“Are you sure about this, Lexi?” Roger asked.

How many times had I heard that question over the past few months? Dozens, probably. That, or a variation. Are you sure? Are you ready? Are you okay?

That night, for the first time, I responded affirmatively. “I am,” I replied, nodding firmly.

The four of us – me, Roger, Lena, and Molly – were sitting in the parking lot of the venue the triathlon team had booked for the end-of-year party: CoffeePB. Everyone on the team liked that café, so the coach had negotiated with the owner to reserve the whole thing for us, just for that night.

“Alright. Let’s do this, then,” Roger said; we got out of the car and marched to the entrance. We were a bit late, the party had started about fifteen minutes previously. This was on purpose – this way, we wouldn’t risk running into anyone from the team before entering the building.

The coach was standing right beside the door, checking that no one who wasn’t part of the team (or the date of someone on the team) got in. He tsk-ed as he saw us approach.

“You’re late, Jones,” he told Roger. “You really should learn punctuality.” Coach was a stickler for things like these.

Roger shrugged. “It’s only ten minutes, coach.”

“Make that fifteen,” the coach retorted. “And no lip, kid.” But I could see he was smiling; banter like this was usual on the team. “I take it the girl is your date?” he asked, motioning at Lena, who’d hooked her arm with Roger’s.

“She is,” Roger replied, nodding.

“’kay, go in,” coach said, then turned to me and Molly. “As for you, ladies, I’m afraid this is a private…”

He trailed off, and his eyes widened. He looked at me up and down, from the tip of my heels (a present from my parents, I’d spent lots of time practising walking in them) to my knee-length dress, to my purse, to my flawless makeup (courtesy of Molly), to the hair that had been carefully styled just that afternoon and framed my face perfectly, and back down again, a few times, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Which was probably the case.

“...Hamilton?” he said, finally.

“Hiya, coach,” I replied with a smirk.

He kept staring at me for a few moments longer, his mouth opening in a disbelieving expression; then he caught himself, shook his head, and nodded towards the door. “Go on then.”

“Thanks,” I said; flanked by my friends, I crossed the threshold. That had been easier than expected – I was afraid I’d get some kind of pushback from the coach, but apparently he was too much at a loss for words to object.

The inside of CoffeePB was different from how it usually was: most of the tables had been removed, leaving a wide-open space in the middle of the café, and the lights were much dimmer than usual; club music at a low volume quietly pulsed in the background, and what looked like a punch bowl and an array of party snacks had been set down on the counter. Being intimately familiar with the place, I almost felt as if I was stepping into an alien landscape. The baristas were busying themselves mixing drinks, which I knew were non-alcoholic: the place didn’t serve any booze even on normal days, let alone when the whole venue was reserved for a party full of people who weren’t of drinking age. My teammates and their dates were milling around and chatting: some looked up at us as we entered, but they clearly didn’t recognise me right away, since they went back to what they were doing almost immediately, barely sparing a glance at me.

“Okay, we’ve made it this far,” I whispered to my friends. “Let’s keep this up. Rog, do you see Simon?”

We’d thought about my coming out carefully, almost as if we were planning a heist. Part one: entering the building without arousing suspicion – I wasn’t sure if I could handle everyone suddenly crowding around me, ooh-ing and aah-ing in my general direction; and we’d done that. So, on to part two: trying to rope other folks who probably might be supportive into helping.

Over the past month, Roger and I had been quietly making inquiries into what people on the team generally thought about LGBT+ folks, by carefully dropping hints into conversation, and we’d managed to find at least a handful we were reasonably sure would be supportive of my coming out as trans; we’d decided to start with the most likely of them all, Simon.

“Yeah, he’s over there,” Roger said, pointing. I followed that direction with my gaze, and saw Simon chatting with a few of the other juniors, with a girl (whom I’d assumed was his girlfriend) by his side. As I was watching, Simon and his girlfriend disengaged from the group, and moved towards the counter, probably to go refill their drinks. It was the perfect chance.

“Let’s go,” I said, and, moving as a group, the four of us approached him.

“Hey, Simon!” Roger greeted him as we got close; Simon turned to look at us.

“Oh hey Roger! You’re late, I’d started to think you wouldn’t show up. What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Roger said. Then he motioned at me, and asked: “I was wondering, have you met my friend Lexi?”

“…I don’t think so?” Simon replied, looking at me. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.” He examined me carefully, and I could see recognition dawning on his face.

Please don’t make a scene, please don’t make a scene, please don’t make a scene…

Simon smiled and gave a mild laugh. “What, you guys are still going on with that?” he asked. “I mean, it’s not like Charlie needs a reminder of what a jerk he was at your birthday party, but if you wanna do it? Be my guest.”

I gulped. Here goes nothing.

“No, this is for real,” I said.

Simon seemed mildly surprised by my voice – I mentally thanked Skylar for all the lessons and practice. But then he smiled again. “Ah, stop kidding around.”

“No, we mean it. It’s for real,” Roger said.

Simon frowned, and looked from me to Roger and back to me. “You mean…” he began, then he paused. His frown deepened. “You mean, really for real?”

Roger and I both nodded. Simon opened his mouth to say something, but I held up my hand, and said “Please keep it down, at least for now.”

He looked at me, his gaze suddenly serious, and nodded. “Okay. Okay. Right.” He took a deep breath. “Whoa. Alright.”

His girlfriend, who’d been quiet until then, looked at him in confusion. “Simon, what’s all this?”

Simon turned to her and smiled. “Well, it appears a friend of mine has just come out to me as trans.” He turned back to me. “This is what’s happening right now, isn’t it? I’m not misunderstanding this whole thing?”

“You’re not,” I reassured him, then paused and took a deep breath. “So… You’re okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?” he replied. “I mean, it’s not like you’re the first trans person I meet, my cousin is non-binary.” He turned back to his girlfriend. “I’m talking about Sam, you remember Sam, right Steffi? You met a few months ago I think.” His girlfriend nodded, and Simon turned back to me. “Yeah, I mean. It’s a surprise, but you’re still fine in my book.”

“Glad to hear it,” Roger said. “Because we kinda need your help.”

Simon blinked. “Oh, okay. What for?”

“See, we’ve been planning this for some time now,” Roger continued. “Lexi wanted to come out to… Well, everyone, tonight. But we wanted to know… If someone is a jerk to her, or tries to start trouble, will you back us up? I mean, there’s already four of us,” he said, motioning to our group, “But it’s always good to know we can count on someone else.”

“Yeah, of course I will,” Simon replied. “Gladly.”

“And me too,” his girlfriend interjected. “I mean, I don’t even know you, but if girls don’t stand up for each other, who will?”

It took me a few moments to understand what she meant by that, or that I’d evidently been automatically included in the “girls” in that sentence.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling warmly.

“Don’t even mention it,” Simon replied. There was a moment of silence, then he grabbed a glass off the counter and handed it to me. “You try the fruit punch yet? It’s surprisingly good!”

I laughed, and took the glass from him.

After that, we started roaming around as a group, trying to approach the people we thought would be supportive; we managed to rope a few of them into the plan and get them up to speed, but then everyone else started to notice the growing crowd that had been forming around the four of us. Before long, people were looking at us, some even approaching the group to ask what was up. It was time to move on to the third part of the plan: the actual coming out.

I started to look around, trying to find a good spot to stand so everyone could see me clearly when I spoke up, when I noticed the coach standing off to the side, motioning at me to come over; I complied, and walked to him, with Roger following right on my heels.

“Okay,” the coach said when we reached him. He looked at me carefully once again, then asked: “This isn’t a joke, is it, Hamilton?”

“Well, I--” I began to say, but he cut me off.

“Because I can clearly see you’ve put quite a bit of effort into this. Hell, you even styled your hair! It looks nice by the way,” he said, looking at me in the eyes. “I didn’t even recognise you at first, so that got me thinking. You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

I gulped. “I am,” I replied.

The coach held my gaze for a few moments, then nodded and said, “Alright.”

I was about to say something else, when he went on, “Man, Hamilton, I always thought you were quiet and unassuming, but you’ve actually got guts, haven’t you? I mean, no one really knew about this – except you, Jones, am I right?” Roger nodded, and the coach continued, “No one knew about this, and yet here you are, fully decked out, ready to face the world! That takes courage. I’m proud of you, man. Girl. Sorry.”

Despite the situation, I found myself chuckling. Coach had always been a hard taskmaster while we were training, but beneath his drill-sergeant demeanour we all knew he was a big softie.

“So, what now?” the coach asked. “What are you going to do?”

“Well, I was thinking of coming out to the team. And everyone else who’s here,” I said. “I was just about to speak up and do it, in fact, when you called me over.”

Coach gave me a look. “Is that wise, Hamilton?” he replied. “I mean, I want to believe that most of the people on the team will be okay with it, but I know for a fact that some of them won’t.”

He didn’t need to say who he was referring to, Roger and I both understood right away he was talking about Charlie.

“We’ve been planning this for a while, coach,” I said. “We’ve been spending the past hour going around talking to people, to be sure that at least some will have my back.”

“Oh really?” he queried.

“We’ve managed to rope in about a half-dozen guys from the team,” Roger interjected, “Plus there’s the four of us. And you I guess.”

Coach still had a doubting look in his eyes.

“I mean,” I continued, “I’m already here. I’ve come out to part of the team. Might as well do it with everyone now.”

He looked at me for a few moments, then nodded. “Alright,” he said. “But you need to do this properly, none of this weak ‘speaking up and hope everyone pays attention’ shit. Come with me.”

He motioned at us to follow him, and we complied. He led us past our group of friends – Lena, Molly and Simon shot us a concerned glance, but I gave them a quick thumbs-up in reassurance – towards the counter, asked to speak to the manager, and exchanged a couple words with him; the manager nodded, disappeared in the back room for a couple seconds, and re-emerged with a microphone in hand.

The coach took the microphone from the manager, turned it on, and tapped it a few times; the noise resounded throughout the café – it was evidently connected to the venue’s sound system.

“Ah, yes, hello and good evening everyone,” the coach spoke into the microphone, his voice carrying to everyone’s ears through the loudspeakers. “Thank you for coming, I know we’re all enjoying ourselves but if I may have a moment of your time, someone has an announcement to make.”

He waited until everyone had quieted down, then handed me the microphone and whispered, “It’s all yours, kid.”

Oh god.

“Okay, uh--” I began to say, but evidently I’d put the mic too close to my mouth, and I had to cover my ears as a high-pitched feedback noise shrieked through the building. Someone in the back laughed; everyone was looking at me by then, mostly in curiosity – I was sure that because of the dim lighting, many people hadn’t recognised me yet.

Okay, Lexi. Deep breaths, try again. You can do this.

I raised the microphone again, keeping it a bit distant from my face. “Uh… Hi,” I said. Good, no feedback this time.

I’d already planned what to say, so I kept it simple. “Okay. So. Most people here know me as Xander, but I’d be grateful if you could call me Lexi from now on. And use female pronouns, she and her, to refer to me.”

I paused for a moment; in the dim light, I couldn’t see most people’s faces, but I was sure some eyes were widening in surprise. “That’s all. You may resume your partying.”

I passed the microphone back to the coach, who took hold of it and spoke into it again: “And don’t anyone be a jerk to her, or I will end you.”

There was a general laugh from the audience; coach handed the microphone back to the manager, patted me on the shoulder, and smiled. I returned the smile, and walked over to my group of friends.

“How did I do?” I asked.

“You were fantastic, Lexi,” Molly said, hugging me.

“For real,” Roger continued. “It takes guts to do what you did, but you knocked it out of the park. I’m proud of you, girl.”

I felt myself blushing. “Thank you, Rog,” I replied. “Thank you, everyone.”

And that was that: I was officially out to my triathlon team. And the rest of the college, most likely, as I was sure the news would spread like wildfire – within a few days everyone would’ve heard about it.

Over the course of the evening many people came over, to offer their congratulations or to exchange a few words; as the party was winding down, however, someone unexpected showed up. Charlie.

He was still flanked by his cronies, but he had a weird look on his face; he seemed almost… Repentant?

He had two glasses of fruit punch in his hands. “Uh… Hi, Lexi,” he said, and he handed one of them to me.

I took it and looked at it, then back at him. “What’s this?” I asked.

“You can think of it as a peace offering,” he replied. “For how I behaved back at your boyfriend’s party. And… in general.”

I let the ‘your boyfriend’ comment slip by without acknowledging it. “Okay,” I said, nodding. “Apology accepted.” I was nothing if not magnanimous.

“And, listen,” Charlie continued. “Do you mind if we exchange a few words? In private?”

I took a sip from my drink, and looked at him, his back-up posse, and my friends. “Sure. We can go outside if you want.”

“Lexi…” Roger said.

“I’ll be fine, Rog,” I said, smiling at him. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”

I drank again from my glass, then set it on the counter, and started to follow Charlie, but Roger grabbed my arm. I turned to look at him. “Roger, what the hell?” I asked.

“Lexi, no,” he said firmly. “You shouldn’t be alone with him.”

Charlie scoffed. “What, man, you don’t trust me?” he asked.

Roger locked eyes with him. “Exactly. I don’t trust you.” He looked at me again, still holding my arm. “Lexi, I know you probably haven’t realised it yet, but you’re a girl now. Girls don’t talk with strangers alone.”

I felt blood rush to my face. “Well I have realised I’m a girl, thank you very much!” I said indignantly. “What do you think this whole song and dance tonight has been about?”

Roger shook his head. “That’s not the point, it’s--”

I cut him off, too upset to listen to him. “And if I choose to talk with someone alone, that’s my decision, and mine alone!”

Roger looked at me for a few moments, then released my arm and raised his hands in mock surrender. “You know what? Fine. Fine,” he said. “You’re right. You’re a big girl, and you can make your own decisions. Alright.” He turned on his heel, and started towards the door.

“Wait, what?” I asked, in confusion. “Where are you going?”

“Home. Since clearly you don’t need my advice, I’m leaving,” he replied, without turning back. “Have a good evening.” He stepped through the door, and he was gone.

I was left there, stunned, looking in his direction. It was only a few moments, though, before I felt someone push me from behind; I turned to look into Lena’s eyes.

“Go after him, you big idiot,” she said.

“But—” I started to reply.

“Just go,” Molly joined in.

I hesitated a few moments, and then ran after Roger, as best as I could in my brand-new heels.

I crashed through the door, and I was outside. Even though it was late May, the night air was chilly; I felt my hair rise up on my arms. About fifty metres in front of me, Roger was striding through the grass; he was clearly heading home.

“Roger, wait!” I shouted after him.

“Leave me alone!” he shouted back without turning around.

“I’m not going to! Wait, damn it!” I started to struggle – heels really weren’t made for running on grass; I stopped for a moment, and took my shoes off. “Roger!” I called again. I was about to start after him again, when I began to feel dizzy.

“What—” I said, stumbling on the grass. I got up again, but my vision started getting cloudy. “Roger…” I called, more weakly this time. I felt my stomach churn; I fell to my knees, heaved a few times, and puked everything I’d drank and eaten that night on the dew-covered grass.

“Lexi?” I heard Roger call; he’d probably realised I wasn’t alright, and had turned back to look. “Lexi, what’s wrong?”

His voice sounded distant, as if I was hearing it through a tunnel.

I collapsed to the ground, and passed out.