For one, I had to convince my father that pursuing a graduate degree of any kind was worth the time and money. As a blue collar man himself, he’s never been entirely supportive of higher education. Though to his credit, he’s been pretty consistent: Why pay tens of thousands of dollars for a piece of paper that most employers will shrug at and say, “Sure, but what have you actually done?”

He’s not entirely wrong. Sadly, dealing with confusion and doubt from relatives is a rite of passage that every Sociology student like myself must go through. After all, where’s the money in studying society, social relationships, and human behavior? Regardless of how fascinating the field is. However, the biggest hurdle for those in academia isn’t the doubt from our peers and parents: it’s the doubt within ourselves.

*DING*

A text popped up on my phone, springing me back to reality. There’s not much to look at in my tiny studio apartment, yet I kept finding myself perpetually lost in a mirror, a plant, or the old, wooden ceiling fan spin-spin-spinning above my bed. Or maybe it’s just nerves.

‘I think I’m here?’ Ella’s text read.

I checked the time. 9 A.M. on the dot.

‘One sec,’ I typed back. ‘Look at you, being on time!’

Ella’s a lot of things, but punctual isn’t one of them.

Hopping off of my bed and onto the cold, linoleum floor, I’m startled again by a different noise. Three loud KNOCKS at the door. I scampered over to answer. Ella was already here.

“Taylor!” she said, surprisingly cheery for so early in the morning.

My eyes thinned. “You… got into the building?”

She shrugged. “Eh, the front door’s busted.”

‘It’s busted, or you busted it?’ I wanted to ask but figured it wasn’t worth the hassle. Honestly, it was just good to see her face. A whole summer without her friendly energy and bubbly persona. I leaned in for a hug.

Ella Harris is one of just a few legitimate friends I made during my undergraduate years at Elkhorn. Having transferred in as a junior after two years at a community college, I found it extremely difficult to make connections. At most schools, friendships are formed and cemented by the end of your first semester. So showing up a year and a half later made it impossible to find a real ‘group’. And once I finally did meet some cool people, they jetted off for jobs in the real world, leaving me and this small, rural Illinois university in their past.

So Ella, while not a close friend, is my closest remaining.

After a few moments, she released her hug and slipped past me to get a look at the ‘new’ apartment.

“It’s not fully together yet—” I tried to explain. But Ella, I’ve come to learn, plays by her own rules.

“Not terrible for a sublease, I suppose.”

I’d bet my spunky blonde friend meant it as a compliment, even if her expression said otherwise.

“It’s a little grimey,” I admitted. “But hey, tough to beat $500 a month.”

“True,” Ella nodded. After a deep breath, she looked back at me with a smirk. “Well? You ready for the big, scaaaary department announcement or what? Kendall’s been teasing it for weeks and I’m dying to know.”

I smiled back at her, appreciating her attempt to lighten the mood.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice wavering a tad. “I think I am.”

========

In many ways, returning to Elkhorn for a fifth-year graduate program felt just like my undergrad years. The classes, projects, meetings, and assignments were pretty much identical. As was the classic, limestone campus architecture and the familiar lush greenery that always felt so out of place in rural Illinois. Students buzzed about the quad as always, hustling between dorms, lecture halls, and student centers — not to mention the few-but-mighty fraternity and sorority houses.

Today was the start of orientation week for all students and the energy on campus reflected that. Every undergrad, grad student, and faculty member was as overwhelmed as they were excited. Orientation week always has a unique magic to it, and this year is no exception.

As Ella and I journeyed across campus, a flurry of emotions filled my body – Most of them good, like the eagerness to learn new things and take another step forward in my life. But… Remember how I said every grad student tends to be their own harshest critic? Well, I’ve felt that harsh criticism in full force these past few months, rethinking and toiling over every single life choice I’ve made up to this point.

One thing I know about myself is that, at least intellect-wise, I’m a solid student. On top of genuinely loving the field of Sociology, I can memorize terms, I’m a critical thinker, and when push comes to shove, I’m pretty damn good at coming up with creative solutions to complex problems. All traits of an A+ student.

But I’d be lying if I said I’ve been fully applying myself. In fact, it’s because I’m a naturally capable person that I’ve allowed myself to slack. Instead of getting straight A’s, I’ve settled for B’s and C’s. Rather than seek out an elite university, I settled for the mid-tier Elkhorn. And most of all, instead of taking my Bachelor’s degree and finding a real-life job, I took the ‘linear path’ of graduate school — with embarrassingly little to show for it.

Having this epiphany over summer break was both unsettling and motivating. The prospect of putting my head down to really work hard is terrifying. But for the first time in my life, I have a degree of clarity: This is the year I take things seriously.

Not that I planned to share that goal with anyone. At least not yet.

Despite a looming bombshell announcement in our department, Ella and I kept our conversation light, gossiping about former classmates, school news, and sharing moments from our summers. Ella, I discovered, worked at an ice cream shop in her home state of Minnesota. I too stayed locally, working lifeguard shifts at my community pool – a job I've had every summer since high school and have (mostly) enjoyed.

“You get more and more lifeguard-y each year, Taylor,” she kidded, looking me up and down.

“Oh yeah? Why is that?”

Ella reached over and gently pinched my forearm. “For one, you’ve got a few too many sunburns.”

I winced a little. “I wear sunscreen… It just barely works.”

She giggled. “Well, that, and…” she reached up toward my head — my hair, specifically — and with her index and middle finger, mimicked a cutting motion, “the fact that your hair gets longer and longer every year.”

Oh, right. My hair.

I shrugged off her tease, but she wasn’t wrong. Junior year was when I first grew it out — starting with the shaggy-haired ‘Bieber cut’ and evolving into a ‘bro flow’ kind of thing. But in this past year, I’ve completely foregone all trimming to the point where it’s become a shoulder-length, surfer guy look. Long enough that, yes, with my shirt off, my hair tickles my shoulders.

“Maybe it’s a little long,” I said, tucking away a loose strand. “But who cares?”

She turned to me earnestly. “I love it. Just, you know, how many long-hair surfer dudes do you see in bumfuck nowhere Illinois?”

I laughed back. “Fair point.”

This wasn’t the first time I’d been teased for my hair either. My fellow lifeguards certainly had their fair share of verbal jabs. But with Ella, I knew it was in good fun. Her occasional chaos aside, at the end of the day, the girl just doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. That’s what made her such a fortunate friend to have. And someone who, in what will be my final year before real adulthood kicks in, will be nice to have in my corner.

Ella stopped short and grabbed my hand, pointing with faux dramaticism at the building ahead of us: Marcus Hall. The main Arts & Sciences building at Elkhorn and home to the ‘almighty’ Sociology Department.

“Our home,” Ella uttered with playful seriousness. “One last time.”

I rolled my eyes as she giggled.

Overly dramatic? Perhaps. But Ella’s point stands true. One last orientation week. One last year of school. And one last chance to step up and actually take a school year seriously.

Better late than never.

========

The hallways of Marcus Hall were bland, boring, and practical — much like the majority of Elkhorn. But while the furnishings may be uninteresting, the people are anything but.

Last year by my count there were a total of forty-five seniors who collected diplomas for a Bachelor’s degree in Sociology. A pretty sizable cohort. This year, however, planned to be far more intimate.

“Hey! This way, klutz!” Ella called out after watching me drift the opposite direction. Either my head wasn’t entirely in it today, or the identical, stark white, Severance-like hallways were finally getting to me.

I jogged alongside Ella who correctly pointed out that despite her punctual arrival at my apartment, we were running seven minutes behind. With my friend in tow, I busted my ass around the hallway corner, found the door for Room B-37, and burst through inside.

“Sorry, sorry!” I announced.

“We’re here!” Ella added.

Ella and I, each sweaty, out-of-breath messes stood vulnerably in front of a room of six people: five younger folks in desk chairs, and one very familiar, but always a teensy bit intimidating graduate advisor, Professor Lilith Kendall.

“Nice of you to join us,” Kendall said with a healthy bit of snark. “Ella, Taylor. Maybe we should pause to hear about your summer breaks?”

Ella’s face lit up with relief. “Oh, mine was—”

I elbowed her, whispering, “She’s fucking with us.” I grabbed her hand and led Ella toward the remaining empty desks.

The eagle-eyed professor gazed at us as we slinked into the room and quietly sat amongst the others.

It may not seem like it, but students adore Professor Kendall. She’s stern and sarcastic, yes, but in an admirable way where you know she does it because she cares. Plus, as one of my classmates once noted, the tall, thin, dark-haired woman in her early forties is ‘easier on the eyes than most Elkhorn professors.’ And I wholeheartedly agree.

“Leave it to Ella and Taylor to be behind before the year even starts,” Kendall said as she paced. “It’s a wonder you made it into this program.”

“Sorry,” Ella squeaked.

“Won’t happen again,” I added.

A wry smile formed on Kendall’s face as she decided to move on.

“Maybe that’s the perfect introduction to you two,” she continued, gesturing to the rest of the class. “As you can see, there are plenty of new faces. And punctuality aside… We have an extremely strong graduate cohort.”

Having caught my breath and escaped too much ridicule, I finally got a chance to look at the cohort around me: the six other Masters in Sociology students I’d be learning with, working alongside, and spending God knows how much time on projects over the next two semesters.

“Hmm…” Kendall mulled. “You know, maybe a round of introductions would be appropriate. Just say your name, where you’re from, and a fun fact about yourself.”

The first thing I noticed was, of the five others, four were entirely new faces.

Kendall gestured to a glasses-wearing, red-headed girl who promptly rose.

“My name’s Emily Luna,” she began. “I’m Milwaukee born-and-raised, and a fun fact about me is I can do… this!”

Suddenly, Emily grabbed her foot, and in one swift motion hoisted it above her head. The entire room was stunned. A couple of us politely applauded.

“I’m a former gymnast.” She smiled, shrugged, and returned to her seat.

Kendall’s eyes were wide. “Alright then… Impressive.” She pointed to another person I didn’t know. “Let’s see who can top that.”

Student-by-student, we went around the room introducing ourselves. Beyond even the peppy, flexible Emily, our cohort was quite eclectic. The next one up was Julia Morris from Queens, New York City, unsurprisingly sporting a strong New York accent and a trendy, chopped brunette bob. Her fun fact was that she makes homemade pasta at least once a week.

“To hell with that store-bought crap,” Julia insisted. “None of that’s going into my temple.”

Following Julia was Meghan Fly, a strawberry-blonde, self-proclaimed cinephile from Kansas who proceeded to rattle off what she believed to be the ‘five best films ever made, bar none’. Professor Kendall seemed to find her the most entertaining.

After Ella took her turn, the next introduction came from a girl named Maryam Agrawal who hailed all the way from Pakistan. Well, sort of. Apparently, after receiving her bachelor’s from University of Chicago — an extremely prestigious school — she found she ‘despised American city culture’ so much that she sprung for the complete opposite. Her fun fact was that she can ride a unicycle.

“Quite a circus we got going!” Kendall exclaimed. Her eyes bounced between me and the last remaining person. The only other man in the room, and the person whose mere presence pissed me off beyond belief.

“Nate, how about you go,” Kendall said.

Nate Chen is possibly the most smug person on the planet. Besides Ella and myself, he’s the only other Elkhorn undergrad to stay on for his Masters. Granted, I had the pleasure of not seeing or thinking about him all summer, but from the moment he opened his mouth, I remembered every little reason for why this guy straight-up sucks.

“What’s up, I’m Nate,” he said, getting a good view of each girl in the class — arguably spending a little too much time looking their way. “I’m from Ann Arbor, Michigan, and my fun fact is that I was valedictorian at graduation last year.”

Ugh.

His bragging and smugness were, yes, horrible, but hardly the worst thing about him. He’s a narcissist, a misogynist, and, while I’m not a psychologist, I think it’s safe to diagnose him as a, well… a dick.

Seriously, nobody likes this guy. Even Professor Kendall. But the problem with Nate is that, objectively, he is the smartest guy in class. And it’s not like he does anything illegal that warrants kicking him out. And so he stays. Much to everyone’s chagrin.

“Thank you, Nate…” Kendall said before turning to me with a soft smile. “And that leaves you, Taylor.”

I stood up nervously and took in what would be my cohort for the rest of the year. A good group, by all measures. Well, other than Nate.

From my vantage point, with all eyes on me, I felt a curious degree of comfort and optimism. Seven students in total, eager to work and to learn. Could I channel this optimism into career focus? To, for once, earn my Masters and walk away from this year with some semblance of direction in my life?

“Hey guys, I’m Taylor. Er, uh, Taylor Holmes. I’m from Peoria, Illinois — just a few hours southeast of here.”

Kendall leaned forward and filled the silence. “And your fun fact?”

Right! Somehow in listening to everyone else’s, I’d completely forgotten to think of one myself.

“Oh, uh… My fun fact…”

From a few seats away I heard Nate start to chuckle. At first quietly, then as he stole the attention, a bit louder.

“Something funny, Nate?” Our professor asked.

He snickered some more. “I think I can answer for Taylor.”

I shot a glare his way, practically daring him to say something self-serving like he always does.

Nate’s gaze bounced between our classmates as a conceited smirk materialized on his face.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” he asked, holding out his arm. “I mean, look at his hair! His fun fact is that he’s turning into a girl!”

=-=-=-=-=-=

This one's on the shorter side compared to my others, but I promise, equally as sweet :) Hope you give it a shot!

-Jennifer

AMAZON LINK: https://www.amazon.com/Dress-Like-Girl-Gradual-Feminization-...