New to this story?
You'll probably want to read parts one and two first.
~o0o~
The first thing I thought of when I woke was the weather. I checked the forecast before bed which stated that Wednesday was going to be 18ºC, but checking the forecast again, it's saying it's gonna be 19º now. “What if it reaches twenty?” I thought, knowing that the forecasts aren't always entirely accurate. Mum noticed that something was on my mind over breakfast, but I assured her I was OK. “Having second thoughts about joining in with the protest?” she asked.
“Kind of.” I said. “But it's stupid that we can't wear shorts when the girls can choose.”
“Boys can choose too.” Mum said.
“Yeah but...”
“And they all wear shorts under their skirts so it's not like you'd just be wearing a skirt.”
“Yeah I know.” I frowned. I tried to imagine what it would be like as I walked to school. I envisaged everyone giving me a second glance, and giggling at my legs, and wondered (worried) how I’d justify the fact that there's no hair on my legs. I considered mentioning the summer shorts protests to my friends, but thought better of it. They'd only think I was weird, or worse, so I kept it to myself all day.
The girl approached me after school and showed me a weather app on her phone. “You're sailing close to the wind, Simon.” she smugly told me.
“The forecast said 18 last night.” I glumly replied. “I know.” she said. “It's supposed to be nineteen tomorrow.”
“And what if it turns out to be twenty?” I grimly asked.
“Well it wouldn't be fair if the forecast is wrong would it now.” she smugly replied. “I'll play by the rules if you will.” she said, telling me that whatever temp the weather forecast states the day before determines whether or not I wear a skirt the next day.
“But... what if it says twenty and it turns out only be eighteen?” I gulped.
“Then I hope you'll be wearing a skirt.” she told me. “It wouldn't be fair if the forecast is wrong.” she reiterated.
“But... what if we're looking at different forecasts?” I asked. “The weather on the BBC isn't always the same as ITV.”
“Tell you what... give me your number so I can text you the forecast from my weather app.”
“I'm not giving you my number!” I retorted.
“Just so you know I'm not cheating.” she replied.
“Huh... cheating?!” I sneered. “You're blackmailing me!” I snarled.
“It's hardly blackmail... there's no money involved.” she replied.
“What is it then?” I growled.
“Encouragement.” she answered. “We love it when the boys wear skirts and I think there should be more of it.” she told me.
