Several hours of scrolling later, I found myself with more questions than ever before.

The good news: as it turns out, there were in fact trans people on the internet. The bad news: apparently, this stuff was more complicated than I thought.

There were plenty of sites purporting to give basic information and general overviews, and they were all nicely written and everything, but…

Well, take this page about terminology. It was really starting to give me a headache. Not because it was intense or too academic or anything - I was following along perfectly fine. ‘Transgendered’ wasn’t a word, apparently, and ‘transgender’ wasn’t a noun, but an adjective. And sure, ‘cis’ just meant… not-trans. Great. But the more you got into the stuff about being transgender…

Everything made sense. Too much sense.

It didn’t make any sense!

Like the gender dysphoria stuff. Gender dysphoria was supposedly feeling distressed about being the wrong gender, okay sure. But it could also be experienced as generalized anxiety or depression that you didn't realize was connected until you started to explore the idea? That was terrifying. And then on top of everything else, you didn’t even need it to be trans at all! Then what was the point? You can’t be trans just because you want to be the other gender, that would be too easy.

I mean heck, someone could just as well say that I was trans, and that was obviously not right. This methodology had to be suspect.

I was preeeetty sure from a bunch of offhanded mentions in tv and stuff that you were supposed to just know when you were six and get some kind of complicated (and maybe painful?) surgery to have a sex change. But instead this site started talking about something called HRT and describing changes to your body - though it also said you didn’t need that to be trans either, but as I glanced at the list of effects I didn't quite understand why you wouldn’t want any of that -

Okay yeah I was hyperventilating a bit. I forced myself into taking deep breaths, and nervously clicked back up to the top of the page.

It was all just a bit much.

I glared at the picture of the author at the top. What did she know about trans people, anyways? Stay in your lane, sis. No, wait. Stay in your lane, cis. Ha! Maybe some of this stuff was sticking with me after all.

Because come on, this girl was just way too cute for her own good, wearing these chunky glasses, her hair falling in waves, posing with some pink and white and blue flag. In fact all the girls on these pages and twitter threads and everything were way too pretty in their own ways. And half of them had that same flag in their bio or wore a bracelet with the colors or something.

I clicked around some more. Even the guys with the flag in their profile were hot! Not that I was into guys. Just, like, objectively speaking.

What country were all these cute people from? And why was it the national pastime or whatever to care about trans people?

I pulled open my search engine again, typing in ‘pink white blue flag.’

…

…

What the fuck.

 

---

 

“Bullshit,” I said to myself, staring at the image on my screen.

So, my initial foray into the the serious trans-101 sites had left me all but convinced that it was all a conspiracy to give specifically me a panic attack. Abandoning that angle for the sake of my own mental health, I decided a new approach was needed.

Everyone knew that all the important information in life could best be expressed through one universal format: memes.

And sure enough, the trans meme site I had found had so far been so on point, very relatable, exactly the kind of stuff that might come in handy for my big project. And one site led to another, and the memes kept flowing, and before I knew it, hours had passed.

But now, staring back at me was a picture of a smirking anime girl pointing at a sign that read “cis guys don’t want to be girls.”

“Bullshit!” I repeated for good measure. And in this case I could prove it.

Frowning sternly, I stood up and stormed out of my room and down the hall, where I banged on Avery's door and then without hesitating pushed it open to barge in.

“Avery!”

“Wh-what?” he said, twisting around, tangling himself up in his shirt even worse. From the sun shining into his window, I belatedly realized that it was unexpectedly morning already, and that apparently I had caught him getting dressed before his classes. As such, his long-sleeved shirt was wrapped around his head, revealing a surprisingly well-developed expanse of his chest.

I swallowed, spinning around to face away from him for a moment.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, my face feeling weirdly hot. I must be really out of shape, if just running from my room to his got me this overheated.

I heard some rustling behind me. “No worries,” he said. “Okay, I’m good.”

When turned around again, he was dressed, and sitting down on his bed. My eyes narrowed as I looked him up and down. How exactly did he get that fit? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to hang out at the gym. But he also seemed like the kind of dork who would tell you about the importance of daily exercise and good nutritio—

“Uh, dude?” he said, waving a hand to get my attention.

My eyebrow twitched and I grimaced. Right. “I have an important question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Just as a survey.” I paused, thinking for a sec. “It’s part of homework for anthropology.”

Perfect. As always, I was a consummate genius.

“Didn’t you drop out of anthropology?” he asked.

Fuck.

“Nah, I just haven’t been to class in like a month,” I covered smoothly.

“Okay…” he said, his eyebrows knitting together. “What’s the question?”

I paused for a second, thinking of how to phrase what I wanted to ask. I didn't want to give too much away. But then something that I had seen as a recurring theme on that meme site sprang to mind. I just needed to adapt it to my purposes.

"Okay. Say that you've been abducted by aliens..."

"What, like little grey dudes with big heads?"

"Sure. And they've got you on their spaceship and they have all this super-advanced technology. And you escape, and are about to return to Earth when you see this particular machine, right? It has this big red button on it. And if you push the button, you become a girl."

"How do I know that's what it does? Why would they have a machine that does that?"

I waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. Just, for the sake of the thought experiment, it's very clearly labeled."

He blinked. "In English?"

"Avery!"

"Um, sorry. So, wait, what was the question?"

“So the machine: if you push the button, you permanently become a girl. Do you push it?”

He blinked. “Permanently? Forever?”

“That is what permanently means, yes,” I said.

He paused, leaning back on the bed as he thought for a moment.

“Nah,” he said.

“What?!” I threw my hands up. “Why?”

"I mean, I need to get off the spaceship before the aliens get back, right? Why would I be worrying about this?"

"Forget about the aliens! There are no aliens! There's just the button!"

Avery shrugged. “Still nah. I like being a guy.”

“You… you…” I pointed at him accusingly. “Normie!”

“…What?” he said, looking bewildered, but I whirled around and stormed off yet again, slamming the door shut behind me.

Back in the sanctity of my own room, I paced back and forth, muttering to myself darkly.

The problem was with Avery, obviously. He was the strange one.

…Which means I probably shouldn’t have called him a normie, now that I thought about it. Kiiinda undercut my case.

Nonetheless!

I couldn’t get distracted. I think I had what I needed from sites I had seen so far. Or at least as much as I could handle for the time being. Those last few hours of scrolling through memes were extra-credit, and maybe that had thrown me off a bit. Gotten me thinking about buttons when I really should have been focused on my plans.

It was time to contact my hapless victim again.

Except. For some reason I was still sort of nervous. Thanks a lot, Avery. I needed some way to relax a bit. But I also didn't want to waste precious time that could be used for further vital research and preparation.

Thankfully there was a way I could do both at the same time.

 

---

 

“Oh, come on, that’s grossly out of character!”

I jabbed one finger in accusation at Twinkle Witch Academy: Prom Potion Panic!, currently playing on our living room TV. “Sara would never wear those shoes. Are you kidding me? That outfit is trash. This movie is trash.”

“Why are we watching it again, then?” Avery asked, from his position in the beaten-up armchair in our living room. He had gotten back from evening classes just in time to catch me finishing up season three of Twinkle Witch Academy, and hadn’t gotten up when I started the made-for-TV movie.

I shoved another handful of popcorn into my mouth. “Research,” I muttered through the crunching.

“For… anthropology?”

“Sure.”

He rested his chin in one hand, apparently appreciating the fine cinematic entertainment I was providing. Or just perplexed. “Why doesn’t she just grab the tiara and run?”

“Don’t be an idiot. They’ve clearly established that only the prom queen can unlock the ultimate magic of fabulousness.”

“Uh-huh.”

I gasped, suddenly pausing the movie and leaning forward to stare at the screen. “Look, there, in the background. That’s Nocturnia!”

“…The bad guy?”

“In the main show, sure, but the movie villain is the Sorceress Circe. This is just a cameo. But it makes no sense! Why would Nocturnia be hanging out in the high school cafeteria?”

Avery shrugged helplessly. “She wanted some terrible rectangular pizza?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes in his direction. “Season two episode eight established that she draws power from the moonlight, so she doesn’t have to consume food.”

I unpaused again, watching intently as Sara leapt up onto a cafeteria table to sing a song about friendship.

Unfortunately, as if summoned to cancel out the positive vibes of the catchiest song in the whole movie, I heard the front door open and close. A moment later, Jenn poked her head in the room.

“Hey Avery,” she said cheerfully. “Whatcha watching?” When she saw me, the smile dropped off her face. I absentmindedly flipped her off, continuing to stare at the movie.

She ignored me, leaning against the doorframe as she watched the colorful characters on screen engaging in a synchronized dance number. If she ruined this, I swear to god...

“Holy shit!” she suddenly exclaimed. “I know this movie! I saw this when I was like… twelve.”

I rolled my eyes. “No you didn’t. The movie never aired in the U.S.”

“I grew up near Vancouver,” she replied, smirking. “Move over, or I’m gonna sit on you.”

I hissed at her like a cat, but she advanced and I knew better than to call her bluff. I scooched over on the couch to make enough room, and she repaid my kindness by immediately stealing some of my popcorn while I was distracted.

“Witch,” I muttered.

She popped a kernel into her mouth. “You know it. Wow, this animation did not age well, huh?”

“I happen to think that their traditional style is refreshing in an age of far too much CG,” I sniffed.

“Dude,” Avery said. “You were complaining about that five minutes ago. You’ve been complaining all night.”

“Whatever.”

A surprisingly chill half-hour passed that way. Jenn and I traded off poking holes in the movie’s spiderweb-thin plot, taking deep offense at each other’s poor judgment. I mean, clearly the movie was garbage, she was just universally wrong about all the specifics about how it was garbage. She didn’t see the value in the prom dresses in the third act! She said she preferred the show outfits!! But they were dresses, individually tailored to represent each character’s unique personality and quirks!!!

Philistine.

But then: disaster. In a dramatic on-screen reveal, Sara’s mysterious suitor removed his masquerade mask, and it was… Cedric, Sara’s on-again off-again love interest who only showed up in the last (and worst) season. I figured they had realized how much he sucked and ditched him before the movie, but apparently we weren’t so lucky.

“This fuckin’ guy,” I muttered.

At the same time, Jenn had chimed in with a “I hate this dude.”

We blinked, glancing at each other.

“I mean he’s totally useless,” I said. “He doesn’t even have any magic.”

Jenn threw her hands up in the air. “Yet he still shows up all the time to save Sara like she’s some damsel in distress. She’s the one who should be saving his ass!”

“She has more chemistry with literally any one of her friends.”

Jenn nodded. “She has more chemistry with a pine cone.”

Our eyes met again, warily. Without saying anything, I moved the popcorn bowl fractionally closer to the middle between us. One of her eyebrows raised, and then she tentatively took another handful. Somehow, against all the odds, it seemed like a momentary truce had been called.

In the background, oblivious, Avery cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know, his sword is pretty cool looking. He doesn’t seem that bad.”

“Ugh!” we said, practically in unison, and Avery almost fell out of the recliner as we pelted him with popcorn kernels.