I stood in front of the door to the Student LGBT Group. The queer club, as some people called it. The door was closed, but I could hear muttering behind it. People were inside.

I had prepared myself for this. I showed up to school on Friday with an extra set of clothes. I was my normal beautiful self for most of the day, but after the final bell rang, I went to the bathroom, removed all my makeup, and swapped to a more casual outfit. The hoodie and jeans combo, like when I was doing the assignment with Adrian. I’d tied my hair into a quick ponytail too, and put the hood part of the hoodie up.

I was not taking any chances. I didn’t want anyone to recognize me.

Even so, I was frozen stiff standing in front of that door. I was still anxious. What would whoever inside there say? According to Irene, this ‘Morgan T.’ person would probably be in there, and they were open for queer guidance/consultation. But there was someone else in there too, talking. Someone in the club? Someone else asking for advice? Was I intruding?

I didn’t have to wonder for long. Right as I thought about leaning my ear to the door, it opened.

“Look, I’ll get it done by Monday, alright?” A taller woman called back.

She turned her head forward, and I think our eyes met.

Her face was familiar, I’d seen her around the halls… Right, it was Tracy McElroy, Sarah’s girlfriend. 

Before any awkward words could be exchanged however, Tracy pulled up her hand and covered her eyes. “Lalala, not looking, not looking…” She muttered, beginning to walk away from me and the door. “You’ve got a visitor, Morgs!” She called back.

I guess… that was her way of being considerate? 

Whatever the case, I suppose that was my cue to walk through the door. It was half open, and, well, no point hiding anymore. They knew I was here.

Opening it fully, I was met with the room on proper display. 

I’m not sure what exactly I expected, since I’d never gone in here before. The space was smaller than something like the Art club, though one of the walls had been decorated with various pride flags, and a few stood up on tiny little flag poles on a big fancy desk in the back. It felt just a tiny bit more colorful than an ordinary room in this building would normally be.

Really, looking at it more… Aside from the big bright colorful flags around, the room resembled a principal’s office more than a club room, with that desk in the back. Although there was also a small couch in the corner next to the doorway. Lying on the couch was… a stuffed shark animal?

More importantly, standing in front of the desk, facing away from me, was a person stacking some papers together.

They were short, probably under five and a half feet, though I could rarely tell those kinds of specifics. Their hair was black, and cut into a neat and short bowl cut. They also wore a simple white dress shirt, with black pants that matched the aesthetic. 

“Oh, hello there.” Turning to face me, I could also observe and make note of the rest of them. The dress shirt was complimented by a blue tie that matched their eyes. “You’re here for Friday consultations? Please, take a seat.” They offered, gesturing their hand towards the couch. “Would you like some tea?” They added.

“Um, sure.” I replied, moving on over to the couch. I’d estimate the stuffed shark was already taking up about three quarters of the small couch's space. Should I… move it?

“Please do not kiss the blåhaj.” They said from near the desk. I looked back, they weren’t even looking at me, just pouring some tea. “Do not lick the blåhaj, spit on the blåhaj, or bite the blåhaj either. Any exchange of bodily fluids is unsanitary.”

Ooookay, I wasn’t going to do that. But… blahoy? Was that its name?

“Is… Wait, have people done that before?” I ask.

“I am not at liberty to disclose what may or may not have happened during past consultations.” They answered, bluntly and matter of factly. “You may, however, hug the blåhaj, if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

I decided to just pick the shark up and put it down on one half of the couch, leaving the other half empty for me to plop down on.

This… already felt weird.

The person picked up the cup of tea, as well as a springed notebook, notably in the same shade of blue as their tie. “Usually I prefer appointments made in advance, but I understand the hesitation that often comes with the closet. Regardless, I should be free on Fridays, so there's no issue."

They sat down on a chair and crossed their legs, placing the cup of tea in front of me on a little coffee table that stood between us. I took a polite sip. I wasn’t sure if I liked it, but it was calming, at least. It’s okay, Penny, you got this.

I noticed that with the way the door was angled, we wouldn’t be visible unless someone walked directly into the room after opening the door inwards. Smart design choice, made me feel a bit safer. If someone opened the door to intrude, I could trust the one sitting in front of me to stand up and shoo them away, in the worst case. 

“Allow me to introduce myself,” They began. “My name is Morgan Tachibana, head of the Student LGBTQIAP+ Group. I am nonbinary and my pronouns are They/Them. I am 17 years old, and a senior at Ridgeview high school. My blood type is O+.  I have an interest in psychology and queer studies. My favorite color is blue, specifically the hex code #4f92ff. I am also neurodivergent.” They fully explained with a completely deadpan expression.

…That was a mouthful. I suppose I appreciate the directness, but… Weren’t these usually just simple pronoun circles or something…?

“Umm,” I began. “My name’s Penelope, but you can call me Penny...?”

Morgan scribbled something down in the little notebook real quick.

Agh, were they already writing things down about me?!

“Don’t feel pressured to share anything,” Morgan added, putting their pencil down. “I’m only trying to make you feel comfortable, by sharing so much about myself. Nothing within these walls will be mentioned to others, not without your permission at least.”

I nodded, albeit nervously.

“Now then…” They continued, putting their hands down and interlocking their fingers. “Was there anything specific you wanted to talk about?”

…Here goes nothing. They seemed a bit quirky, but I had every reason to assume the head of the queer club could probably be trusted in a situation like this. Especially if they were trying to run a consultation/guidance thing.

“Well, I’m trans…” 

Morgan immediately began scribbling something down again, without so much as their mouth or eyebrow twitching.

I-I hadn’t even elaborated yet!

“You don’t… seem surprised.” I noted.

Morgan looked up. “Hm? Well, no, not really. The experiences of trans people can wildly differ.” They explained. “There are plenty of transmascs who go through a phase of hyperfemininity, in order to try and fit in with the label they were handed. And there are some who simply identify as feminine men. Really, your identity doesn’t have to conflict with-”

I waved my hands, “Wait wait wait, hold on, I think you’ve mixed things up!” I interrupted them. “Other way around! I’m a trans *girl*! Not a boy!”

Morgan blinked. 

They proceeded to cross something out, before scribbling something down again. As quickly as they’d done previously.

“...My apologies for making assumptions…” They then said. “I’m not used to meeting a trans person who’s…”

“...Passing?” I tried to finish.

Morgan shakes their head, “Post-transition, rather. Or that’s what I’d assume, looking at you. If I may ask, are you already on hormone replacement therapy?”

I nodded, “Over two years,” I answer. “About half a year longer on blockers.”

“I see…” Of course, Morgan scribbles something down yet again. I guess I should get used to that. “So you’re already well on your way. You’re in a fortunate position.”

I nodded again, “Yeah, I’m aware. I’ve actually been living stealth since I started as a freshman, so…”

“Of course, you have my word. Fear of being outed or forced out of the closet is exactly why I try to arrange for these to be private,” They explain. "Your identity is yours to disclose and yours alone."

The enby then taps their chin with their pen, “So are there not a lot of people in your life who know?”

“Well, there’s my Mom, I guess…” I answer. “Dad too, but he… left, at one point.”

Morgan nodded. I guess I didn’t need to elaborate on that part, which was nice.

“I also recently told my best friend, but that took a lot out of me.” I continued. “She’s cool with it, but it still feels… wrong. The fact that she knows, it makes me anxious.” I look down as I say that. It feels shameful to actually talk about this type of stuff. “...But that’s kind of it.”

“So you’re struggling to come out to more people?” Morgan asks.

“N-No!” I exclaimed. “It’s the opposite, I *don’t* want to come out! I want things to stay the way they are, you know…? Where people don’t know…”

The enby scribbled something more down. “I understand. It’s a difficult struggle that many trans people often face. Though rarely in high school, admittedly.”

“The fact I told my best friend at all was an accident, if anything…” I continued. “And even then, I still kinda regret it. Does that make sense?”

“Perhaps after hiding it for so long, you feel vulnerable?” Morgan suggests.

“Right, I think so? I just…” I paused. “I don’t know…” It’s hard to explain these things to a person somehow. All these thoughts have been cooped up in my head for so long, just how do I put words to them? Where do I even begin? 

“Let me see if I understand your specific circumstances correctly.” Morgan puts their pencil down. “You’re a stealth trans girl, struggling with the anxieties related to keeping your status hidden. Do I have that right?”

I nodded.

“And I take it that this is what you’ve come to talk about?”

I nodded again.

“Is that everything that’s troubling you at the moment?” They continued asking. “The ways coming out to someone has affected you?”

“Well there’s that, but also…” Here we go, I had to explain that part too. “There’s an old friend of mine, who started here when the school year began…”

Morgan raised a brow. Probably one of the few shifts in expression I’ve actually seen from them so far.

I rested my head on my palm. “Part of the reason I’m even able to *be* stealth is because I moved. New neighborhood means no old faces, right?” I nervously smiled. “I kinda… thought my best shot was to leave it all behind. Start anew.”

“...A practice not historically uncommon for trans people in the past.” Morgan noted.

I nodded. “But now he’s here, showing up in homeroom and some of my classes… And I don’t know what to do about that.”

I thought I caught Morgan making another quick scribble. “So you’re faced with another person who knows. One who you also haven’t talked to in a while. I can understand if it's worsening your anxiety.”

“Well, about that…” I guess I was full of surprises for them today. “He doesn’t. I never told him, and I guess it’s been so long he doesn’t recognize me…”

The enby seemed to take a second to think, “Hm…”

“Can’t say that I blame him, I’m pretty different now after transitioning… And for the record, we *have* been talking.” I continued. “We ended up as partners in biology, against all odds. He just… hasn’t figured it out, somehow.”

“That’s… an odd circumstance.” Morgan notes. “But I suppose cis people can be quite clueless. The thought that someone might be transitioning, or has previously transitioned, rarely even crosses their minds. You’d be surprised at their lack of awareness. And to clarify, you’d prefer it if he continued to be unaware?”

“I… I think so.” I answered. Why did I feel unsure? “I mean, he’s one of the few people who knows who I used to be before. Even if he doesn’t tell people, that’s… who he’ll see, right?”

“...Were you close?” They asked. “Back then I mean, before you transitioned.”

I nodded, “We were. I was… kind of a loner, initially. Didn’t really fit in, super self-conscious about things. Felt like we were practically all that the other had…” I explained. It honestly didn’t hit me until I had said the words, but that really was what we had meant to each other, wasn’t it…?

“So he’d have a strong impression of you.” Morgan notes. “You’re not someone he would have easily forgotten.”

I shook my head, “No. I mean, it’s not like we did much, most of the time. Mostly we just played video games together, rarely talked about other things. But… yeah, I guess you could say we were best friends?” 

“But still you’re not interested in reconnecting.”

“No!" I quickly answered. “...We talk sometimes, sure, but… I’m a different person now, right? I’m not exactly something he looks for in a friend anymore, and… You know…”

I paused. Morgan didn’t interrupt, they waited for me to finish.

I pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. “...Isn’t it better, this way? Sure, our friendship might be gone, but even if he doesn’t know, he sees me as a girl now. Just some normal girl, a cis girl… isn’t that good enough?” I looked to Morgan to meet their eyes, hoping for some kind of response or affirmation. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be, really…”

"I suppose that's understandable." Morgan answered, though with a light hesitation in their voice. 

"If he founds out, he'll just..." I paused, my voice cracking. "...He'll stop seeing a girl, but instead all the stuff underneath. That I'm not... a *full* girl. Basically incomplete..."

“...” Morgan closed their eyes, and shut their notebook.

They breathed in, then opened their eyes again. “Have you ever heard of the term ‘internalized transphobia’, Penelope?”

“Umm…” I mean, I guess? But I wasn’t transphobic or anything.

“It’s when you subject the wrath of transphobia, cisnormativity, bigotry and et cetera onto yourself.” Morgan explained. “I don’t necessarily mean hating yourself, but…” They paused. “Do you see yourself as lesser, for your identity?

I shrugged. “I guess?” I paused. “Isn’t that normal? Wouldn’t most of us just rather be cis?”

“That is true…” Morgan took a second to think. “Dysphoria can be rough, and so does the expectation to pass. But tell me, what part of yourself is it that you see as lesser?”

“...”

“I don’t mean to be invasive, or judge what you’re allowed to be dysphoric about, but I’ve seen you around the halls on occasion. You don't seem to have much trouble on the 'passing' front. Even just now earlier, when you sat down, I had jumped to the conclusion that you'd been assigned female at birth. And that's even when you're not actively presenting femme.” They pointed their pencil at me, I guess referring to my current getup.

They continued. “You’ve been on hormone replacement therapy for over two years, you said. You’ve been on blockers even before becoming a freshman, young enough to avoid a majority of the ills natal puberty would eventually cause. Your voice is good. You don’t appear to have any facial hair, as far as I can tell.”

“...”

“If you are dysphoric about any such traits anyway, then please say so. I can never speak to how you feel about your own body. Dysphoria is an ugly thing, it can make you perceive flaws that aren’t actually there. But my point is…” Morgan paused. “...In so many ways, you’ve already succeeded in becoming visually and socially indistinguishable from your cis counterparts in your daily life. What is it specifically that you find to be making you less than a ‘normal girl’?”

“...”

“...Is it your inability to have bottom surgery? I don’t mean to presume, but I’m well aware that’s one part of transitioning firmly behind a legal blockade.”

“...” I guess it was partly that, especially thinking about what happened with Bryce. But… that only came up with him. There were also definitely times where I'd feel weird or insecure about certain parts of my body, depending on the day. But when it came to how I thought someone like Irene, someone like Adrian would see me…

“...I think it’s… my boyhood.” I finally answered.

Morgan didn’t react, they just kept their gaze on me.

“The fact that I… wasn’t ‘me’ until recently…” I continued. “And… the fact it feels like I had to do all of this stuff just to feel right.”

Morgan started writing again. “You’re insecure about the fact that you weren’t born with the ‘correct’ body. That you’re not cis.”

…When they put it like that, I guess they were right, about the internalized stuff. “I… don’t think I’m good enough because I’m trans. And I don’t think I can *ever* be enough if people knew…”

“It’s not as if it’s particularly common for those in stealth.” Morgan continued. “But it *can* happen. Desperately hiding your identity out of internalized shame…”

“But hold on, that’s… normal, right? Not wanting people to know, it doesn’t make me… transphobic, does it?” I asked worriedly.

“Of course it doesn’t.” Morgan answered. “It’s very normal. There are plenty of trans people who prefer that people don’t know, and plenty even who’d like to assimilate into cis society. But those reasons are primarily to avoid transphobia, to avoid being treated differently.”

“...” My gaze wanders down, deep in thought. That wasn’t my issue with Irene. She hasn’t treated me differently so far, I don’t think. Hell, I didn’t expect her to, nor any of the girls. 

“It’s… because I’m scared of how they see me.” I answer. “Even if they don’t treat me differently, I still wouldn’t want to say anything, because… they’d know...”

“...Continue.”

“I’m scared they’ll see I’m… a faker. That everything about me is artificial somehow. I wasn’t… born with this stuff. The things you said I have and don’t have, all the things that help me pass as a girl, none of it is originally me…” I continued, almost feeling lightheaded. “It’s all stuff I had to stick on afterwards, it’s almost like I might as well be made of plastic…”

My lips quiver. “Sometimes, I wonder what it is that makes me even real. How much of a girl am I if I had to make myself one...?”

“...”

“Even if you say I’m a normal girl, that I’m not lesser and just like everyone else, it doesn’t take away from the truth. Something was... wrong with me when I was born. Something continued to be wrong with me as I grew up. Something kept being wrong with me as I had to constantly try being a boy! Even now, something’s wrong with me because I couldn’t ever have the things that other girls-!”

I was interrupted by a hand touching my arm. Their grip was light, but firm. Morgan had stood up and gone around the coffee table, and was now crouched in front of me. I still couldn’t get much of a read from their facial expressions, but something about their eyes… felt firm, intense.

“Never say that there is something wrong with yourself.” Morgan stated.

“...”

“There is no such thing,” They continued. “All it is is the way you’re different from the standards set by society. You’re still you, first and foremost.”

“...R-Right…” I didn’t know how to respond to that.

…Morgan let go, “My apologies if I invaded your personal space, it’s just… Please. That’s the last thing anyone from my community should be saying.”

“...” I didn’t say anything, but I nodded. Right, yeah… I’d almost forgotten that another trans person might have their own opinions on things like that, even if they might not be the exact same type of one.

While I considered that, Morgan returned to their chair and adjusted themselves, sighing. “I understand the struggle. But trust me, nothing good comes out of needlessly comparing yourself to others. It’s advice I’d even share to cis people.”

“...But it’s impossible to ignore, isn’t it?” I ask. 

“I’m not asking you to ignore it. Just to think of it differently, maybe alter your perception.” Morgan clarified.

“...” Changing how I think about it? That sounds easier said than done…

“In a way, I understand what you mean when you describe how you feel about yourself. But be careful not to overthink it.” They continued. “Feeling as if parts of yourself are fake… Gender is inherently performative, so it might not be so strange for someone who leans as hard into femininity as you do.”

“But… that can’t be how I feel, can it? If I feel fake for being feminine, then does that make me…?” I didn’t want to finish the sentence. Did that make me a boy? I was definitely a girl, right? I spent what felt like ages coming to that conclusion already.

Morgan thought to themselves. “...No one can say for sure who you are but yourself, but what I mean to say is that your experience is something other people also go through. Trans or cis. The idea of how one should present themselves, and what feels right.”

“...” I took a quick a moment to think. “But… I also don’t want it to be fake. It’s not a thing where I want to be like, more of a tomboy or something.” I tried to explain. “I still want to be feminine, I definitely prefer it, actually. I really like it.”

“And that is valid.” Morgan affirmed.

“But then what does it mean?” I look back at them. “What does it mean for me to… feel this way? It feels like half my thoughts are tearing each other apart…”

“It could be as simple as,” The enby states, “that your preference for overperformed femininity is because of your history as a trans woman. Assigned male at birth, the expression you felt more comfortable with was restricted. And now that you’ve come out and transitioned, you feel a bigger draw to what was once forbidden.”

I furrowed my brows. A part of me feels like that would be the natural answer. “But… What does it mean then if I’m only like this because I’m trans?” I gesture at myself. Maybe a bit inaccurate since I wasn’t en femme right now, but still. “Doesn’t that mean that this… isn’t really me?”

Morgan blinked. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“...Huh?”

“Your transition is a part of your experience. Your identity is part of who you are. Is there really any shame in all of that having had a role in shaping you?”

“I… huh?” I almost don’t even know what to say to that. “I never thought of it that way…” Could an answer be that straightforward?

“...” Morgan took a deep breath. “If you wish, we could stop for now. You clearly have a lot to think about, and we could always pick this up some other time.”

I nodded. I guess that was true…

“Until then, I think you should consider the things we talked about.” They continued. “Internalized transphobia, how it manifests and interacts with your daily life. Finding more security in your own identity as well.”

“...Right.” I answer. I wonder how deep all of these feelings go…

“Although… Before we end this, there is another thing I would like to ask of you.”

My ears perk up, and I look up to face them again. “What?”

“Last week, I…” They paused. “I met another trans girl, just like you. A freshman, at the beginning of her journey. I don’t like to disclose much else, but I got the sense she was struggling, her being at such a young stage. I’m sure you can relate…”

I guess so. It’s been a while, but… I remember what it was like, figuring things out for the first time. It was tough, intimidating. 

“I thought it might do good for her to talk to someone who understands her specific issues. I normally think of myself as an expert, but…” Morgan paused. “I have difficulty with the emotional side of things, sometimes. I’d ask someone in the Student Group, but none of us are transfeminine. So…”

“...You’re asking me to talk to her?” I asked.

Morgan nodded. “I know you happen to have your own issues with coming out, with people knowing. But if there’s anyone who’d understand and respect you, it may be her. She’s still waiting to come out herself. Your secrets would be safe with each other.”

“...” I wasn’t sure, but… The idea did sound interesting. And whoever this girl was, she was going through a hard time, like I once was…

“You have every right to refuse, of course.” They continued. “I just think… She might need encouragement from someone further along. Someone who understands the struggle, but is in a better place now, even if things might not be perfect.”

“...I’ll do it.” I said.

For once, a small smile formed on Morgan’s face. “I see. In that case, I’ll ask her the next chance I get. Would you mind exchanging phone numbers? I’d prefer to text for updates, and for if you wanted to talk another time.”

I nodded, pulling out my phone.

“I usually only do these on Fridays, but depending on my studying and any activities within the Student Group, I might be available on other weekdays as well.” Morgan added. “Just let me know when you’d like to do so, I should hopefully be able to make room for you within a week.”

“Right, thanks.” We exchanged phone numbers, and that was that. 

It was mentally draining, but there was a level of satisfaction I guess in having it be over with, so I breathed a sigh of relief when I stood up. “This was… surprisingly nice.”

Morgan stood up as well, and went to put their notebook down on the big desk in the back. “I can imagine so. Do you not engage with the queer community a lot?”

“Well, not really.” I answer, shrugging. “I mean I guess I know some, but it’s not like I’m trying to stand out that way. …No offense. I mean I’m trying to pass as cishet, so-”

“Understandable.” The enby affirmed. “Not everyone is deeply involved in local advocacy. And some..." Their gaze shifted downwards, "...simply have a harder time finding a home than others." They looked back at me with a small smile, "But it’s good nonetheless to have the community in your pocket, is it not?”

I looked back at them with a smile of my own. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

After a quick goodbye, I left the club room, though not before pulling my hoodie up. It was Friday at the end of school, so the hallways were practically entirely empty, but I wanted to be safe.

…They were right. Both Morgan *and* Irene. Even if I don't want anyone to know, it's good to at least have a place where I'm able to talk about these things, especially to someone who might know more about the subject. Morgan seemed a little bit blunt and quirky, but I got the sense they really cared. 

…Huh, I wondered if that meant I’d just made a new friend.