Switch Mitchell’s - Chapter 2

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"G’night, Mom," said Mitchell from the front door. "I’m going over to Steve’s for a while.

"Oh?" said his mother as she came out of the kitchen.

"I thought you were staying home. Wasn’t Steve seeing his father tonight?"

"His, uh, plans fell through.

We’re going to play some games, maybe watch a movie." Mitchell’s father came into the front hallway.

"You’re not staying over there tonight.

You know I need you here tomorrow morning?"

"I know, Dad," Mitchell replied. "I’ll be home around 11:00, maybe 11:30."

"Just make sure you are," said his father as he returned to his TV.

"Bye-bye, honey, have fun," said his mother as she gave him a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. "My goodness, look at your hair; it looks so nice. Mmm, it smells nice too."

"Uh, thanks; I just washed it," he replied. "I used Michelle’s Fournier Glucose Shampoo."

"Did she help you to brush it out and style it?" she asked. "Uh, yeah?" Mitchell replied, not sure if Michelle’s plan was unraveling already.

"I could tell; it’s just the way she styles her own hair," said his mother.

"She must be bored, having to stay in all night. Poor thing. But you should learn to keep it this way; it looks so nice."

"Yeah, okay, thanks Mom," said Mitchell, as he turned red with embarrassment. "Look, I really have to go."

"Okay, have fun!" said his mother, then closed the door behind him. Michelle appeared at the top of the stairs in her pink flannel pajamas and short bathrobe.

"Mom?" she called down. "I’m going to my room, okay?"

"Okay, sweety," said her mother. "Thanks for letting me know. I’ll look in on you later, okay?"

"You don’t have to do that," said Michelle. Then she turned away from the stairs and walked down the hall to her room. Mitchell and Michelle’s mother walked into the family room, where their father was watching television from the couch.

"That boy’s hair is out of control," he said. "You know that, don’t you?"

"Yes, I know," she replied sadly as she sat beside her husband. "You know I’m not ready to see him cut it, though."

Michelle walked down the hallway, past the door to her bedroom, then looked around to make sure no one saw her entering her brother’s room. As she shut the door quietly, the window opened behind her, and Mitchell put his head through. "So far, so good," said Michelle as she helped her brother through the window.

Mitchell dropped from the window, rolled onto his bed, and then sat upright with the skill of someone who had done this many times.

"Okay, so be sure to be back by, whoa, hey, what are you doing?

"Michelle unbuttoned her pajamas and whipped off her top without warning, then pulled off the pants. Fortunately, she was dressed underneath in a tiny silver minidress.

"You didn’t think I was going to a concert in my pajamas, did you?" she asked. "No, but you might have warned me," said Mitchell, still trying to recover from the shock.

Michelle sat on the edge of the bed and put on a pair of pantyhose as Mitchell looked on.

"Here," she said, noticing him watching and handing him the pajamas. "You’ve got better things to do than watch me put on pantyhose. You need to change into these."

"Wait, no, I’m just going to sit in your room; you didn’t say anything about wearing pajamas."

"Mom just told me she’s going to look in on me later. I told her not to, but still, she might. How are you going to explain if you’re sitting there in jeans and a T-shirt?"

"Yeah, but Michelle,"

"They’re brand new, never worn; I’m the one who should be upset. You know, I could have brought you a nighty! Now hurry up; I need to go."

The two turned their backs on each other as Mitchell began to undress. "Don’t look," he said as he removed his pants.

"Trust me, I have no interest in looking," Michelle replied. She opened her purse and pulled out a lipstick to touch up her makeup.

"Okay, I’m ready," said Mitchell. Michelle turned and stifled a giggle as she saw her brother in pink flannel jammies and her little pink bathrobe, with his long hair styled like her own.

"You look great," she said. "But then, why wouldn’t you? You look just like me.

Except" Michelle pressed her brother against the wall, then used her lipstick to color his lips glossy red.

"Hey, that’s not necessary," said Mitchell as he tried to find her.

"I never take off my makeup until bed. If Mom or Dad look closely, they might notice, so hold still. Michelle proceeded to quickly finish Mitchell’s makeover, complete with brush, eyeliner, eye shadow, and mascara.

The entire process took less than two minutes. When she was done, the two looked in the mirror, side by side. "Yikes," said Mitchell, seeing Michelle staring back at him. "Aw, you are the prettiest little sister any girl ever had," said Michelle with a hug.

She walked over to the window and stepped out onto the garage roof. "So try to stay awake till I get back."

"Like I’m ever going to sleep again after this nightmare," he replied. "I think this favor has exceeded the original specification."

"This is the kind of thing sisters do for each other," said Michelle as she leaned back through the window to give Mitchell a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Don’t forget to wait up for me, sis!"

Mitchell watched his sister cross the roof, then lower herself over the edge to stand on the fence at the corner of the garage.

Hey! he called out.

Who are you going to this concert with?"

Michelle looked back at Mitchell. "Brian Brentwood," she called out. Then she turned and disappeared into the night.

"Son of a," said Mitchell. There was nothing he could do about it now, though.

Mitchell closed the window.

Mitchell looked through his collection of games, selected "Ninja Knights," then opened his door and stepped into the hallway. "Michelle, what are you doing in Mitchell’s room?" called his father from the end of the hallway.

Mitchell had his back to him. Without turning around, he held up the game and said, "Mitchell said I could borrow this."

"I don’t think so," said his father. "Put it back, little girl." Mitchell put the game back on, then ran to Michelle’s room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Taking Flight Mitchell and Michelle’s parents were relaxing in their family room, watching a little television to pass the time on a Saturday night. The phone rang, and Mrs. Everett stood to answer.

As she picked up the receiver, she noted that the call display said ‘Martin Edwards’, Nadia’s father. "Hi, Nadia," said Mrs. Everett as she picked up the phone.

"Michelle is in her room; I’ll go get her for you."

"Mrs. Everett?" replied an older female voice. "Mrs. Everett, it’s not Nadia.

This is Miss Wilson from the high school. I’m calling from Nadia’s house."

"Oh," said Mrs. Everett. "I’m sorry, Miss Wilson; it’s usually Nadia calling from this number. Is there some problem?"

"No problem, Mrs. Everett. We’re just running a little behind schedule, that’s all. Can you please tell Michelle we’ll be a little late, but she can expect us within the hour?"

"Miss Wilson, maybe you could back up a bit. Are you saying that Michelle has plans to go somewhere with you and Nadia tonight?"

Miss Wilson was silent for a moment, then said, "Yes, of course. Didn’t Michelle tell you? It was all her idea."

"Whatever it is, I’m sure it was Michelle’s idea," said Mrs. Everett, starting to get angry. "Perhaps you could fill me in on exactly what it is she’s up to this time."

"I can’t believe she didn’t tell you. Perhaps she’s just too modest."

"Modest? That doesn’t sound like Michelle. Miss Wilson, please tell me what is going on."

"I’m sorry, Mrs. Everett; I’ll try to explain. You see, Mrs. Wally is retiring from teaching this week. Mrs. Wally has been a dedicated teacher for forty-three years and has been a well-loved coach of the cheerleading squad for most of that time. Ever since her husband and two children died in an accident ten years ago, the cheerleaders have been her life."

"I’m not following," said Mrs. Everett. "What does any of this have to do with Mi Chelle?"

"Michelle has been working for weeks on a special presentation for Mrs. Wally. All the cheerleaders are going to meet in the auditorium tonight to tell Mrs. Wally what her guidance has meant to them."

"But Michelle isn’t even a cheerleader," said Mrs. Everett. "But she was when she was in grade nine.

It’s not just for the current squad. Michelle has been phoning for weeks, tracking down girls who’ve known Mrs. Wally over the years. She wants Mrs. Wally to know just how much effect she has had on the lives of so many women."

"Oh, my goodness," whispered Mrs. Everett. "That’s not all. Mrs. Wally’s favorite charity is the local children’s hospital.

Michelle has organized a group of girls to go to the hospital tomorrow to play with the children and help cheer them up, all in honor of Mrs. Wally."

"I just can’t believe this," said Mrs. Everett, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Mrs. Everett, Michelle is a very special girl," said Miss Wilson. "I really have to go now. Can you please tell her we’ll be late?"

"Don’t worry," said Mrs. Everett. "She’ll be ready to leave when you get here." Mrs. Everett hung up the phone and looked at her husband. "Oh, Benjamin, we’ve made a terrible mistake. We’ve so misjudged our little girl."

Mitchell was struggling to install game components on Michelle’s computer. He’d given up on her video game collection after seeing that she hadn’t added to it in at least five years. All her games were from their parents’ ‘No sex, no violence’ period.

Putting on a Paper Doll Daisy" fashion show just didn’t hold a lot of appeal for him. Her collection of DVDs was just as lame. There was not a single action flick in the bunch.

He could go downstairs and find something, except there was no way he was going near his parents dressed like this!

So that left the Internet. Except when he turned on her computer, he didn’t know her password. That meant he had to set up a new account from scratch. With a new account, I was able to reach the Internet but needed to download a bunch of upgrades.

Now he was able to reach the games he wanted, but they needed downloads and upgrades as well. Mitchell was starting to wonder if he’d ever get to play when the bedroom door opened.

"Michelle, sweety?" said his mother as she peeked through the door. Seeing Mitchell sitting on the bed, she opened the door wide. Mitchell’s mother and father came into the room and sat on the bed, one on either side of him.

His mother hugged him around the shoulders, and his father hugged him around his waist. "Michelle, why didn’t you tell us about your plans for tonight? asked his mother. Mitchell fidgeted in his pink pajamas and looked down, trying hard to avoid his parents’ gaze. Why did they care about the concert? Was it going out with Brian Brentwood that had them acting weird?

I didn’t think you’d approve, he tried.

"Approve?" laughed his father. "Kitten, we couldn’t be more proud of you." Very strange. Maybe they really liked Brian Brentwood for some reason? When he didn’t say anything, his mother continued. "Sweety, Miss Wilson called and explained everything.

"Who? "Miss, Wilson? She did? " His mother smiled at him.

Yes, she told us all about you and Mrs. Wally, and sweety, your father and I are just so proud of you." Mrs. Wally? Mitchell had no idea who these people were.

"Well, thanks, I guess."

"Princess," said his father. "Your mother and I accused you of being selfish earlier tonight. I’m sorry; we were wrong. When your mother explained everything you’ve done, I finally realized how much you’ve grown.

I can’t treat you like my little girl forever. I hope you understand. We still need to give you a curfew, but we’re going to try to be a little more lenient about it."

"Okay," said Mitchell.

"Honey," said his mother. "Your friends are going to be here in about an hour. Your father and I want you to go out with them and have a good time tonight."

Mitchell hadn’t understood a single thing up to this point, but he completely understood this!

"No!" he yelled. "I can’t! I’m grounded! I missed curfew; that’s the rule.

I'm grounded for the weekend!"

"Sweety, weren’t you listening?" laughed his mother. "You’re not grounded. Your father and I agree that you’re mature enough to make these decisions yourself. And tonight, you’re doing such a wonderful thing for Mrs. Wally."

"No, Mom, I can’t," said Mitchell, desperate to think of a way out.

I'm not ready! I'm not dressed!"

"Sweety, you have almost an hour. You’ll be ready in plenty of time."

Mitchell knew that his sister could take far more than an hour to get ready; he just had no idea what it was she did. However, he tried a couple more tactics. "I can’t go; I need to wash my hair!"

"Now you’re being ridiculous. Your hair looks like you’ve just finished washing and styling it."

"I need makeup! That will take a while. Too long."

"Sweety, your makeup is fine."

"Shaving my legs! Mitchell cried out desperately. "I’m not going to be ready. I can’t! Please call them back!"

Mrs. Everett stood and lifted her son to his feet. "Michelle, you’re just nervous about your presentation, "she said. She walked Mitchell to the bathroom and organized Michelle’s shaving gel and razor for him.

"You shave your legs, and I’ll get your clothes ready for you to change into. Do you need any more help in here?"

"Presentation?" said Mitchell as he passed into shock. Mrs. Everett smiled at her ‘daughter’, kissed ‘her’ on the forehead, then stepped into the hallway.

"Hurry up and shave your legs. I’ll be waiting for you right outside the door in the hallway. Here now, give me your pajama bottoms."

Mitchell pulled the bottoms off from under his bathrobe and handed them around the door to his mother.

Then his mother left, closing the bathroom door behind her.

Mitchell looked at the razor in his hand. He had no idea what was going on. He had no idea what to do. The only thing he was sure about was that he had lost his pants and was wearing his sister’s pink shorty bathrobe with very hairy legs. If he came out of the bathroom this way, he would be in more trouble than he could imagine.

Shaving your legs is not as easy as it would appear, especially if you’ve never shaved them before. Mitchell tried to shave them as he would shave his face (with which he also had little experience, his beard still being very fine and sparse).

He wet his legs with warm water, applied shave gel up his legs (all the way to the hip!), then began stroking his legs with the razor. The razor blade became clogged with hair almost instantly. Mitchell soon found a rhythm that worked, shaving a small three-inch patch and then rinsing the razor. Finishing both legs was a long process.

Mitchell was finishing the back of his left thigh, reassuring himself with the thought that "it will grow back," when there was a knock at the door.

"Sweety," said his mother.

"Everything okay? You’ve been in there a while."

"Almost done, Mom," he replied. "That’s good, sweetheart. By the way, the top you’re wearing tonight is sleeveless. Do you need to shave under your arms?"

Mitchell let out a small groan. "Thanks, Mom." He picked up the shaving gel and applied some under each of his arms. When Mitchell was ready, he opened the bathroom door. His mother was in the hallway, just as she had promised.

Taking him by the hand, she led him back to Michelle's room. "I found your old uniform," his mother told him, pointing to the cheerleader uniform she had laid out on the bed for him. "Fortunately, I had it dry-cleaned and pressed before putting it away.

It was still in the dry-cleaning bag. Look, it’s good as new!

Mitchell did look.

He looked, and his eyes went wide as he tried to make sense of this latest twist.

"Michelle’s, I mean, my old cheerleader outfit?"

"Yes, hurry and get dressed; they’ll be here any minute," said his mother as she shut the door behind her.

Wherever he was going, whatever he was doing, he was supposed to go there dressed as a cheerleader. Not one thing that had happened in the past hour made any sense.

Mitchell took off his sister’s bathrobe, then unbuttoned and removed her pajama top.

Picking up the white bra his mother had set out for him, he struggled to figure out how it worked. Eventually, he managed to get his arms through the correct holes, and the hooks were done up behind his back. Looking back at the bed, he saw a white pair of pants.

"There is no way I’m wearing my sister’s underwear," he said to himself. Mitchell had been wearing tights under his sister’s pajamas all night, and they would do just fine under the cheerleader skirt.

Mitchell picked up the pair of pantyhose. Sitting on the bed, he imitated what he had seen his sister do earlier that evening. He rolled the first leg down to the bottom, stuck his toes in, then rolled it up his leg. Then he repeated with the other leg, finally tugging the crotch and waistband into position.

Mitchell pulled the cheerleader top over his head, pulled his arms through, and adjusted it into position. Then he pulled the miniskirt up his legs, fastened it at the back, and pulled the zipper to the top. His sister’s running shoes were a bit tight, but he managed to get them on.

Mitchell looked down at himself and realized one thing was missing. "I can’t believe I’m doing this," he said as he looked through his sister’s drawers. Finding what he needed, he took a pair of socks, shoved them up his top, and fitted one sock into each of the cups of his bra.

When he was ready, Mitchell stood and looked at himself in Michelle’s full-length mirror.

He couldn’t believe the image staring back at him. It was his sister Michelle, or at least what she would look like if she were ever frightened out of her wits. His long, wavy hair was styled like Michelle’s.

His makeup matched hers as well. His cheerleader top came down to within two inches of the skirt, leaving his navel showing. The skirt was very short, to begin with, and the fact that it was meant for a fourteen-year-old girl rather than an eighteen-year-old guy made it just that much shorter. He had the nicest legs of any girl he’d ever seen. There was no way he was leaving the house like this!

"Sweety, your ride is here!" called his mother.

Mitchell froze. He literally could not move. His legs refused to move, as his eyes scanned across his reflection in the mirror.

There was a knock at the bedroom door, and it opened an inch. “Princess?” said his father. “Can I come in?”

When Mitchell said nothing, his father opened the bedroom door and entered. “Oh, Kitten, you look beautiful. Here, let me get a picture.”

His father lifted his camera and caught Mitchell before he could say a word. As Mitchell

turned toward him, his father took another picture. He continued taking shots as Mitchell tried to get him to stop.