Swim the Fly by Don Calame Page B

flourish like a master artist. It was hard sitting still for so long. My stomach has started churning, either from nerves or from all that protein shake or maybe a combination of both. “You guys look gorgeous.”
    Coop, Sean, and me shuffle over to Cathy’s closet mirror. With the new dresses the girls picked out and with the wigs and proper makeup, I hardly recognize us.
    “Holy crap,” Coop says, his eyes wide. “Sean, you look prettier than your sister.”
    “Watch it, loser,” Cathy says.
    Nessa isn’t even trying to contain herself. She’s practically barking up a lung laughing. “That is some sick shit right there.”
    “Smile,” Cathy says.
    Sean, Coop, and me turn around just as Cathy snaps a picture of us with her cell phone.
    “Hey!” the three of us shout, holding up our hands, turning away.
    “Now, I want a full report,” Cathy says. “And don’t forget the photos.” She grabs her digital camera off her nightstand and holds it out to Sean.
    He doesn’t take it. “I don’t know. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
    “One click and I can send this picture of you guys looking very girlie to the entire world. If you want me to erase it, then you’ll bring me back a shot of Mandy Reagan gone wild.” Cathy waggles the camera at Sean. “Come on, now.”
    Sean reaches out and takes it. “Why do you want pictures, anyway?”
    “The Virgin Mandy fooled around with your sister’s boyfriend last year, dork,” Nessa proclaims.
    “And when we hack into Mandy’s Facebook page, we’re going to need something to post,” Cathy adds.
    “Pound it, girlfriend.” Nessa offers up her fist.
    Cathy bumps Nessa’s fist with her own and they both laugh.
    “Besides,” Cathy says, “you guys are gonna want something to look at when you abuse yourselves, right?”
    This sends Nessa into hysterics. She falls onto the bed, muffling her laughter in Cathy’s pillow.
    “All right, girls,” Cathy says. “Off you go.” She shoos us from her room. “And don’t come back without the evidence. Or the whole swim team will be getting copies of your oh-so-pretty debutante photo.”
    This idea of Sean’s is turning into more of a nightmare every minute.
    Coop, Sean, and me scuffle from the room and hobble down the stairs. Walking in girl shoes is not the easiest thing. I’m lucky because I snagged the pink sandals, which are less constricting. Sean’s managing pretty well in a pair of red heels. But Coop has it the worst. He couldn’t fit into any of Cathy’s shoes, so he had to sausage his pudgy feet into a pair of Mrs. Hance’s pumps. They’re still too small, but at least he could get them on.
    Ingrid makes a loud catcall and flutters her wings as we pass through the family room. “Fresh meat. Fresh meat.”
    “Shut up, Ingrid,” Sean says.
    “Come to Papa.” Ingrid caws.
    We have to walk up to the Community Center because there’s no way we could ride our bikes in these dresses. And it’s amazing. Nobody even gives us a second look. It’s like we’re just three regular girls out for a stroll. People walk past us and cars drive by, but there’s nothing. I feel a little more confident with every person who ignores us.
    We’re about a block away from the Community Center when I get a seizing pain in my gut. I winceand grab at my midsection. Now that I think about it, it probably wasn’t such a great idea to triple the amount of protein powder I put in my shake.
    “Tae kwon do is over at four,” Sean says, looking at his sister’s wristwatch. “That gives us about twenty minutes. What should we do in the meantime?”
    “Let’s just go in,” I say. “I have to use the bathroom. I’ve got cramps.”
    Coop laughs. “Dude, are you getting your period?”
    “Very funny. I just need to use the can.”
    “No way,” Coop says. “You’ll have to hold it. We can’t be hanging out in the women’s locker room for twenty minutes. People will get suspicious.”
    “Let’s walk around