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Telling the Parents

Let me tell you a little something about my parents. They're cool. They're not like those "Asian parents" Beatrice always tells me about. They don't nose or butt in in my life. They joke and drink and stuff, but they're not drunk idiots. I don't tell them everything, some things, but they don't care.

I actually did think I was going to tell my parents, but I wasn't sure when or how. Well, I guess this is the time. However, I guess my mom could be somewhat of a spaz, and my dad has anger management issues...sometimes. However, when I was going to tell them about this stuff, I had a feeling that I was going to feel something different from them.

"Gwendolyn, what is the meaning of all this?" asked my mom, holding up my bag of actress pads (two; hey, I needed to change!), and wig, and peering in. "What are you doing with all this stuff?"

"Heh, I guess I'll get going now," said Frederica, going back to her car. Wilma eyed her suspiciously before sending me a victorious smirk. I glared at her, still slightly annoyed.

"Um, well, I wanted to do a science experiment," I replied. "Kind of. My friends and I, uh, wanted to know what guys did and how they acted around each other with, um, without girls. So, er, we decided that I would dress up as a boy when I moved here." (Lamest excuse, but the best I could think of in five seconds.)

"So, how will you do that if the school introduces you as Gwen Nazereth?" asked Dad, taking the bag from my mom. "And what are you doing with a breastplate?"

"Actress pad!" I corrected, snatching it from him. My heart sank. I barely thought about that. "Well, do you think I could tell the school board about my science project?"
"Hold on," said Mom, glancing at Wilma, who was now flirting with a neighbor, and Josie, who was playing with her ninja Barbie. "Let's talk about this later tonight." (Since it was about eight o'clock right now)

I sighed. "Fine, Mom." I walked to the front door, opened it, and looked into the house.

Let me tell you something: my family is rich. Filthy stinkin' rich. We've lived in mansions all our life. Both my parents went to Harvard, except my mom became a doctor. Correction: a surgeon. So when I entered the house, I saw a big chandelier, an elevator, a ballroom, a door that said "Tennis Court" and a spiral staircase.

Nothing new.

I helped Mom and Dad unload the car, trying to grow muscles (no luck) and loaded my stuff to my room. I placed all my boy clothes in my closet, tossed my rolled-up sleeping bag in the middle of the floor, and went downstairs to the kitchen, where Mom was unloading and microwaving Chinese takeout. By that time, it was nine thirty, and I was tired as hell.

I sat at the table, watching my mom prepare the rice. Dad looked at me, and sat with me at the table. Wilma was sitting in the living room, watching MTV while writing in her diary. I could hear Josie's shrieks of delight as she ran around the house, exploring.

"Gwen, about your science project..." said Dad, placing his hands on the table.

"I can't do it?" I guessed fearfully.

"Well..." Dad looked at Mom, who nodded to him. He looked back at me. "You'll have to tell the school board about your whole 'science project.' Any time you want, then, you can switch back to a girl."

"Really Daddy?" I said eagerly, using my baby-girl voice. "Thank you, thank you, thank you so much! I'll call the school right now!

"Not today," Mom said sternly, taking out the delicious smelling Chinese from the microwave. She looked at me and gave me the "mom look." "You need your rest. We just moved here today. Call them next weekend."

"But Mom!" I whined. "What if I forget?"

"If you really want to do this, you wouldn't forget," she replied. "Come one, Wilma, dinner! Gwen, get Josie."

"Fine," I mumbled.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

The whole week was tiring and bo-ring. Mom made Wilma and I, even though Josie wanted to help, unpack everything. Wilma was still kind of pissed at me for the whole car ride thing, but she got over it.

I painted my room green, so it wasn't girly or boyish. I didn't bother buying "guy decorations" to make it look guyish , but I didn't put up my girl stuff, either. When our beds and mattresses were packed into our room, I chose a green plaid pattern for my bedsheets. My dresser was plain, with a few trophies and medals for dance and cheerleading competitions. And some tennis tournaments. I highly doubted any guys would come into my room, but just in case, I cemented out my name and put the tennis trophies in front. My bookshelf was void of books (I'm not a big reader), but Wilma was decent enough to lend me some book called On The Road and a bunch of other books I had never heard of, just so I could look a little smart.

I love Wilma.

On Saturday, I was sitting at the breakfast table, playing with my French omelet, until Wilma reminded me, "Uh, Gwen? Weren't you going to call the school today or something?"

"Oh yeah," I said, jumping up and scooting my chair back. "Right!"

I walked over to the phone in the hallway, and was about to dial a number until I realized I didn't know what it was.

"Dad!" I yelled up the stairs. "What's the school number?"

"It's on the paper on the kitchen counter!" he yelled back.

I ran into the kitchen and found the paper. I quickly dialed it into the phone with my talented fingers (I use my cellphone twenty-four/seven) and eventually found a voice saying into the receiver, "Hello, Middy High School, how my I help you?"

"Hello?" I said with my most adult-like voice. "Um, this is Gwendolyn Nazereth. I'm a new kid and I'm entering school in August. Is it okay if I make a change in the system?"

"Gwen Nazereth? Oh yes. May I speak to your parents first?" said the voice on the other line. I glared at the phone, but replied sweetly, "Sure!" Then, putting the speaker to my shoulder, I yelled, "Dad!"

My dad came down and I handed him the phone. I watched intently.

"Hello? Oh, yes, yes! Mmhmm. Yes, it's fine. Here you go," he said. He handed the phone back to me and ran back up the stairs. What a spaz...

"Okay, so what is the change you want to make?" asked the woman's voice.

"Well, I'm starting a science project on the activity of boys," I said. "And I was wondering how they acted. So when I start school, can you list me as a guy?"

The woman laughed. I was offended.

"I'm not kidding!" I said indignantly. "I'm seriously doing a science project on that. I have an actress pad and a wig and clothes and everything! I'll be fine. But it'd be kinda weird if I was a guy and my name was 'Gwen.'"

"All right, all right, we'll be fine on switching your gender," laughed the woman. I heard clicking on a keyboard, and she asked, "What will your name be?"

"Terrence," I said. "Terrence Nazereth."