Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

As the car turned off the lane leading to Niamh’s house, and onto the road towards ours, I saw the security light outside our house come on. My heart sank: This could only mean one thing; my father had just driven or walked into the farmyard. For some reason, this was a much more troubling prospect than been seen by my mother wearing one of the Twins cheerleading skirts. She had, presumably been given an explanation by Niamh so would have expected to find me dressed like this when she called to collect me.

“Does he know?”

A LITTLE EXTRA 2 - THE RECKONING by Suzie Dalkin

The continuation of a story from the less glamorous end of the film industry.

The roar of the crowd still echoed in my ears, a phantom wave of sound that followed us from the Tower Ballroom. The heavy silver trophy, now cradled in my lap, gleamed under the streetlights, reflecting the joyous chaos of our celebration. Mum drove, her face radiant, humming off-key to a pop song on the radio. Marco sat beside me, his arm casually draped over my shoulder, a warmth seeping through the vibrant fabric of my costume. Every now and then, his fingers would brush my neck, sending a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cool Blackpool air.

The motorway hummed beneath us, a rhythmic thrum against the tyres. Fields blurred into green streaks, then towns, then more fields. Melanie, propped in the passenger seat, her brace a stark white against her dark jeans, pointed out landmarks with a fervour usually reserved for ancient ruins.

“That’s where we stopped for ice cream, remember? Last time we came.” She twisted in her seat, her eyes bright with memories of happy times.

Mum, focused on the road, a slight smile playing on her lips.

The bruised sky had bled into a deep, inky black, but the sliver of light Melanie had offered me still glowed, a warm ember in the cavern of my chest. Nationals. My heart thrummed a new rhythm against my ribs, a chaotic samba of fear and exhilaration.

Morning brought with it a crisp chill, but the air in my room felt charged, electric. I peeled off the nightgown, a strange reluctance clinging to my fingers. For a moment, I stood before the mirror, just Michael, pale and unremarkable. Then, a new impulse took hold.

The morning of the Yorkshire Regional Dance Championships dawned grey and drizzly, mirroring the churning in my stomach. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the familiar comfort of my duvet doing little to soothe the frantic flutter in my chest.

The morning sun, still low and hazy, streamed through the studio windows, painting golden stripes across the polished floor. My muscles, a symphony of aches from yesterday’s session, still protested with every movement, but a new lightness infused my steps. I felt it, a subtle shift in my centre of gravity, a growing familiarity with the silicone weight, the snug embrace of the shaper. Melanie's hand-me-down leggings, initially a foreign skin, now felt like a second one, moving with me, not against me.

Today was the day. Today, Michael became Melanie, not just for a moment, but for hours, in front of Marco, in front of a mirror, learning to dance as someone else.

Melanie, already dressed in leggings and a loose top, perched on the bathroom counter, her ankle still elevated on a stack of fluffy towels. Mum, a vision in her usual practical jeans and an oversized jumper, rummaged through her makeup bag, a determined glint in her eye.

The bathroom mirror, usually a fleeting acquaintance, now held a captive audience of three. My reflection, still unmistakably Michael, stared back, a canvas awaiting transformation. Melanie, perched on the counter, swung her legs, a glint of mischief in her eyes. Mum, armed with an arsenal of brushes and palettes, surveyed me like a sculptor eyeing unworked clay.

“Right, let’s get this show on the road,” Mum announced, her voice a blend of determination and theatrical flair.

She dabbed a cool, liquid primer across my forehead. Its scent, faintly floral, tickled my nose.

The antiseptic tang of the living room haunted the air, a faint ghost of the hospital ward. Melanie, propped on the sofa, a patchwork quilt draped over her plaster-encased leg, flipped through a magazine. Her ankle throbbed, a dull ache that resonated with the silence hanging between her and Mum.

I lingered in the doorway, the scent of burnt toast from my failed breakfast attempt clinging to my jumper. They hadn't noticed me yet. Their voices, hushed and conspiratorial, floated from the other side of the room.

The weeks leading up to the wedding reception was a combination of practicing the songs the bride had requested them to play and doing a few more gigs. Their new assistant booking agent had managed to get them several close gigs, before the wedding. The new outfits from Unique Wear Boutique had arrived and looked extremely good.

Jessie’s And Kate’s Place:
Kate looks at Tessa, David/Daisy, Nagisa, Lucas, and Jessie, as they all sat around the dining room table. Kate had asked all the band members to come by for lunch. She had the lunch catered for them, instead of cooking anything.

She noticed that David was looking more and more like Catherine Bach. She saw that David was wearing Daisy Dukes with a nice top. His face was even made up with proper makeup, as a woman would wear.

Unique Wear Boutique, Richmond, Va.
Jessie stood outside the simple store where Alice Green and several of her friends worked. It was simple, but it had some nice designs displayed in the windows showing their merchandise. She turns towards the sound of a motorcycle heading her way.

As it got closer to her, she noticed two people riding it. The first person she recognized right away. It was Tony, and the figure behind him was David dressed as Catherine Bach. She was wearing a helmet as they used in the old Dukes of Hazzard television show.

The Pink Banana, Henrico County, Va..:
Jessie was wearing a custom-made corset drag dress with a long skirt, crotchless panties, and an LED butt plug in her ass. Instead of her thigh-high leather spike boots she likes performing in, she decided to wear her calf-length leather boots with a four-inch heel. Every time she twirled around, the skirt raised, exposing the LED butt plug in her ass. Not that the audience couldn’t tell she was wearing one. The light from the butt plug lit up the back of her thighs.

The Mine Shaft:
Jessie shakes her ass while dancing around on stage in her leather corset, garter belt, leather panties, stockings, and thigh-high laced-up leather boots with four-inch heels. The song she was belting out was written by another member of the band. Her long, neon-purple straight hair swirled around her head each time she twirled.