything. She just glares at me. I turn and sashay back into the dressing room like I’m working the runway.
“Does this make me look fat, Stokes?” I can hear Lily asking. Mess with me, beyatch, and I will mess you up.
“Not at all. You’re a size two. It looks great on you. He’s just jealous. He knows you’ll totally show up Kylie if you wear the same dress. I mean, Kylie Flores? Please,” Stokely says.
“You’re right. Besides, who cares what weird Will Bixby thinks, anyway?”
“Totally,” Stokely echoes.
Man, I hate Lily Wentworth. I can’t believe we were best friends in kindergarten. What was I thinking? I walk out of the dressing room, firmly clutching my red dress, and march over to Lily, getting all up in her grille. I am so over being called a loser.
“Hey, Lily, shouldn’t you be at Dolce or Prada?” Lily noticeably flinches. I’ve hit a nerve. “I mean, wearing a dress from Forever 21? Everything all right at
Similar Books
