Seventh Period

by Jennifer White

 

Ms. Camille shook her head. It was her 7th period highschool class, and she was getting tired. All day long, dealing with unruly students was bad enough. But worst of all was 7th period, because that was the class with Mark.

 

Every time he misbehaved, she threatened him with all sorts of punishments. But nothing phased him. Today, they were learning (or supposed to be learning!) sex ed. Today's topic was how girls mature into women, discussing their periods and other important information. But once again, Mark didn't pay attention. And he didn't behave.

Every time she turned her back, he threw paper airplanes at the girls. Or spitballs. Or he stole one girl's notebook. Or he passed notes. It was always something. And Ms. Camille had enough of it.

 

When Mark threw his eraser at the girl in the first row, then looked away, he was laughing inside. The girl was looking around for who had done it, and she didn't have a clue, since it hit her right in the back of the head. Mark was enjoying himself, and being rebellious. He hated those stupid girl anyway. They were never interested in him.

It did bother him that his eyes loved to stare at Cathy, and that sometimes he'd get all hard between his legs when he looked at her. He hated her. She was so stupid. So why would he want to learn about all that icky stuff like their periods? He should have fun instead, he decided.

 

But Mark didn't know one thing: Ms. Camille wasn't just a teacher. She had powers. Not power, but powers. And now she had reached the breaking point. Nothing else had worked. So now she was going to have to teach Mark a lesson he would never forget.

 

"Mark, come with me to my office" she said sternly. "Class, read chapter 21 while we are gone."

 

Mark followed her back to the little private office down the hall. She had taken him there many times before. She'd tell him to be good, or else she'd tell his parents, or flunk him, or something. He'd promise to behave (as he always did), and he'd be good for a few days. Then she'd forget all about it, and he could go back to having fun.

 

"Young man, your behavior is intolerable. I have given you chance after chance, but you seem determined not to listen to me or my advice."

"I'm sorry" he said. "It won't happen again."

"That is correct Mark. It *won't*. You know that girl in the front row that you threw the eraser at?"

"Cathy?"

"Yes her. Do you notice how she behaves? She pays attention. She takes notes. She is quiet, unless I ask a question. And then she is eager to answer. From now on, you are going to behave just like her."

"Okay" said Mark, although inside he was thinking what a joke *that* was.

"I don't think you understand" said Ms. Camille.

"Yes, I do" replied Mark.

"No, I'm afraid not. Now listen to me. From now on, Cathy is your role model. You will be just like her. Now stand up."

Mark stood up. And noticed something was wrong. Why did he feel something rubbing lightly against his legs as it settled down after he stopped moving. And why did he feel so strange? The back of his neck tickled. And there was some kind of weight on his chest that jiggled a bit as he moved. And something on his chest and shoulders felt constraining.

Mark looked down and wanted to scream. The feeling in his legs was from a *skirt* that wrapped around him. It was green plaid with pleats, and it came down to just above his knees. Below that, he was wearing white socks that were pulled up almost to his knees, and black shoes with a shiny silver buckle.

The back of his neck tickled, because instead of his normal crew cut, somehow he had long hair now! And it was blonde. It hung down just past shoulder length, looking very full, curly and pretty. As he moved, it moved, then swung back and forth as it settled down.

But then there was his chest. It stuck out in front of him. He was wearing a white blouse of some kind, and a vest. But on his chest, you could clearly see the two large mounds that were supported by the bra he was wearing. He had boobs.

A dread chill went through him, as he realized that somehow, he had become a girl.

 

Mark's hands shot up to his boobs, cupping them to see if they were real. They were. And his fingernails were long and oval, painted a hot pink color. His mind was a blur. He was wearing a skirt. He was wearing a bra. He had long hair. He had boobs. What about....

Mark's hands now reached down in front of him, between his legs. He felt there with his fingertips, but all he could feel was a flat empty space. There was nothing there poking out. He no longer had a penis. He no longer had balls. In every way, he *was* a girl.

He caught sight of his reflection in the window, to the side of Ms. Camille. He wasn't just any girl; he was *pretty*. The blood drained from his face. He thought that he would pass out.

 

"This isn't real" he said. "This is a dream."

"No, this is very real" replied Ms. Camille. "And now, I think you will learn to be a good student in my classroom. I told you that you would learn how to be just like Cathy. And now you understand what I mean."

"No!" protested Mark. "Please, turn me back! I don't know how you did this to me, but turn me back!"

"I want to see you make it through the rest of class today, being a good girl" said Ms. Camille. "Then we'll discuss this further. Now lets get back to the classroom, Margaret."

 

Margaret? He was named Margaret now? And he was a girl? How was he going to go into the classroom like that? Ms. Camille motioned for him to follow her. He had no choice. He had to be a good girl if he was going to be changed back. So he followed her down the hall, and into the classroom.

 

He was ready for everyone to laugh at him for becoming a girl as he entered the classroom. The guys would be merciless. They'd taunt and tease him. Plus, he was still reeling from the discovery that he had boobs now, and that he had a pussy. He walked in the door, ready for the teasing to begin.

But nobody seemed to pay him any special attention. He saw Sam, a quiet boy in the back, staring right at him. Well not at him; at his boobs. Sam didn't seem to notice that Mark noticed how he was just *staring* at the big breasts on Mark's chest.

Mark sat in his usual seat. He picked up his pencil, and started to take notes on the blank pad of paper, as Ms. Camille resumed her lesson. She was talking again about girls, and their periods. Mark wrote down notes furiously, paying very close attention to what she was saying. He *had* to get back to his old self. Otherwise, all of those terrible things she was talking about like ovulating and having cramps would happen to *him*. He *had* to be good, so she'd change him back. He worked with a desperation inside that he had never known before.

 

"Class" said Ms. Camille, "now tell me. What is the name of the lining of the uterus which is shed during a girl's menstrual period?"

Cathy's hand shot up, so Mark shot his hand up too. He had to be just like her.

"Yes, Margaret?" said Ms. Camille.

"The endometrium" replied Mark.

It was such a shock to hear his voice sounding so *girlish* when he spoke.

 

"Yes Margaret, that is exactly right."

Ms. Camille smiled at him warmly. Mark smiled back. This was good. She would like it that he was paying attention. She asked several other questions, always calling on other students, even though Mark shot his hand up. He actually felt disappointed that she didn't call on him again. Normally, he *hated* it when she called on him; he would have to think of a funny answer, since he didn't know the real one usually. But now he knew it, or had it in his notes. But she kept calling other students. Bummer.

 

"Your homework is to complete reading Chapter 21, and to do the Q & A section at the end."

Mark wrote down her assignment. Moments later, the bell rang, ending 7th period, and ending the official school day. Mark waited until the other students had trickled out of the classroom. He shut the door, and walked up to Ms. Camille's desk.

"Yes?" she said, looking up from the notebook she was writing in.

"Was I a good girl in class today, Ms. Camille?" said Mark.

"Yes Margaret, you were. That was a difficult question that you answered."

"Thank you Ms. Camille" said Mark, proud that she liked what he had done.

 

He stood there, waiting for her, but she kept writing in her notebook.

"Yes, Margaret? Is there something else I can help you with?" she said.

"Yes Ms. Camille. You said that if I was good today, then after class you'd change me back."

"Change you back?" she replied, with a surprised look on her face. "Back to what?"

"You know!" said Mark.

"Margaret, what's wrong dear? I don't understand what you mean."

"I'm not Margaret! I'm Mark!" he said. "You did this to me! And you said you'd change me back into a boy!"

"A boy?" said Ms. Camille. "You were never a boy. You have *always* been a girl."

"No!" said Mark, surprised how high pitched his voice was when he whined. "I was a boy! You did this to me!"

"Margaret, you're talking nonsense. You are a girl, and you've always been a girl. I don't know anything about a boy named 'Mark'. That is all in your imagination."

"Here" said Mark. "I'll prove it to you."

He opened his text book to the first inside page, where the students wrote their names on the sticker. He pointed. And then his heart sank. Instead of his name, there was Margaret's. Margaret Webster. His last name, but with a girl's first name. Instead of his thin scratchy scrawl, it was written in a girl's neat, clear, careful writing.

"Wait" he said.

He reached for his wallet, but his skirt didn't have pockets. And then he noticed that by his desk, he had a purse. He opened it up, and dug through it, looking for his student ID. He found it, and pulled it out. All the color drained from his face again, when he saw a picture of a pretty girl on the ID, with the name Margaret Webster.

Panic started to set it. But then he remembered that in his book bag, he had the yearbook. He'd be able to show her his class picture. He opened it up, and turned to the W's for Webster. There was his picture all right: a picture of him as Margaret. There were dozens and dozens of signatures in his book from friends. They all were addressed to Margaret.

"No!" he said. "This is impossible!"

"Now do you believe me?" said Ms. Camille. "You have *always* been a girl. So there is nothing to change you back into. You are a girl, Margaret. You have always been a girl. Now please stop all this silly talk, so I can wrap up my lesson plans for tomorrow."

"Yes Ms. Camille" said Mark, leaving with his tail between his legs.

 

He walked out the door, and down the hall to his locker. He opened the locker, and put the unnecessary books in it, taking the ones he'd need for homework into his book bag. Then he locked it, and went out to the bike rack where he left his bike. There was only one bike remaining, but it wasn't his.

He went to check it out. Where was his sleek black ten-speed? All that was here was a stupid pink colored *girl's* bike, without the bar going across the top. But then he realized something: that was his lock an chain. Was this his bike now?

Mark entered the combination, and the lock came right off. A shiver went up his spine. He owned a girl's bike now. He got on, and started to ride home, feeling completely embarrassed and humiliated. It never occurred to him that in a skirt, you *needed* to ride a bike without the bar across that top. He didn't know that was why girl's bikes were built that way.

He got home, and ran inside. His mother was there in the livingroom.

"Hello my little princess" she said. "How was your day at school?"

Mark felt that dread shiver again. His *mom* thought he was a girl too. How could she think that? Why was it that he was the only one that knew the truth?

"Fine" he said, rushing to his room.

He got inside the room, and shut the door. Immediately, he felt disgust. This wasn't his room. It was a *girl's* room. Instead of his Star Wars and football posters, there were pictures of movie hunks, and one of cute kitties. Instead of his collection of baseball cards, there were piles of glossy fashion magazines. And there was makeup on the counter. And frilly lacy covers on the tables. And pink stuff.

He opened the closet, and felt like crying when he saw that his clothes had turned into a collection of skirts, dresses, blouses, and other girlie things. His private retreat, his room, was now a girl's room.

"I don't want to be a girl!" he said to himself, in a barely audible whisper.

 

"Margaret!" called out his mother.

"Yes mom?" he replied through the door.

"Don't forget that Tommy is coming over at 7:00 to pick you up for your date. We need to hurry so you can get your nails done before dinner."

Mark felt a tear well up in his eye. His life was a girl's life now, and he could think of no way to get out of it. He was trapped in a girl's body. Everyone thought he had always been a girl. And now he was supposed to have a date that evening, with a *boy*. Mark swallowed hard. How was he going to be able to live as Margaret?

 

* * *

 

Ms. Camille smiled. She was just finishing her report. When someone of her order used their powers to change the world, they would have to go before the white council to explain their actions. The prime directive of the order was to only use their powers for good. She was sure that she had great case.

Instead of Mark being a lonely boy, a loser bound for a bad life, he was a good girl now, who was studious, and would do well in college. And his friend Tommy would have a nice girlfriend, instead of a guy who was a friend and a bad influence.

The school would be better off, with a good female student in place of the disruptive male one that had been. Cathy in the front row would now have a new girlfriend, instead of a boy who picked on her and teased her. Mark's parents would be better off too. Instead of having to worry about their son who was always in trouble, now they could be proud of their daughter. Yes, turning him into a girl was good for *everybody*.

She knew it must be hard on Mark, adjusting to being a girl. But that would soon pass. With every moment that went by, his male memories were eroding, being replaced with memories of growing up a girl. By the end of the week, even Mark would never know that he had been born a boy. Even in his mind, he would think he had been a girl since birth.

The world was a better place now, with Margaret.

  

  

  

*********************************************
© 2005 by Jennifer White. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.