He pushes me out the door and into a sea of boys sneering and glaring, holding their dicks and bouncing up and down in anticipation of using the bathroom. Spencer and Church finally step aside and allow the horde into the bathroom.

“Fuck you guys,” Mark sneers, storming past us. He eyes me suspiciously as he goes, but I've got an entourage of Student Council members around me; I feel untouchable. We head back to my room, and I toss off the jacket, fixing my hair in a handheld mirror while all five guys stare at me.

“What?” I ask, popping my lips to even out my lip gloss. With a sigh, I put a fist on my hip, my pleated skirt swishing with the movement. “Come on, it's not like you guys haven't seen me all dolled up before.”

“No, but …” Spencer starts, lifting up a finger and then dropping his hand by his side. His dopey lovestruck grin fades into a smirk. “It's just, our little Chuck-let is all grown-up and tackling Adamson in a skirt. It's a proud, but scary moment for your harem.”

“My … what?!” I choke out as Ranger grits his teeth, Church raises a brow, and the twins grin.

“We're living a reverse harem,” they say in unison, nodding and then exchanging a look. Tobias reaches into his front pocket, pulls out a little Ouran High School Host Club button with all the characters on it, and attaches it to my own blazer pocket, right next to the Student Council pin.

“There,” he says, his grin getting a little lopsided as he looks me over with those pretty green eyes of his. “Now everyone knows.”

“And,” Micah adds, lifting up a finger. “This gives us carte blanche to beat up anyone who says anything derogatory.”

With a sigh, I shake out my arms and close my eyes. This isn't going to make things easier for me here at Adamson. No, it's going to make things harder. But I'm also fairly certain that this is the best way for me to get at the heart of this mystery.

“Alright, let's do this.”

The boys check the hallway to make sure the coast is clear, and off we go, my fitted blazer buttoned beneath my breasts, the little blue ribbon tied into a bow at the throat of my fitted white button-down. The skirt is plaid, a mix of champagne, honey yellow, and navy blue that swishes around my legs as I walk. My knee-high socks are held up with garters (totally stole them from Monica when I was in Santa Cruz), and I've donned the same, plain shiny brown loafers I wore as a boy.

I'm pretty sure gender is just a ridiculous social construct, but also … the world sometimes subscribes to social constructs, and I'm standing knee-deep in the middle of it.

All of a sudden, I'm finding it hard to breathe.

I stop on the path, the boys pausing around me, a glorious mix of champagne blazers and navy ties, and I close my eyes for a minute, listening to the wind in the trees, the hoots of those stupid short-eared owls. Just breathe, we'll get through this, I tell myself, opening my eyes again to find five concerned sets of eyes looking back at me.

“It's not too late to change your mind,” Church says, crossing one arm over his chest and resting his chin in the palm of the other hand. “If you want to go back and change, nobody here will think less of you.”

“No, I'm doing this,” I state, lifting my chin and choosing to ignore the trembling in my hands. With another deep breath, I continue down the path, passing a few random students here and there who look up in shock. Pretty sure some of them are recording me with their phones, taking pictures and video, but I don't care.

Instead, I head right up to the double doors of the main building and throw them open with an unnecessary amount of force and dramatics. The twins catch them and hold them wide, leaving me silhouetted against the gray light from outside, my skirt billowing in the breeze, my chin held high.

Bet I look like a total badass, huh? I could be Regina George in Mean Girls or something, ruling this entire school and looking fab while doing it.

“What the hell?” Mark asks, blinking at me as I move into the hall and pause, a good three dozen boys standing in the foyer, staring back at me. I scan the room, meeting as many pairs of eyes as I can.

Without a word, I strut forward and head straight for my locker, the presence of the Student Council deflecting any commentary or questions. At least for now. We manage to make it through an awkward breakfast in the cafeteria with everyone staring at me before my dad finally shows up, his face that funny purple-red color, eye twitching.

“Charlotte Carson,” he warns as I push my breakfast tray forward and stand up, lifting my chin in defiance. Without a word, I leave the Student Council boys and exit the cafeteria to stand in the hallway with Archie. “Do you want to explain to me what this little stunt is about?”

“Stunt?” I ask, unintentionally taking on the snark tone without meaning to. It's just force of habit with Dad at this point. That, and I feel like he always comes at me on the offensive, making it ridiculously easy for me to fall into an aggressive defense. Why couldn't he just put his hand on my shoulder, smile softly, and say, 'is there a reason you decided to change the game plan without telling me, honey?' Hah. Like that could ever happen. “This isn't a stunt. This is what you and the school board wanted all along, isn't it? I'm taking control of my own fate at this academy.”

“Is this a cry for attention?” Dad asks, reaching up to adjust his round glasses. “Do you need something more from me?” He sounds almost desperate as he leans in, teeth gritted. “Because I've only ever done what I thought was right by you.”

“Really? Like not telling me Spencer was alive. By refusing to believe me when I told you I saw Jason Lambert dead in the woods. That I saw a group of people wearing fox masks.”

Dad's hand lashes out and he grabs me by the upper arm, dragging me down the hallway as I struggle against his grip. The cafeteria door opens a second later, and there are the boys, with Ranger in the lead. He looks about two seconds from tearing my dad's hand off my arm, but I wave him away and follow Archie outside.

Dad doesn't stop walking until we're standing at the edge of the woods, the shadows around us like a curtain of privacy. This time, when Dad looks me dead in the face, I see a hint of father and a whole lot less headmaster in his gaze.

“Charlotte, if you wanted to attend as a girl, that's fine. It doesn't make any difference to me, but there are things at this school that you don't understand.”

I narrow my eyes and purse my glossed lips, tearing my arm from his grip and returning his panicked gaze with a glare of my own.

“Right, like Jenica, like Eugene, like Jason.”

“Exactly like that,” Dad whispers, eyes wide with fear. “And little publicity stunts like these don't help.”

“Somebody wants to kill me,” I blurt back at him, and he cringes. Cringes. My dad, Archibald Charlie Carson. It's enough to make me take a step back.

“Yes, Charlotte, somebody does.”

A long pause follows with us staring at one another, my eye twitching in the same way his does. Nature or nurture, I got it from him.

“Wait, I'm sorry, what did you just say?” I ask, tugging on the little diamond stud in my ear, a fifteenth birthday present from Monica. “Pretty sure I just heard you agree with me.”