A Boy With Girly Hair - Part 15

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The Dance

I’m not sure if this was a common humiliation nightmare for many boys, but it definitely was for me. After trying on the leftover women’s athletic wear in the dressing room, the customer who preceded me had returned for her purse.

Thoughts of all sorts were running through my head. One option is to heave the purse over the top of the Nike Store changing room. These were tall stalls — 10 feet or so and definitely doable — but that’s probably just pissed off the woman. I mean what if items fell out mid-flight?

My other option was to creak open the door to the width of the purse and slip it to her, not saying a word. That way she wouldn’t notice the black track pants, sports bra, crop top sweatshirt, and whatnot. That sounds like a plan.

I could tell by her voice that the woman was right outside ready to grab her purse. I didn’t say a word and barely opened the door to hand it to her.

“Oh, Thank you very much!”

Though it felt unnatural, I remained silent. Best not play with fire, especially at an outlet mall 20 minutes from our house. In Milwaukee where we had just come from, it was all but guaranteed we wouldn’t see a soul that would recognize me in my Sammi form.

I gave another look at myself in the mirror and admired how well the clothes fit. As a runner, I could truly use something that was aerodynamic and molded to my body. But as a boy, I had no interest in drawing the unneeded attention to myself by wearing clothes of the opposite gender. Nevertheless, I thought I saw some good men’s track pants that were slim-fitting and….

“Excuse me!” a voice hollered. It was the purse lady. Was she talking to me?

“Uhh, yeah, hi!” I responded in my normal voice.

“Would you mind quickly tossing me those running tights and bra?” I forgot to grab them and there’s no more of my size on the rack.”

CRAP. Again?!

I had just responded with my normal boy voice — so she knows I’m a guy. DAMN! Why didn’t I take these off the second I had the chance?

What choice did I have? I couldn’t say no or she’d make a fuss — that’s the last thing I want.

ShitShitShit there was no way I could get around this.

“Uhhh sure, just a sec,” I said to buy time. “I’m literally screwed.”

“Oh, and I think I left my scrunchie in there,” she added. Great. Now I’m a scrunchie thief too. “Just hand ‘em to me through the door like last time — no problem, right?”

I was feverishly stripping silently to get these clothes off. God, it felt like an hour, even though she’d been waiting for probably 30 seconds.

The bra was off, leggings were off, and the scrunchie was removed and I was down to my boxers. I looked utterly ‘Boy” minus the layered, styled hairdo Trista had given me.

The woman sounded impatient.

“Uhhh sorry had to uh answer a text!” I said. Ugh, I sound like an idiot.

I swung the door open the tiniest bit. “HERE,” I said firmly. I hadn’t bothered to fold. I mean hey, she left them out on the ground.

The woman’s response was much less thankful this time. She grabbed them and walked away. Did she think a boy had tried them on? Did she buy my lame texting excuse? Who knows.

I thought it best to wait out 20 minutes in the changing room to ensure she and everyone else in earshot had left the store, as not to eye my identity — returning my hair to the androgynous messy bun, of course.

Suddenly Jenna called me. Jeez, I forgot all about her.

“Hey, where the heck are you? I don’t see a gaming store on the map — where’d you go instead?”

I took this moment to slip out of the changing room and away from the store. No way in HELL was I gonna buy anything after that experience.

“I… got caught in a situation,” I responded to Jenna. THAT was an understatement…

I had explained the rest of my Nike store saga to Jenna on the ride home, but she hardly paid attention. I think she was still dreaming about that Brad guy who approached her at the restaurant.

We had promised not to tell Mom and Dad what we were really doing — as far as they knew, we were taking a trip to the salon so Jenna could take a tutorial and we could have some sibling time. My parents knew about the occasional photoshoots and good fun hairstyling, but fortunately knew nothing of the extent.

Despite being one of the most stressful weekends of my life, I’d walked away scot-free and $250 richer. It certainly felt good to be rewarded for something, but admittedly it was in a really strange way.

I allowed Jenna to post a few pictures of our trip to the Instagram that gave NO indication of where we were or showed anything off my face. Many of the Sammi_Jaclyn32 account’s 30,000+ followers attended schools near us, and though with the help of my best friend Daisy we were able to throw the scent of to alluding Sammi Jacyln was a girl at neighboring St. Matthew’s College Prep rather than myself, we couldn’t be more careful as to avoid any allusions pointing to me.

Daisy and I had a nice long call on Sunday where I detailed the terrifying weekend I had. She seemed to think it was fun, but outside of the closeness I felt with Jenna, all I really cared about was the $250.

I told Jenna that I think I needed a break from anything and everything Sammi. Homecoming was coming up in two weeks and I wanted to make sure I was in running shape for the big 5K run/walk my school puts to kick off the Homecoming festivities — a 5K in the morning, football in the afternoon, and then the school dance at night. It was a HUGE day for the school and the community… but for me, the 5K was the time to shine.

Jenna was fine with me taking a break from creating content for Sammi_Jaclyn32. She had taken more pictures than I remember at Trista’s salon and says she’s more than okay stretching out that day’s worth of photos for a while.

Although my school’s Homecoming was a huge event for the community, Daisy could not say the same about hers. Since she attended a private school, hers was a week before mine and much smaller, though to the students of St. Matthew’s, it meant the world.

Months ago we had agreed to be each others’ dates to our respective dances. There was no girl, in particular, I had a crush on that I wanted to ask and I guess Daisy didn’t have her eye on anyone either.

The week went by normally but with several dance-specific prep activities sprinkled in. My Mom had taken me shopping for a nice button-down shirt, slacks, and a tie. Since this was my first high school dance she more than anyone wanted to make sure I looked nice — both for my sake and for when we take photos before the dance that she wouldn’t be judged by the mothers of St. Matthews.

The dance was to be held Saturday night, however, Daisy’s family invited my family over to their house for dinner, just a couple hours before the rest of Daisy’s friends and their dates.

“Oooooh look at you, cutie!” Aunt Hannah said as she warmed me. My mother had helped me pick out a gray button-down shirt, black tie, and tan pants with black dress shoes. My hair was kept in a vaguely messy low ponytail.

“Looking sharp, Sam!” Uncle Greg bellowed while marching down the stairs. “Daisy, c’mon!”

And as if on command, Daisy appeared from the top of the stairs in a gorgeous white gown. Her make-up was done to perfection and her hair was delicately curled as it whipped down to her strapless shoulders. She was absolutely stunning.

Uncle Greg had grilled steaks for the families, much to everyone’s excitement, though 6-year old Matty was barely able to gnaw through one bite. I couldn’t believe how grown-up Daisy looked. I paled in comparison to her — she looked like she was a fully grown adult woman, and me just a 15-year old scrawny freshman.

But she was the same old Daisy underneath, but even more, amped than before. She was definitely one of those girls who sees the school dance as “their moment”.

Soon enough the friends and acquaintances of Daisy had arrived, along with their dates. The other girls were similarly dressed to Daisy, and many of the boys were wearing sport coats. Damn, maybe I should’ve got one. While shopping my Mom had insisted I go for one, but I told her it makes my shoulders look weird. Turns out, all the other boys with their broad shoulders and sport coats definitely made the right decision.

“Some of these hairstyles aren’t even that impressive,” Jenna said to me as she snapped pictures. “With what I learned from Trista? I could do TEN times better.”

“Oh, you think you can do better after one lesson? Some of these girls had professional help, I’m sure.”

“It Didn’t help. They’re foolishly spending 100 dollars or hours just to get a simple look.” Jenna pointed at another girl. “That girl couldn’t even get aside part right!”

“Oh lay off, they look fine,” I said dismissively.

“And YOU are the worst of all! That’s a gross ponytail.”

“Hey, I didn’t want to put a lot of effort in. My hair can still look fine not dolled up.”

Jenna stared impatiently for a moment, and then grabbed me by the shoulders, whipped me around, and started undoing my ponytail.

“What? Hey, stop it!”

“Your hair needs… to look…” she was feverishly styling my hair into something, “presentable.”

She had finished, just like that. “What did you do — JENNA, what did you do?”

“I made a french braid. Your ponytail was gross… trust me, this is better.”

I looked around to see if anyone else was paying attention. I whispered, “Is this a Sammi_Jaclyn hairstyle??”

“No, no of course not! You look classy.”

“Really?” I asked in earnest. I ran inside to the bathroom mirror to make sure I indeed looked okay. Jenna was right, it looked much better than before and not even that feminine. “That'll do.”

Daisy and I posed for several couples photos, much to the enjoyment of our moms and dads. We followed with large group photos of everyone there. From a quick count, I could tell I was the only boy with long hair, so despite my shirt and tie, I stood out from the other boys. I got several compliments from girls on my french braid.

Other guys were a little more questioning. “Hey dude, you’ve seen the back of your hair, right?” said one boy.

“Uhh, yeah. It’s a french braid,” I responded. God, he was being a little rude, huh?

“No, I just mean your bow is falling off.”

Wait for what? I grabbed the base of my braid from behind my back and was horrified to see a frilly, black bow attached. It was dangling on.

I stormed over to Jenna — “When did you put this on me?” She looked confused for a moment.

“That wasn’t me, Sam. But I like it! Looked great in the pictures.”

“Hey, you don’t dig the bow?” Daisy said walking over.

“It was you? You slipped this on me?” I demanded.

“Yeah, it looks nice with your new hairstyle. Jenna and make a great team,” she said as Jenna returned her wink.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Every picture — every memory from my first ever high school dance now had a black, frilly bow in it. Is that how I wanted this night to go down?

“Oh, just keep it on,” Jenna insisted. “It looks really nice!”

I guess if nobody had said anything bad this whole time, it must not be that big of a deal. It was black after all. It didn’t clash with my colors nor did it scream ‘girl’.

We said goodbye to our teary but proud families and got into the minivans of parents who had offered to transport the kids to the school.


Daisy and I hopped in the back of a huge minivan with two other couples she sort of knew. The girls chattered about each others’ outfits while the boys mostly played on their phones.

When we arrived at school, it immediately became clear that this was a big event. The grounds were decorated with signs, posters, and balloons — but like not the cheap kind. The teachers and other chaperones attending were wearing suits and formal attire. St. Matthew’s came to play!

The couples were led through the main entrance and down the hallway to the gymnasium which was dimly lit and a DJ had already started playing. Outside of the basketball hoops raised to the ceiling, the gym had impressively transformed into a ballroom.

After about an hour of dancing and hanging out, Daisy needed to use the restroom. She grabbed my hand and led me out of the gym and down the hall to the restroom. But DAMN was the line long.

“ugh I really need to go!” she complained. You couldn’t say the same about the men’s line where guys were filtering in and out like clockwork.

“Screw it, I have another idea,” Daisy said as she grabbed my hand and yanked me to go elsewhere. She took me to the other side of the school. After a LONG walk, we arrived outside a double door labeled ‘Girls Locker Room’. Daisy pushed the door and let out a sigh of relief to see it was unlocked.

She grabbed my hand and hurried through the door to run to the stall. “Just wait!”

I awkwardly stood in the near-empty girl's locker room while Daisy used the toilet. It was the same as any men’s locker room I’ve been in.

Daisy was shouting from the stall. “Hey go to locker 260 — code 34-15-16. I think I’ve got snacks in there.”

YES. I was craving something to eat as this homecoming dance only served drinks. She had some protein bars and that was about it.

Daisy came out of the stall and we sat down on the locker room bench for the quick snack. We talked about the music, the atmosphere, and how much fun we were having.

“How old are these snacks?” I asked.

“I just put them in! We’re having our soccer unit in the gym right now so I like to store something to give me energy before we play—“

As she said it a chunk piece of the protein bar dropped off and smeared my shirt with chocolate. “Shit!”

“Oh no!” Daisy took a look at it. The melted chocolate had slid down the left side of my button-down, nearly missing my tie. “I think we can fix this.”

She led me to the sinks and had me take my shirt and tie off. She took a nearby sponge and squirted some hand soap on it, lathered, and began to scrub. “Look, it’s already coming off. By the way, there’s a little on your pants too,” she said, implying that I take my pants off as well. I did so and let her scrub away at my chocolate wound.

Within a few minutes, she had cleaned the stains.

“Head back out?” I asked.

“Well, these need to dry off first. Damn, wish we had one of those hand dryers to speed it up…” she lamented, hanging the damp clothes to dry over the stalls.

“I’m fine waiting,” I said. Though I looked pretty ridiculous standing there in my underwear and dress socks.

The draftiness of the locker room was starting to get to me. I was shivering as we waited and talked. 


“Sam if you’re cold, just let me know.”

I nodded through chattering teeth. “Just wear this while you wait. I promise it’s clean.”

She handed me her gym uniform from her locker. It was a pair of short-ish athletic shorts and a women’s tank top that read “St. Matthew’s” on the front.

“Honestly, that’s not gonna do much…” I countered.

“Which is why I have this.” It was a fluffy pink sweatshirt that also read “St. Matthew’s”.

At that moment I didn’t care if it read “Girl Alert” on the front. I was freezing so I jumped at her outfit offer.

What a difference the clothes made. I could finally wait in comfort.

Daisy extended her arm around my shoulder and rubbed to create heat. I let her do it. It felt nice, and I rested my head on her shoulder as we sat there.

“You look cute,” she said in earnest. I lifted my head up and we looked at each other in the eyes, smiling.

I couldn’t say why, but this was a different feeling I’d ever had while looking at Daisy. I felt the same from her.

“HELLO? NO ONE IS ALLOWED IN THE LOCKER ROOMS DURING THE DANCE.”

The door swung open. It sounded like a teacher or chaperone was coming in.

Daisy and I looked at each other with concern. There was no time to change, no time to hide.

How do we explain ourselves!