Two shy gangly boys in the same high school, their single mothers had introduced them two years before, night nurses in the same hospital. Tim and Jamal had been friends ever since, except for six months when they didn't talk. Neither could remember why.
Tim dropped two suitcases on Jamal's bed. Grabbed his desk chair. Turned it to face the mirror on the closet door.
They'd seen each other naked, in the locker room. No big deal. Tim came out to Jamal the year before. No big deal. Jamal's uncle was queer. More of a deal for Tim, now tossing his tee shirt and jeans in the corner. Still not out to his mother.
Jamal pulled a padded bra out of the suitcase. It looked strange on Tim's long pale torso. He turned away
as Tim tugged on a thing that bunched up his genitals.
In the mirror a white boy turning into something else smiled at a mahogany face that looked up and then away. Tim perched on the edge of the chair, unlike the way he slumped when he was just Tim.
Jamal, taller and lankier than Tim, was on the basketball team. Not one of the school's stars, he was still hoping to get a sports scholarship.
A layer of white was followed by several others. Powder, rouge, eyeliner, eye shadow, lipstick. Then Tim turned. Only he wasn't quite Tim anymore.
The aqua dress burst out of the suitcase, over layers of crinoline. Tim handed it to Jamal. In the mirror one boy was slipping a formal gown over the head of the other.
Tim fluffed out the billowing skirt. Reached into the suitcase for the curly red wig, pulled it over his blond buzzed hair, as Jamal, in gray sweat pants and sweatshirt sat behind him, watching. Tim stared at himself in the mirror, a serious face replaced by an enormous grin, as he fluffed out his, her hair, pulled on a pair of white elbow-length gloves, and turned to face her friend, with arms raised and spread wide.