Chapter 2: The Fruit Seller in Disguise

I snuck into my mom’s room, heart thumping, and dug through her dresser for makeup, then fished out a little black dress from her stash of old clothes.

My hands shook as I sorted through her things, praying she wouldn’t walk in. The scent of her Chanel No. 5 lingered on the fabric, making me feel both bold and guilty.

Back in the day, Mom was the town beauty, always the star at the Maple Heights Fall Festival. She still wore lipstick to the grocery store, and everyone remembered when she won Fall Festival Queen three years running.

After getting dressed, I went to find my parents, nerves jangling.

“Dad, Mom, how do I look today?”

Mom: “So flashy!”

Dad: “What’s this?”

They exchanged a glance, then launched into a full-on parental attack.

I ducked and defended: “Dad, Mom, nobody watched my stream yesterday. Do you know why?”

I tried to sound casual, but my voice wobbled. I felt like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

They ignored my protests and grabbed at me harder.

“Ow, ow—” I shielded my head, scrambling back, and quickly added, “It’s because our stream is too boring! People want something new. Imagine if I walked down Main Street in this getup—how many people would tune in?”

I could see Mom’s gears turning. Dad just grunted, but he didn’t say no.

They hesitated. “Really?”

I nodded, crossing my heart. “Scout’s honor!”

I even tapped my chest for emphasis, trying to sell it like a late-night infomercial.

Finally, they caved and let me try.

Before I left, Dad said, “Just stream from the house today. Don’t go wandering into the orchard.”

His voice was gruff, but his eyes were full of worry. Even in 2020-something, Maple Heights wasn’t exactly open-minded about guys in dresses.

I was surprised.

In our town, folks expect men to be tough and sturdy. Dressing up or doing drag is a hard sell here.

You could practically hear the Johnsons across the street gearing up for gossip. But I knew Dad was just trying to keep me safe, in his own way.

On camera, in a pale green floral dress and a floppy straw hat, I looked… lively and fresh, but a little awkward.

The dress didn’t fit quite right, and the hat kept slipping over my eyes. I fidgeted, trying to strike a pose that didn’t look totally forced.

I grabbed two oranges from the basket, stuffed them into my dress, picked out the sweetest, most girlish selfie for my stream cover, and went live on YouTube Live!

The wig itched like crazy, and the oranges were heavier than I’d expected, but I tried to channel my inner Southern belle.

In front of the camera, using my best sweet, high-pitched voice, I introduced everything—from orange blossoms and fruiting, to the Florida sunshine and sandy soil, to the growth cycle. I even peeled and tasted the oranges myself, talking about the tangy juice and that hint of summer sweetness.

I threw in a few “y’alls” and “bless your hearts,” hoping to sound cute and approachable.

“Our oranges are big and sweet, melt-in-your-mouth, the pride of Maple Heights…”

I winked at the camera, tossing a segment of orange in my mouth like I’d seen TikTokers do.

Maybe it was the ‘beauty’ filter or just my luck, but this time there were over a hundred viewers in my stream.

My hands shook with excitement as the numbers ticked up. I tried to act cool, but inside, I was freaking out.

I ate oranges and chatted with viewers. The mood was great, except the dress kept slipping down. I regretted picking two jumbo oranges—the dress just couldn’t hold them.

Every few seconds, I had to tug the dress back up, which probably looked ridiculous. But the chat seemed to eat it up.

My awkward tugging at my clothes naturally caught people’s attention. Someone called “FruitFan69” commented: “Streamer, where’s your cleavage? LMAO.”

I choked on a slice of orange, coughing so hard I nearly dropped my phone. My cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Cleavage? I froze, then realized what he meant. Just as I was about to excuse myself and change, a big red warning flashed across my YouTube dashboard: "Your stream has been flagged for violating community guidelines."

My heart dropped into my shoes.

When YouTube says something, you listen. So I stood up fast… but the minute I did, my dress slipped.

It was like slow-motion horror. The fabric slid down, and before I could grab it, the oranges tumbled out, bouncing across the floor.

I looked down—there was a big patch of white on my chest, and two massive oranges rolling away…

I stood there, mouth open, totally frozen. The chat went wild, and I realized I was still live.

I was stunned, completely lost, and only then remembered—I’m a guy. Looking up, I saw the stream had already been banned.

The platform’s message glared at me: "Your stream has been banned for inappropriate content, spreading obscene material, violating community standards, and being detrimental to the well-being of minors."

Me: “……”

I slumped to the floor, dress in one hand, oranges in the other, wondering how my life had come to this.

Expressionless, I picked up my dress, opened the appeal page, only to be told I had to study the ‘Community Guidelines,’ answer a quiz, and wait for admin review.

The process was endless—multiple-choice quizzes, endless forms. My head pounded.

I privately messaged the admin, asking them to review my past streams and check my gender on the real-name verification.

I tried to sound calm, but my nerves were shot. I waited, refreshing my inbox every five minutes.

I waited and waited. Finally, the next morning, I got a reply: “It’s exactly because we carefully reviewed your content that we decided to ban you.”

Me: “……”

I stared at the screen, totally speechless. It felt like getting benched in the state championship—helpless and furious.

The last time I was this dumbfounded was… well, the last time something went wrong.

I asked again: “Why can others show abs and go shirtless, but I get banned for an accident?”

Reply: “First, you used the phrase ‘the best oranges in Maple Heights’ in your stream, which violates new advertising rules against terms like ‘national,’ ‘top,’ or ‘best,’ and is considered false advertising.”

I scrolled back, remembering my enthusiastic pitch. Who knew ‘best’ could get you in trouble?

“Second, you presented yourself as female, and breasts are considered a private part for women. Exposing private parts in public is regarded as sexual and inappropriate content.”

I sighed. I guess it made sense. Rules are rules, even if they’re weird.

The explanation was reasonable—I had to admit it.

Still, I couldn’t help but feel like the universe was out to get me. I slumped in my chair, staring at the wall.