Schoolgirl

Just as I was about to leave the kitchen, Aunt Helen stopped me, her eyes sparkling with an idea. "Oh, Heather," she said, holding up a new Kindle that I hadn't noticed sitting on the counter. "I almost forgot. I got you a new e-book to read."

I reached for the Kindle, curious but wary. Aunt Helen's taste in books could be unpredictable, ranging from classic literature to the latest self-help guides. I glanced at the screen and felt my face turn beet red as I read the title: "Understanding Menstruation: A Teen Girl's Guide".

"Aunt Helen!" I sputtered, my voice cracking in embarrassment. "Do I really have to read this?"

She raised an eyebrow, her expression calm but firm. "Yes, you do," she replied. "A girl your age needs to know everything about her body, even if it's a bit uncomfortable to talk about. And frankly, boys should know this information too. It's important."

I swallowed, feeling my ears burn as I turned the Kindle over in my hands, wishing I could disappear. The thought of learning about menstruation made me want to crawl under a rock. But Aunt Helen's steady gaze told me there was no escaping this lesson. "All right," I mumbled, trying to hide how flustered I felt. "I'll read it."

"Good," she said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Trust me, it'll be helpful. You might even learn something that will make you a more understanding person—no matter who you are."

That day Aunt Helen broke more news to me, I was sitting at the dining table, nibbling nervously on a piece of toast. Her voice was calm yet authoritative, the way it always was when she announced a major decision.

"Heather," she said, her eyes meeting mine, "it's time for you to attend school. I've already enrolled you at Tracy's high school."

My heart dropped. "School? As Heather?" I felt my stomach churn at the thought.

"Yes," she replied, her tone unyielding. "No one will suspect you there, and you'll be with Tracy. She'll help you blend in. Besides, it'll help you be other girls to act more feminine".

Tracy, who had been listening with a gleeful grin, clapped her hands. "Oh, it'll be so fun! Heather, you'll be the new girl everyone wants to know."

I didn't share her enthusiasm, but I didn't dare protest. Aunt Helen had made it clear that my safety depended on this deception, and I owed it to my mother to play along. So, a week later, I found myself standing outside Tracy's high school, dressed in a pastel skirt and blouse, my hair styled into soft waves. My purse—stuffed with makeup, a brush, and, to my utter embarrassment, a few tampons Tracy had insisted I carry—felt alien on my shoulder.

Walking through those double doors, I couldn't have felt more out of place. Yet, Tracy was true to her word. She introduced me to her friends with so much confidence and charm that they immediately accepted me. Being the new girl and Tracy's cousin made me interesting, almost like a celebrity.

In class, I was hyperaware of every move I made, trying to perfect the gestures Tracy had drilled into me. I kept my legs crossed daintily, played with my hair when the other girls did, and tried to suppress my discomfort whenever I noticed boys glancing in my direction. I couldn't shake the fear of being found out.

But it was when we arrived at our first class that my anxiety hit a whole new level. Sex education. I could feel my face flush as we filed into the classroom. It was a Catholic school, so the teacher, Sister Fatima, approached the subject delicately, her voice soft but firm.

"Today," she began, "we will discuss family planning and childcare." She introduced a project that made my palms sweat. Each girl would be paired with a boy, and together, we'd be responsible for caring for a realistic baby doll. The doll would cry when it needed feeding or a diaper change, and our grades depended on how well we handled the parental responsibilities.

Tracy squealed in excitement when she was paired with a cute boy from the football team, Sid. I, however, was matched with a quiet, serious-looking boy named James. He was taller than me, with dark hair and green eyes that seemed to scrutinize me as if he could see right through my disguise. My heart pounded as we collected our doll, the baby already beginning to wail in my arms.

"Looks like she's hungry," James said, his voice calm. He took the doll from me with practiced ease, and I couldn't help but feel inadequate. The whole thing was mortifying. Here I was, dressed as a girl, being forced to participate in a project that highlighted every difference between my current identity and who I used to be. My discomfort only grew when I noticed the small pack of tampons I had brought peeking out of my purse, a silent reminder of my predicament.

James didn't seem to notice, thank God, but the incident left me shaken. Every moment in that classroom was a reminder of the complicated role I was playing. I had to care for the doll, act feminine, and deal with the implications of what it meant to be Heather.

As the bell rang and we prepared to leave, James gave me a small smile. "You did pretty well today," he said. His approval made me blush, and I hated that it did.

Being Heather was becoming more than just an act. It was a new reality with its own set of expectations, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep pretending without losing myself in the process.