Babe in Boyland (4 page)

Darcy swivels the stool around so I can’t see myself in the mirror. “It’ll be easier this way. Trust me.”

None of us say anything for a little while, and the only sound in the room is the rhythmic snip-snip-snip of the scissors mixed with the light flick of paper as Chloe flips through
Vogue
. I gaze into the soulful, tortured eyes of Jim Morrison as his various incarnations assess me from the ceiling and walls. He offers no comment.

“It’ll be liberating, right?” I say to no one in particular. “Guys have it so easy. They don’t really worry about how they look. They just spray on a little Axe and go.”

Chloe snorts. “Not all of them. I’ve dated guys who spend more time on their hair than I do.”

I press on, undeterred, trying to convince myself as my shiny hair piles up on the floor. “In general, though, they’re less neurotic than we are, don’t you think? They worry less. Short hair will be my first step toward experiencing male power and freedom.”

“Yeah,” Darcy says. “You’ll get to know what it’s like to live hairspray-free.”

“Just don’t become a gel addict,” Chloe warns. “That’s not a good look.”

After an interminable wait, Darcy says, “You ready for this? Step one in male-ification: makeover magic.” She spins me around on the swivel stool so I’m facing the mirror again. “Ta-dah!”

The girl in the mirror instantly freaks me out. It’s me, but it’s not me. The glossy waves around my face are now gone. What’s left stands up from my scalp in boyish disarray. I stare, unable to speak.

“Say something,” Darcy urges me. “Do you love it? I love it.”

Chloe appears beside her in the mirror, her smile huge. “Nice work, Paul Mitchell! Gorgeous.”

“I—wow—it’s really . . . short,” I finally manage.

Chloe says, “Jeez, Nat. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I’m kind of attracted to you.”

Darcy tousles my damp hair playfully. “God, it’s so flattering! Your eyes look enormous.”

It’s true. With all that hair gone, there’s nothing to hide behind. My cheekbones are more pronounced, my eyes wider, my lips fuller and pinker. I’m all . . . face.

“I’m such a genius,” Darcy muses happily. “Now if only I could get you to pierce your nose . . .”

Darcy’s cell chirps and she reaches under her apron to fish it from the pocket of her jeans. She glances at the display before answering. “Granger? What do you got?”

Chloe and I lock eyes in the mirror while Darcy paces around with the phone, going “uh-huh” and “right” and “okay.” It reminds me of waiting for a cast list to be posted, fidgeting helplessly as the thing I’ve been obsessing over is about to be unveiled.

Darcy finally presses a button and puts her phone back in her pocket. I swivel around to face her; Chloe and I both stare at her expectantly. For a terrifying moment her expression is so serious I know it didn’t work and we’ve just mutilated my hair for no reason.

Then she breaks into a glorious smile. “He did it! You’re in.”

Chloe squeals.

“Really?” My heart’s racing. “How? What did he do?”

She holds up her hands. “The kid’s a little Einstein, man. I don’t ask for details. All I know is your name’s Nat Rodgers and they should be expecting you in the Admissions office Monday morning.”

It’s really happening. We’re actually doing this. I feel sick and amazed and thrilled all at once. Operation Babe in Boyland is officially launched.

Chapter Five

S
unday morning we drive to Corte Madera to shop for my disguise. Luckily, Underwood has a uniform, so I just need one basic guy outfit to get me through the door. I’ve been practicing speaking in a low, manly voice, using my breath the way our drama teacher taught me back when I played Portia’s cross-dressing scene. In the car on the way to the mall Chloe and Darcy agree it’s a passably convincing register for Nat.

“No matter what, though, you can’t slip into your normal girl voice,” Darcy warns. “You’ve got to keep it guy-like all the time.”

Chloe puts on her blinker and steers her Honda toward the mall. “Maybe Nat should be shy. If you don’t say much, you’re less likely to get caught.”

“Yeah, but then will I really get answers?” I ask. “You think just being there, I’ll magically understand all there is to know about them? Won’t I have to get, you know, chummy?”

“Ooh!” Chloe says, parking her car in a shady spot. “You’ve got to find out if Josh likes me! He’s so yum!”

“I’m not doing this so I can fix you up with Mr. Clean,” I grumble.

“Why are you doing it, then?” She yanks her keys from the ignition and touches up her lipstick in the rearview mirror.

“To create a deeper understanding between the sexes,” I say. “To answer the questions girls have asked about guys since time began.”

She twists around to look at me in the backseat. “Well, I’m a girl, and I have a question: Does Josh like me?”

“Fine,” I say, opening the car door. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

In Macy’s, Chloe gets distracted by the shoe department, but we remind her sternly we don’t have time for cute fall boots. We make our way to men’s clothing. Aside from passing through en route to the bathroom, I’ve never even visited this department; it’s totally foreign. As we’re looking at button-down shirts a paunchy, middle-aged man with thinning hair approaches and asks if he can help us find anything.

“We’re shopping for her twin brother,” Darcy says, pointing at me. “She’s going to try some stuff on, just to make sure it all fits. Him, I mean. Fits him. Nat. Her brother.”

“All right, excellent,” the man says. “Let me know if I can be of help.” His face clearly says,
Damn kids.

In the dressing room, we get the giggles at the way the jeans hang below my butt crack. When I find some that are baggy enough to be guy-like but not so loose that they’ll end up around my ankles, we pair them with a plain white button-down shirt. At their insistence, I walk up and down the hall outside the dressing room a couple times while they coach me on how to move.

“You’ve got to slouch more,” Darcy says. “Your posture’s too femmie.”

Chloe nods. “Think gangsta, you know? Lean down into it.”

I try, but they’re still not satisfied. An old guy comes out of a dressing room carrying a bunch of sweaters and scowling at us, which sets us off giggling again. When we recover I resume my practice walk, but even I can see in the mirror that it’s not convincing. Something’s off, but I can’t put a finger on it. Chloe studies me, shaking her head, then suddenly her face lights up with inspiration.

“I know what you need!”

“What?” I recognize that gleam in her eye, so I’m instantly suspicious.

“It’s all a matter of props. Darcy, go get us a pair of socks.”

“Socks?” Her forehead scrunches up in confusion.

“Hurry!”

Darcy runs out and in a few minutes she comes back with a pair of black cotton socks. “Does it matter what size they are?”

Chloe just laughs at that and hands the socks to me. “Here you go. Instant junk.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You want me to stuff it down my pants?”

“Yeah! Remember, you’ve got a package down there now.”

I glance around quickly to make sure nobody’s around, then stuff the pair of socks into the appropriate spot—more or less, anyway. It occurs to me that I’m not completely confident about placement. I mean, obviously I’m familiar enough with male anatomy to know the basics, but I never really thought about how they arrange it under clothing—how it hangs, so to speak. Once more I check to make sure nobody’s come into the dressing room, then I adjust the socks, examining their barely visible outline in the mirror.

“You can hardly see it,” I say. “You really think it’s necessary?”

Chloe breathes out the long-suffering sigh of someone forced to interact with people of vastly inferior intelligence. “It’s not about the bulge; it’s about the way it
feels
. Go ahead, try the walk again.”

I do, and before I’ve even taken three steps Darcy gasps. “God! That’s it! Chloe, you’re a genius.”

She’s right. I can feel the difference, see it in the mirror. There’s just something about having that bulge between my legs that makes me move more convincingly. I might not have the manliest strut on the planet, but it will definitely pass.

Chloe nods. “By George, I think you’ve got it.”

I laugh and walk around some more, enjoying my new macho competence. “I always wondered what that expression meant.”

They both look at me, puzzled. “What expression?” Darcy asks.

“Cock of the walk.”

They groan in unison at my bad joke.

As they hang up clothes and debate which ones I should get, I turn back to my reflection for one last look. It’s so weird how the person staring back at me is familiar and yet isn’t Natalie, almost like I really am looking at my long-lost twin. For the first time since we decided to attempt this crazy stunt, Nat Rodgers seems real to me. He seems like a person I can try to become.

We stroll through the outdoor mall sipping iced coffee drinks. Mine is a caramel-soy latte, Darcy’s got a java chip Frappuccino, and Chloe takes hers black. The sunshine is warm on my head and face. I decide I really like my new short hair—it’s lighter, cooler, easier. It looks good too; even in my ratty T-shirt and jeans I catch two or three guys checking me out, which is nice. Their glances, along with the gorgeous blue sky, my loyal girls, and the caffeine rush, boost my overall confidence in the rightness of the world.

“So you’re going to tell your mom you’re at my house, right?” Darcy asks.

I nod. “Seems like the best plan.”

“Doing what, though?” Darcy’s muses, twisting her straw in circles.

I take another sip of latte and consider. “Maybe we could say we have a huge project due at school and it’ll require super-long hours. I’ll say we procrastinated or something.”

“The old ‘homework’ excuse, huh?” Chloe says. “You think she’ll buy it?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I can’t think of anything else, though. If she calls, of course, Darcy will have to cover.” I turn to Darcy. “And keep her from talking to your parents. That might be tricky.”

Darcy nods. “It’s not perfect, but I guess it’ll have to do. Luckily, your mom’s not as control freaky as most.”

“Yeah,” I say, “and she’s actually really busy at work right now, so she might be distracted enough not to get suspicious. I’ll tell her after, I guess—I mean when I write the article. Maybe I’ll wait to see if it wins, though. If it doesn’t, she might never have to know.”

“What about the school?” Chloe brushes a strand of hair from her eyes. “Don’t they send out e-mails now to parents if you miss classes?”

I nod. “Yeah, but the account they have on file is an old one she never checks, so that’s okay. Plus I know her user-name and password, so I could get in there and delete it just to be safe.”

I know this makes me sound really devious, but I try to convince myself deception and scheming are excusable this one time. I’m doing it for girls everywhere, not just for me. Mom’s a lawyer, a total powerhouse career woman who takes women’s rights very seriously. I think she’d be proud of my pioneering spirit, but if I reveal what I have planned she’ll feel obligated as a parent to stop me. I mean, it’s one thing to support gender-bending experiments in theory, but quite another to tell your only daughter she can skip school for a week and live amongst hundreds of hormone-crazed males disguised as one of them. She’d support it philosophically, but I can’t risk telling her since I’m pretty sure she’d forbid it. I’m keeping her in the dark for her own good, since even if she did let me go, she’d proceed to worry herself sick all week.

Chloe stops walking and nearly chokes on her coffee.

I pat her back. “You okay?”

“Don’t look now, but I just saw Josh Mayer coming out of Abercrombie and Fitch.”

Darcy’s head swings around. “Where?”

“I said don’t look!” Chloe hisses.

“Who?” I ask, confused.

“Josh Mayer!” Darcy says too loudly.

Chloe clamps a hand over Darcy’s mouth and says to me, “The hottie from Underwood I told you about?”

“Oh,
scheisse
!” Instinctively I duck. “He can’t see me or we’re screwed.”

Chloe’s eyes widen. “You’re right! Hide in a store. We’ll text you when the coast is clear. Darcy, come with me.”

Darcy looks over her shoulder again. “Where?”

“To go flirt with him, of course!” Chloe arranges her bangs and applies fresh lip gloss. “Hurry, Natalie! He’s headed our way.”

I keep my head low and dart into the nearest store, an up-scale kids’ clothing boutique. The lady behind the counter is talking to an extremely pregnant woman. As I burst in, casting furtive glances over my shoulder, they offer raised eyebrows followed by wooden, strained smiles.

“Can I help you?” the saleslady asks.

“No, um, just looking!”

After an awkward silence, I edge my way over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and peek around a rocking horse. There’s Chloe, tossing her hair, laughing. She’s talking to the guy who must be Josh. I can only see him in profile, but I have to admit he does look pretty damn beautiful. He has flawless skin, bright blue eyes, and long, ropey muscles that bulge under his thin yellow T-shirt. His dark blond hair is meticulously arranged to look ever so slightly boy-band messy.

Darcy stands nearby, outside their orbit, studying her Frappuccino with intense concentration. I feel kind of bad for her. I know what it’s like to be Chloe’s wingman when she’s working it—how abruptly you can feel invisible. I don’t blame Chloe for turning her full attention on this Josh character, though. Wow. He’s one of the prettiest guys I’ve ever seen in real life. If all the guys at Underwood look like that, I’ll need a bib to catch my drool.

“Natalie! What a surprise.”

I turn to see Summer Sheers watching me with a bemused expression. She’s wearing an olive green dress with her D&G boots, looking fresh and radiant as ever. Beside her is a slightly older version of herself—equally blond, equally skinny, equally dewy and ethereal, but twenty-something instead of sixteen.

“Summer!” I squeak. “Hey.”

Summer gestures at the girl beside her. “This is my sister, Autumn.”

“Nice to meet you.” I shake her hand.

“Same here.” Autumn smiles politely before drifting over to the infant clothes.

“We’re shopping for a baby shower. What are
you
doing here?” Summer tries to see past me to the scene outside.

I block her view. “Nothing.”

“Nothing, huh?” She doesn’t look even remotely convinced.

“I just really love baby clothes.” I grab the nearest item—a god-awful little dress in garish lime green chiffon, and jerk it around like a headless puppet. “So cute!”

“Mm,” she says doubtfully. “Wow, your hair is . . . short.”

My hand shoots up to yank on my bangs. “Yep.”

“What inspired that?”

Scheisse!
Summer’s the last person I need suspecting anything. Not only is she my total nemesis, she’s also in the play at Underwood. She could screw everything up, and would no doubt love every second of it. “Just wanted a change.”

Outside, Chloe explodes in laughter, and Summer’s eyes drift again to the window. “Oh my God, Josh Mayer’s out there!”

I throw a quick look over my shoulder. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Do you know Josh? No, I guess you probably don’t. Come outside with me and I’ll introduce you. He’s so nice. All the guys at Underwood are
amazing
.”