Making the Grades

“What the hell is going on.” One of the boys cursed as he tugged on the double doors of the gym.

Behind him the chorus of confused and irritated teenagers echoes his sentiment in rising anger and panic.

“Please relax,” the soft tones of the principal drifted over the intercom, his authoritative voice drawing all eyes to the speakers around the room as well as quieting the building unrest.

“With the recent budget cutbacks we have been forced to repackage our facility to insure your quality education,” he began as a slat in the ceiling slid open and a rain of bleached and pressed clothes feather fell from the ceiling.

As one of the boys caught it, a powder blue skirt the principal continued despite the growing protests of “This must be a mistake,” and “These are girl clothes.”

“Only institutions for gir…” his voice paused, correcting himself, “…women receive the funding we are accustomed too and after much deliberation I have come to the only conclusion that will insure the young ladies of Saint Michael’s School for Girls quality education. Please do not panic. The transition will be over shortly.”

The sounds of perplexed teenage boys echoes though the room for only a moment before surging up in a wave of panic as one boy found the blouse in his hands somehow over his head. Laughter lasted only a moment as the spectacle repeated itself, the new uniforms practically spring into life to discard their owner’s old clothes in place of themselves. Skirts leaping up to trip panicking teenagers as they inched up their legs while pulling down kakis and jeans with invisible fingers. Panic baritones transitioned to shouts of sweet sopranos as the gruff yells of men became the shrill shrieks of the fairer sex.

As blouses settled themselves on new, slimmer bodies, strange lumps rose in their chests while the lumps in their throats receded. Features softening as hair grew, not to exaggerated proportions mind you but enough to support similar, yet feminine, styles.

Purses leapt into hands that clenched tight around the straps, but not of the owners accord as polishes lacquered fine nailed and blush and eye shadow leapt to their faces. Facial hair rescinded and striped bare legs found themselves smooth after the assault of the skirts had ended, while frilly panties waged war with tough briefs and boxers beneath the surface, eventually winning dominance.

A collective breath heaved by the students as waistlines tapered in and hips grew broad, the bulges in their panties slowly giving way to the cannel that would, in time, bring new life into the world.

As the speakers once more came to life a soft, yet authoritative woman’s voice began. “I know this must be quite shock ladies but there is nothing that can be done to preserve the old ways. Rest assured that all will go smoothly from this point further, and your quality education, insured.”

If the principal had expected the panic and anger to subside she was sorely mistaken and the shrill voices of the girls range out for quite some time in protest.

Epilogue:
Looking out from her office window the Principal and a woman half her age looked down to the girls as they arrived for another day of school, each one sporting a florescent pink laptop and many chatting friendlily with others. There were some voices of discontent that while low the two women were able to make out clearly.

“It seems they are adapting well enough to the transition,” the principal mused.

The other woman nodded. “I was a bit worried at first how their parent would react but with all records, in print and online, reflecting that they had always had daughters and only memories of the past to rely on I think they realized all to quickly any legal action would be futile. What good is one doctor remembering a son when all records record a girl. Even photographic.”

The principal nodded. “My wi…husband, wasn’t too thrilled with my transition at first though.” A hit of wariness in her voice.

“Give him time, I’m more concerned with the Moon Princess Scenario.”

“Moon Princess?” the principal wondered curiously.

The woman nodded. “A school this large, full of girls touched by magic it’s only a matter of time before…”

“Before what?” the principal urged.

“Nothing we have to worry about until it happens…”

“You’re the expert,” the principal said cautiously, sensing the tension in the air. “I’m more worried about boys.”

“Yeah boys…” the woman chuckled, “I think boys will be the least of their worries.”

Fin.