When I walked into homeroom Monday morning, Ms. Buckley said, “Meredith, Ms. Novacek wants to talk to you before first period. You’re not in trouble,” she added hastily. “I think she wanted to ask if you’d volunteer for something.”

“Okay, sure,” I said, and a few minutes later I was sitting down in Ms. Novacek’s office.

“I suppose you might have heard something about the school board’s discussion of the new policy on the transformation booths?” she asked.

“No, not really. What are they leaning toward?” I felt apprehensive, wondering if they might punish me, Andrew, and a lot of other kids for coming to school in the “wrong” bodies.

“They’re leaning toward some pretty strong restrictions,” she said, “but they’re willing to consider reasonable exceptions. They meet on Thursday nights, and this Thursday they’ll be taking public comment on the policy before finalizing it. I thought you and certain other students who’ve benefited from them a lot would like to know about it so you can tell the school board about your experiences.”

“I’d like to,” I said, “but I don’t know if Mom and Dad will let me go.”

“If they’ll let you go, but aren’t willing or able to give you a ride, I can put you in touch with some people who are carpooling to the meeting. Do you know Ms. Hodge?”

“I’ve heard of her — my brother Caleb had her for Geometry.”

“Well, she’s going to the meeting — she and her husband used the transformation booth to make each other younger and cure her diabetes and his lower back pain. And she’s offered transportation for students or other staff that might need rides — I know of at least one other student who’s taken her up on it, whose mother works evening shift.”

“Thanks. Should I go talk to her in person, then? Where’s her classroom?”

“Room 187 — and here’s her phone number and email address, as I expect your parents will want to talk to her, as well.”

“Thanks.”

I went by room 187 later in the morning; it was conveniently on the way from Biology to American Literature. There was a woman who looked like she was in her mid-twenties sitting at the desk, working on a laptop; she glanced up as I entered.

“Hi, are you Ms. Hodge?”

“Yes. Are you a new student, or...?”

“No. I’m Meredith Ramsey — Ms. Novacek said to talk to you about a ride to the school board meeting. I don’t know yet if Mom and Dad will let me go, or if they’ll be willing to drive me there themselves, yet, but I’ll talk to them this afternoon and let you know tomorrow if I’ll be riding with you.”

“Okay. Did Ms. Novacek give you my phone number and so forth?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“All right. Have your parents call me if they’ve got any questions. May I ask what you used the Venn machine for?”

“I’m transgender.”

“Ah, I see. Congratulations on your new body. I’m pretty happy about mine, but I’m sure you must be absolutely ecstatic.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty awesome,” I said, breaking out into a grin. “Well, I need to get to my next class. Thanks.”

Just after American Literature, I went to the office and waited for Mom to pick me up, which she did about fifteen minutes later. On the way to the counselor’s office, I told Mom what Ms. Novacek and Ms. Hodge had said about the school board meeting and the new Venn machine policy.

She was quiet for a few moments, and then said: “I’m glad you’re getting engaged politically, even if I may not agree with the political views you’re planning to express to the school board. I... your dad and I haven’t been as politically active since Caleb was born as we used to be, and I’ve worried sometimes that we’re not setting a good example for you.”

“You’re still more aware of what’s going on than most people,” I pointed out. I remembered them taking us with them to the polls when we were little, and explaining democracy and elections to us on a child’s level before we learned anything about it in school. “And you’ve made sure we are, too. So... can I go to the meeting?”

“I’ll talk with your dad, but I think so.”

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t much later that we got to the counselor’s office, which wasn’t far from the library or our house, in an area where some older houses had been turned into professional offices. We parked in front of one of these houses and went in. Mom signed in with the receptionist, and we sat down to wait; I’d brought Howl’s Moving Castle with me, but on a whim, I picked up a women’s magazine from one of the tables in the waiting room. Mom and Sophia didn’t subscribe to anything like that. I only got halfway through an article on makeup tips before a door opened and a woman with reddish-blonde hair a little older than Mom stepped out.

“Erin and Tyler Ramsey?” she asked, looking around. There were only a couple of other people in the waiting room.

Mom said, “That’s us.”

“I’ll see Tyler first, then you,” the woman said. “Then both of you together. Was your husband not able to make it?”

“He’ll be here soon.”

“Okay.”

So I followed her apprehensively back down a short corridor and into her office. There were an assortment of more or less comfortable pieces of furniture, but nothing like a stereotypical psychoanalyst’s couch — not that I’d expected one, since Mom had described her as a counselor, not a psychologist or psychiatrist.

“Have a seat,” she said. “I’m Cheryl Hewitt. Your mother told me a little about you on the phone, but why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

“First, I’m going by Meredith. Mom and Dad are the only people who still call me Tyler. Second — are you required to keep everything I say private, like a doctor or lawyer?”

“In general, but there are some exceptions because you’re a minor. If I hear something that makes me think you’re a danger to yourself or others, or that you are in danger from someone else, I may be required to inform someone. But barring that, I won’t share anything you tell me with your parents or anyone else without your permission. At the end of our session, I might ask permission to share some specific things when we meet with your parents later on.”

“Okay,” I said. I still wasn’t sure if I trusted her; she wasn’t working directly for me, since Mom and Dad were paying her fees. But I decided I’d trust her a little and see what happened. “Well, the reason I’m here is that I’m transgender. My sister and I used the Venn machine at the library — you’ve heard about it, right? — to change me from my old body to this. Mom and Dad grounded us both, and they haven’t been letting me borrow my sister’s clothes, or spend my savings on girl clothes of my own. After several days, Mom broke down and agreed to buy me a week’s worth of girl underwear, but I still don’t have any other girl clothes except for this outfit the Venn machine made for me when it transformed me. I’ve been washing it a lot and wearing it every two or three days.”

“When was it that you transformed?”

“Wednesday, the eleventh.”

“So why did you feel like you wanted to be a girl?”

“Um... you do know what ‘transgender’ means, right?” I’d been afraid that with the kind of friends Mom and Dad would be asking for recommendations for counselors from, I’d get someone who didn’t think gender dysphoria was a real thing or thought it would go away if you treated the person’s other problems like depression. It was starting to look like I was right.

“I know some of the things it means,” she said, “and I’m sure you know some of its meanings, but until you tell me what you want in your own words, without using labels or jargon, I won’t know for sure if we’re using it the same way.” Okay, that increased my respect for her a bit.

“Okay. Well, ever since I was little I’ve liked girly things. I learned pretty early on that I’d get in trouble, or make Mom and Dad upset, if I showed it too much, though. Like the times when I got in trouble for playing dolls with Sophia — that’s my younger sister, she’s fourteen now, and I guess she was eight or nine the last time that happened. I didn’t realize I wanted to be a girl until a couple of years ago. I just knew I was upset about what puberty was doing to my body, making my voice change and hair grow all over and stuff, and I didn’t know why at first. And I envied girls sometimes for the things they got to do and boys didn’t, like wearing dresses or having babies.”

I thought briefly about telling her how I’d tried researching those weird, ambiguous feelings on the Internet and eventually stumbled on information about gender dysphoria and then the support groups for trans teens that I’d been active on until I was grounded. I decided against it; I still didn’t fully trust her not to tell Mom and Dad things, and I figured I shouldn’t tell her about visiting websites that should have been blocked by the nanny software that I’d circumvented years ago. Or maybe anything that I wouldn’t tell Mom or Dad to their faces.

“So I gradually put things together, and by the time the first Venn machine popped up at the library, I was pretty sure I wanted to be a girl. After a few days, when there was more information available about the machines and how the changes wore off after a certain amount of time and could be reversed easily, I decided I should try it and see if it really was what I wanted, because I could change back easily if I was wrong. And it was so wonderful when Sophia changed me, everything felt so right for the first time!” I’d let excitement slip into my voice, and tried to regain some self-control so I wouldn’t accidentally say something that I wouldn’t want Ms. Hewitt telling Mom and Dad.

“And there’ve been some frustrations since then, like not having very many girl clothes, but I haven’t regretted it for a moment. When my period started, I was happy because it means I can have babies. I’d hoped so, because the machines have done some pretty amazing things, but I wasn’t sure until I saw the spots of blood on the pad... I’m sure after a few more periods, the novelty will wear off and I’ll grumble about it like other women, but not now.”

“When did you start your period?”

“Thursday — the cramps started early in the morning, and the bleeding started a few hours later, at school.”

“You mentioned feeling upset about the changes you went through at puberty. That’s normal, even for boys who don’t have any interest in being girls. Can you tell me more about how you felt then?”

I tried to remember what I’d felt years ago before I heard of the idea of being transgender, and considered how much I wanted to tell her. “At first, it felt like I wasn’t me anymore? And then, as I thought about it some more, I realized I’d never quite been me to begin with. I mean I’d never had body that felt right, even though it wasn’t so bad before puberty and I could live with it.

“Then I had some dreams that helped me figure some of it out. There was this dream where my — boy bits fell off. And I was so happy they were gone, and then when I woke up and realized it was a dream, I was super conflicted about it, because my first reaction was to be sad that it was all a dream, and then I wondered what that said about me, and I felt guilty and hated myself for yet another reason for a while there, until I found out that being transgender was a thing, and that I was probably transgender. And there were some other dreams where I was just a girl, doing normal stuff like going to school or hanging out with my sister, and I always felt sad when I woke up and realized they were just dreams.”

I might have been fudging the timeline; I honestly couldn’t remember when the dreams had happened relative to when I started feeling uncomfortable about puberty and when I’d found information about gender dysphoria online.

“I see.” She shifted in her chair and didn’t say anything for a few moments, but before I could think of anything else to add, she went on: “So you’ve felt better about your body after using the machine to change into a girl?”

“Yes, exactly. A lot better.”

“Do you get aroused when you see your new body in the mirror? Or while showering, for instance?”

“No! I’m not —” I cut myself off. I’d planned to not tell Mom and Dad I wasn’t attracted to girls until and unless they accepted that I was really a girl, and that meant I shouldn’t tell Ms. Hewitt, either. “I’m not like that.” I’d read stories where some guy gets unexpectedly turned into a girl, and the first thing he does (he still seems to think like a guy at this point in most of those stories) is to find some privacy so he can masturbate for hours, generally in front of a mirror. That sort of narcissism disgusted me, and I didn’t want to be like that.

“Let’s go back to how you felt before you changed. Did you have other bad feelings that didn’t relate to your body?”

“I’m not sure. Looking back, I think most of them were related to feeling my body was wrong. The persistent ones, I mean. I’d get upset for a little while about doing badly on a test or losing a game or a show I liked being canceled, but that would pass pretty quickly, but I’d still feel bad about my body changing further and further from what I wanted it to be.”

“Did you sometimes feel like it was hard to get going? Hard to motivate yourself to get ready for school or do homework or even do something you enjoy?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Not all the time, but fairly often. There were times when it took all weekend to do homework that should have taken two or three hours, tops. Or when I couldn’t get myself to do it at all. Times when I didn’t really enjoy playing games, but I’d do it because it would make Andrew or Sophia happy.” There were several stories I’d started writing and then abandoned when one of those spells of lethargy came on, sometimes writing a little more of them later, but more often starting something new when I finally started feeling more energetic. I didn’t mention them, though, because I was sure Ms. Hewitt would want to know what the stories were about.

“I don’t think you’ve mentioned Andrew before.”

“He’s my best friend; I’ve known him since we were kids. He used to live in my neighborhood, but his family moved to a bigger house a few miles outside of town when we were in middle school, so he wound up going to a different school for eighth grade, but we’re going to the same high school, and while we were going to different schools we’d still hang out together on the weekends.”

“All right. About how often did those lethargic feelings last? And how often did you feel that way?”

“I’m not sure. I never kept a diary consistently for very long. I think they usually didn’t last longer than a few days, and they’d probably come on once or twice a month? But sometimes they’d last longer or happen more often.”

“Have you felt that way at any time since you transformed?”

“No. I’ve been frustrated several times, like about people calling me ‘Tyler,’ and embarrassed a few times, mostly about having to go to school or church in baggy boy clothes, but usually just for a little while — probably a couple of hours, tops. Never sad and lethargic like I used to feel for days sometimes.”

“How do you think changing your body like this has affected your relationships? With your parents, your siblings, people at school?”

“Well, Mom and Dad are having a hard time with it. Dad more so than Mom. Mom was really supportive when she found out I was having my period, even though she was skeptical when I first started having cramps and thought it was probably a stomach bug and the machine couldn’t give someone who was born with boy bits a real female reproductive system. In the last couple of days, Mom’s even used female pronouns for me sometimes.

“Sophia was really great right from the start. She was the first one I told about being trans. Caleb was kind of weirded out at first, but after he had time to think it over, I guess, he’s been kind of quietly supportive, standing up for me a couple of times. Andrew and my other friends at school have been great about it,” (at least if I didn’t count Wyatt as a friend but as a friend of a friend); “some of the other kids not so much, but so far it’s just been gossip about me behind my back, not in-your-face bullying. The teachers have all been at least okay, and a couple of them are pretty supportive. Coach Wilcox gave the girls in my gym class a stern talking-to about not giving me a hard time for changing and showering with them, or calling me by my old name or anything, for instance.

“Some of the adults at church have been pretty judgmental, but not all of them, and the kids around my age are pretty okay, the ones I’ve talked to so far anyway. Some of them might have been avoiding me, though.”

“Have you tried thinking about this from your mother or father’s perspective?”

“Kind of? Maybe not as much as I should.”

“Try it. Imagine yourself in your father’s place, back when he first found out that you’d changed into a girl, and that you’d been wanting to do so for some time before the machine appeared.”

I was a little wary, as I suspected she was trying to guilt-trip me with how much I’d upset Mom and Dad by being transgender, but I tried it anyway. I remembered Dad’s reactions that night, and tried to imagine myself inside his skin, saying and doing those things. It was pretty hard to set aside everything I knew about gender issues and my own motivations and put myself in Dad’s place, knowing nothing about transgender issues except what Fox News commentators had said during the bathroom law controversy a few years ago, and not understanding why his “son” would want to be a girl... but I tried, and maybe by the time Ms. Hewitt spoke again, I understood him slightly better.

“Now try imagining yourself in your mother’s place when she first found out.”

I did. I thought about the differences between Dad “losing” a son and Mom “gaining” a daughter, and how that might be affecting the way they’d reacted to my coming out, and to the things that had happened since then. But I also knew Mom was generally more even-tempered than Dad, and just because she didn’t splutter and shout incoherent questions didn’t mean she wasn’t just as upset as Dad in her own way. I thought about the weirdly misleading information about gender dysphoria she’d apparently found shortly after I came out, wondering what sources she’d looked to, what search terms she’d used, or how Google’s search algorithm might have taken her previous search history into account to steer her toward the most conservative takes on gender issues, and how that had led her to wonder if my dysphoria was just a weird symptom of depression or dissociation.

“Do you think you’ve learned anything that will help you communicate better with them?” Ms. Hewitt asked after I’d been silently thinking for a while.

“Yeah, maybe so. Thanks,” I added grudgingly.

“I’d like you to do a couple of things between now and when I see you again. One is to start keeping a diary, like you mentioned you’ve done before sporadically. You don’t have to write much, just two or three sentences a day at least. Something about how you’re feeling and anything interesting that might have happened. And if you have any... emotionally intense interaction with your parents — or anyone else — try to write about that. And above all, don’t feel guilty if you feel too lethargic to write in it. If those depressive moods have generally happened about once or twice a month, it won’t be surprising if you have another one that keeps you from writing in the next few weeks.

“I won’t ask to read your diary, but I’ll ask you if you feel like sharing some things from it, and whether you’ve had a lethargic spell that kept you from writing in it. That will help us measure how long these spells last and get an idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“Okay,” I said. “I have to point out that back when I last tried to keep a diary, sometimes I’d miss some days because I was feeling too depressed to write, but sometimes it was because I was too busy doing fun things to write.”

“You can tell me about that at our next meeting. For now, I’m going to have a chat with your mother — and your father, if he’s here by now — and then we’ll talk again, all four of us. Do you mind if I share some of what you said about your depressed feelings with your parents?”

I thought about it for a moment. I’d already told Mom and Dad about how I used to feel depressed sometimes, though I hadn’t gone into as much detail with them as I had with Ms. Hewitt. “Yeah, that’s okay,” I said. “Nothing else, though. Not about my dreams or anything.”

It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she did tell them about my dreams, but that would be a small, safe test to see if she would really respect my wishes about what she could and couldn’t share with them.

“I won’t,” she promised. “While you’re in the waiting room, think about what you might like to say to your parents that you haven’t already said.” She stood up and I followed her to the waiting room. Dad was sitting there with Mom.

“Justin and Erin?” Ms. Hewitt said. “Come on back.”

I sat down as Mom and Dad got up, and did some school reading while I waited. I’d finished that and had just read a paragraph or two of Howl’s Moving Castle when the receptionist opened the door and said, “Tyler, come on back; Ms. Hewitt is ready to see you with your parents.”

Had Ms. Hewitt called her receptionist from her office and said “Call Tyler back”? She may not have wanted to use the name “Meredith” when Mom and Dad were listening and antagonize them. Or, most likely, she discounted my gender and had no plans to use the name “Meredith” at any time.

I followed the receptionist back to Ms. Hewitt’s office, where Mom and Dad were sitting together on the sofa. I sat in one of the easy chairs. Ms. Hewitt said, “I’d like to see you all about once a week for a while. You don’t necessarily all have to come in at the same time every week, but at least once a month I’d like to see all three of you together.

“Now, is there anything you would like to say to each other while I’m here to mediate?”

Mom said, “We love you, Meredith. We’re having a hard time understanding what you’re going through, but we’re trying.” I could see Dad wince when Mom used my new name. “Your dad and Ms. Hewitt aren’t as sure as I am that you’re a girl, but we all want what’s best for you.” She glanced at Dad, who cleared his throat and said:

“We talked about the clothing issue, and we decided on a compromise. Your mom is going to take you shopping later today for a few things, and more on the weekend... starting with things that fit your new body better than what you’re wearing, but aren’t too feminine. No skirts or dresses until Cheryl is convinced you’re not... well, that this whole girl thing isn’t just a symptom of some other problem.” Ms. Hewitt frowned slightly when he said that, like he’d either given away too much or misrepresented what she’d said. “But she and your mother have convinced me that making you wear the clothes that fit your old body is pointless and cruel, and I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.”

“Thanks,” I said, tearing up a little. I thought briefly about asking more questions about what clothes I would be allowed and what would be considered “too feminine”, but I figured I’d have better luck if I saved it for when Mom and I went shopping. “I love you both so much. You’re so much better than a lot of other trans kids' parents. So many...” I was about to say “so many of my online friends” and thought better of it. “...so many of them get disowned or abused when they come out, and I know you would never do something like that. Thank you.”

We hugged, and Ms. Hewitt showed us out, telling us to make an appointment next week with her receptionist. A few minutes later, we drove in separate cars over to a nearby Italian restaurant for lunch. Once we were seated and had placed our orders, Mom said, “I mentioned the school board meeting to your dad and Cheryl.”

“Is it okay if I go?” I asked Dad.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m not sure if one of us will drive you or if you’ll get a ride with that teacher. She’s Caleb’s Geometry teacher from a couple of years ago, right?”

“Yes, Ms. Hodge. I’ve got her phone number and email address in my notebook.”

“What did she use the machine for?”

“She and her husband fixed each other’s medical problems. I think she used to have diabetes, but I don’t remember what he had. And they’re younger now.”

Mom gave Dad a speculative look then, and I wondered if they’d been talking privately about maybe using the machine to make each other younger. That would be a little weird, seeing them like they looked in old photos from when Caleb was a baby — or even older ones from before they got married? — but I’d be happy for them if they did. Maybe they’d loosen up and let Sophia do a science project using the Venn machine after she wasn’t grounded.

“Well, it’s good to know she’s offering to help, but I think one or both of us will go with you. Maybe Caleb and Sophia, too. It’s been way too long since any of us went to a city council or county commission meeting — probably not since you and Sophia were too young to appreciate what was going on — and I don’t know if we’ve ever been to a school board meeting.”

I smiled broadly. Today had gone so much better than I’d expected, and it was only going to get better when I got to buy some things that fit me.