It’s Bryony’s birthday. She’s nine years old and insisted they all spend the weekend at the zoo. Everyone favoritizes Bryony because she’s young and neurodivergent. Snow thinks this is stupid. Why should Bryony get special treatment just because her brain is different? Sometimes it feels like all people care about is her disorder, and completely ignore the fact that she’s a real person with hobbies and ambitions. That’s always bothered Snow. Bryony is more than her autism, just like Snow is more than a closeted trans girl. But so many people don’t see it that way.

        It takes a long time to get six kids ready for a flight. They have to fly, because the zoo is in a different city, and it’d take almost a day to drive. Snow’s been on a plane before, of course, but she’s never enjoyed it. Her mother bustles around, poking her head into the rooms of all the children, checking to see how much progress they’ve made. “Hurry, everyone! We have to be at the airport in an hour!” Snow finished packing ages ago. The family’s been planning this trip for months; it takes a while to save up enough money for a big trip like this. Bryony always wants big, expensive trips for her birthday. Snow would just be happy with being called Snow.

        Lynx shoves clothes haphazardly into a suitcase. Birch sits in the corner of the room, keeping to himself. Snow knows her parents don’t want him here, but Bryony insisted he needed to come to her birthday. There was a big argument about it. “I want Birch to come,” said Bryony, and her mother had pursed her lips and said, “Who’s Birch?” It’s stupid. You can’t just pretend you don’t have a kid when you do. Even Snow knows that.

        Aspen is three years old. He needs help packing, and he also needs help getting dressed. Snow doesn’t mind the busy house. It makes it easy for her to be unnoticed. “Hey, Birch,” she says, and her brother doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t look at most people, that’s just who he is. “I’m glad you’re coming. Bryony really wanted you to celebrate her birthday with us.”

        Birch says nothing. He’s a man of few words, and Snow isn’t bothered by it. His suitcase is on the floor, small, Birch is a light packer. He almost didn’t come today. Snow heard her parents arguing with Bryony, saying she couldn’t invite him, but in the end she won the fight. She usually does.

        Snow wants to tell her brothers the truth. She knows they won’t care, but it’s so nerve-wracking, and she just can’t find the right time. Tonight, they’ll all be staying at a hotel close to the zoo: in two separate rooms, and she’s sharing hers with her two brothers. It’s almost like the world is saying it’s time to come out, but that doesn’t make it any easier. 

        Birch has eyes that always look like he’s about to cry. Snow doesn’t know what it is about them, but they always look sad, even when he’s happy. He’s not happy much.

        Snow’s father pokes his head into the bedroom, yelling over the noises coming from the kids’ room. “Are you boys ready? Your mom wants to get going.” He doesn’t acknowledge Birch, and the other man doesn’t acknowledge him either.

        They are. Lynx finishes filling his suitcase and shuts it. It’s bulging, and Snow fears it might explode. The flight to the zoo will be about two and a half hours; Snow knows because she’s taken it before. It passes quickly, at least. Their family is always the loudest on the plane. “I’m ready.” Snow hates the sound of her voice. She sounds like a boy, and the throbbing of her Adam’s apple doesn’t help. "I’ll go put my bag by the door.”

        When Snow was little, she always wanted to wear dresses and paint her nails. Her parents, of course, thought nothing of it at first; she was a little boy, experimenting, having fun like little boys did. But it wasn’t a game to Snow. When she got older her parents refused to let her wear dresses anymore. It seemed like, to them, it was cute when she was little, but then it wasn’t. She remembered dressing up like this from the age of four or five, even though nobody believed her when she told them that. Most kids don’t remember things this young, and she didn’t remember a lot: but there was a vivid memory of her standing by a mirror, dressed up like a fairy, wondering why she didn’t look like all the other girls. 

        The drive to the airport is short, less than ten minutes. It’s not even enough time for Heron to fall asleep. Birch drives his own vehicle, following behind, his windows down. Birch is a good driver.

      Snow always sits by the window: in the car, on the plane. Hyacinth sits next to her during the flight, trying to sit still, but five-years-old and easily bored. Snow remembers being five years old, and wishes she could go back. Swinging her feet through the air in front of her seat, Hyacinth doesn’t pay attention to her movie. “I can’t wait to go to the zoo! I love the zoo! I want to see the elephants and the lions.” These are her favorite animals. She looks at Snow with eager blue eyes, her hair unruly and in her face. “What’s your favorite animal, Monty?”

        It’s not Hyacinth’s fault that Snow’s birthname gives her dysphoria. And it certainly isn’t Hyacinth’s fault that Snow is miserable. But still, she can’t help feeling bitterness toward the little girl. “I like polar bears.” She has no preference, really; animals were animals. When Hyacinth goes back to her movie, Snow turns on her music player.

        Before checking into the zoo, Snow and her family check into their hotel. Snow leaves her bags in the room she’ll be sharing with her brothers, breathing a sigh of relief that her parents won’t be there. It’s cool outside, but nothing a pullover can’t fix. Snow’s brothers treat her like one of the boys. They’ll never know how much that hurts. Snow’s parents knock on her hotel room door. “Come on, boys! We’re going to the zoo!” Snow sighs. She can’t explain what she’d give to never hear someone call her boy again.

        Snow can’t enjoy herself, as much as she tries. Her siblings interact and enjoy the exhibits, taking photographs and reading facts about the animals. Snow tries to do this, as well. There’s face painting here, and balloons, and food stands. For a while at least, it’s not so hard for her to ignore her problems and pretend she’s just like any other girl. She gets her face painted with Bryony and Hyacinth: a fairy. Snow loves fairies, but she can’t quite explain why.

        For Bryony’s birthday, her parents rent her a booth at the zoo. It’s right near the monkey exhibit, where you can sit and watch the monkeys while you eat. The little kids get cranky, after a long day of walking, and begin to whine. Even Bryony is getting a bit anxious: it’s crowded and loud at the zoo, and that always puts her on edge. She stims by flicking and snapping her hands; it’s so busy at the zoo that nobody notices. She’s not always this quiet. Sometimes she yells and loses her temper. Sometimes, she bangs her head against walls or picks at her skin, and Snow’s mother has to try and distract her. At school, Bryony gets extra help from teachers and counselors, because she doesn’t seem that different from everybody else, but her brain works differently.

        There’s a lot to see here. When Bryony gets over-stimulated, everyone returns to the hotel.

        Snow’s journal is brown and leather, a gift from one of her favorite teachers. If she can’t have a supportive family, she’s glad to at least have supportive teachers. The journal sticks out from the top of her carry-on bag, accompanied by her lucky pen. While her brothers stare at their phones, she writes; she writes for a long time, about a lot of things. It’s so easy to write, rather than try and talk to a human being. But it’s time, she thinks, and exhales slowly.

        Birch, already in his pajamas, looks up. “You alright?” She’s not. It’s so hard to speak when you’re scared.

        Even though nobody is speaking, Snow has never heard this much chaos. “Uh-” Where to begin, what to say. She’s never said it out loud before. “Well…” Snow needs to stay calm, and tries her best, but even so her heart is beating out of her chest. “I need to tell you guys something… but I’m scared.” She looks at her feet, which are thin and pointy like her father’s. They’ll understand, she hopes. Birch knows what it feels like to come out.    

        Snow’s always had a good relationship with her older brothers. When Birch got kicked out, Lynx was the one who screamed and shouted at her parents for how they acted. Now, the younger boy shakes out his blond hair and puts down his phone. “What’s wrong?” 

        The room has two beds. Snow sleeps on the floor, on a cot, she prefers that. “Um…” Talk, Snow. She can’t. Maybe she could write it down. “You both have to promise you won’t get mad.” Talking about feelings is hard, but some people seem to be so good at it. Snow is not one of those people. “And you have to swear you won’t tell Mom and Dad.” She paces. Her bare feet are cold and can’t stand still.

        “Monty,” Lynx shrugs. She has his full attention now. “Whatever it is, we won’t tell. You can trust us, right, Birch?” They both nod. “You can tell us anything.” Heron is crying; she can hear him from here. That’s what happens when you take a baby on vacation.

        “Okay.” Snow sits, and then stands again. She has no idea what to do with her hands. “Well.” She should be worrying about boys and periods instead of all this. She hates how she was born this way. “I don’t want to be called Monty anymore.” This part is easy to say. When she breathes deeply, it calms her the slightest bit. “My friends call me Snow. I’m… a girl.” Wow. Who knew something could be so terrifying and so freeing at the same time? “I’m a girl. And I know Mom and Dad won’t accept me, so… I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

        Both of her brothers are silent. Inside Snow’s head, the silence is very loud. Finally, after what seems like hours, Birch responds. “We won’t tell. But you should - when you feel comfortable.” Lynx stares at Snow. She can’t tell if he’s upset or not. “Thanks for telling me,” Birch says, and smiles slightly. He doesn’t smile much. “You’re valid.”

        Birch doesn’t speak much. When he says something meaningful, it’s always extra special.

        Lynx nods. He agrees. It’s a relief to have told her brothers the truth, but Snow knows, when her parents are around, it still has to be a secret. That’s the hardest thing for her to know, but she supposes everyone has to start somewhere.

. . . . . . . . . . 

       

        Birch is not a social creature. He doesn’t like making friends, or group activities, or parties. He’d rather stay at home, watching a movie or eating Grace’s baking, and that’s the reason he never joined a fraternity. Socializing is too much effort for too little payout, and anyway Birch has never been the talkative type.     

        The moment Birch gets comfortable in his desk, the drama teacher announces her plans for the class’s group project. Birch hates this idea, but he likes getting good grades, so he realizes sometimes it’s necessary to make sacrifices. Being assigned to groups is the second worst part of any project. The first worst part is talking to your group mates.

        “Ugh,” says Rome, who happens to be group leader. Birch doesn’t know why – Rome’s a total slacker. All he cares about is girls and sports. “This is boring! I don’t want to write a play.”

        Birch isn’t the most confrontational of people. But sometimes, he just can’t help it. “Why are you taking a drama class if you don’t want to write plays?” Birch isn’t shy. He just doesn’t see the point in talking if he has nothing to talk about. His laptop is covered in stickers he’s collected over the years. On the screen, he works on their group’s project.

        Rome smirks. He’s cocky, but he’s hot, and that makes him even more annoying.  Plus, he’s constantly shuffling his feet on the floor when he walks, and Birch hates that more than anything. He sits back in his chair, feet up on the desk in front of him. “What’s your name again?”

        It’s a large class. Most of it is done in groups, and Birch has mostly gotten used to it. He adjusts his thick-rimmed glasses, which are falling down his face. “Birch Whitby.” In junior high, people called him Tree-boy. Well, usually they called him “freak”, but whatever. It’s not Birch’s fault he looks so strange.

        “Right.” Rome snaps his fingers, removing his feet from the desk. He won’t say he’s a slacker – he just doesn’t put effort into things that don’t matter to him. “Birch. That’s a fucking tree.” It’s not a quiet class. With everybody paired off into groups, there’s a fair amount of socializing. Birch wishes he could choose his own group. More than that, he wishes he actually had friends in this class.

        He won’t look at Rome. “Thanks, tips.” Lots of people, in Birch’s experience, assumed that because he’s an introvert, he has to be shy. He’s gotten tired of explaining that the two are not mutually exclusive. He’s not shy, but he’s not outgoing either. They get back to work, not speaking unless necessary.

        Since Snow’s coming out, Birch has not been able to get his mind off of it. He’s already suggested to her that they go shopping after school; he thinks she’ll like getting a chance to buy clothes without their mother there. Snow agreed, she actually sounded excited for once. It’s been hard for Birch to adjust to his new sister, but he’s trying, and anyway calling her Snow feels so natural already. . He’s picking her up after school today and taking her out. Truthfully, Birch has thought about taking his sister to get a new hairstyle and a new makeover, but he’s not sure she’s ready to come out at home yet. He knows what it feels like to be outed before you’re ready. His plan, knowing his parents, was always to find his own place to live, and then come out – he knew how they’d react.  

        When Birch was little, he’d go fishing with his dad. It’s easy to do when you’re five minutes away from the ocean. Birch always enjoyed this: walking out to the sea-walk, bonding with his father while they fished. He’s known for years how to clean a fish and skin it; if he tried, he could probably do it in five minutes. Birch still eats a lot of fish, and catches most of it. He enjoys scuba diving, a hobby he’s had since late childhood, when he and his father were still on speaking terms. The best time to go is summer, when the wildlife is more active, and the weather is warmest. Of course, the water is cold for those who aren’t used to it the way Birch is.

      He likes the cold. He’d rather bundle up than take off clothes, which is necessary in Alaska. Even in the summer, the ocean is only about fifty five degrees, and the land about sixty two. Grace complains about it every year, even though she’s lived there for half a decade. Birch supposes he can see why people don’t like the cold, but he doesn’t relate; he’s always been partial to it.

      Snow is upset. When Birch picks her up from the middle school, she’s in tears. Birch finds this uncomfortable, but does his best not to make things worse. “Hi, Snow.” It’s the first time he’s said the name out loud. It feels strange, but it makes the girl smile. She seems to be waiting for more, but he has nothing more to say.      

        She hugs him. “Hi, Birch. I’m excited to go shopping!” She doesn’t mention why she’s upset, and he doesn’t ask. It’s not that he doesn’t care; it’s just, Birch has always been put-off by personal discussion. There was never much of that in his house growing up. Everybody kept to themselves, not discussing their personal lives unless they were asked about it. Even then, they were all so rarely asked about it.

        Birch’s parents met in high school, both from religious families, which was unfortunate to him. When he was a little boy, he’d be dragged along to masses and forced to sit around reading scriptures and praying on prayer beads. Sundays were Holy Days, and Holy Days were unnecessarily strict. Birch feels bad for the kids still living at home, still subjected to this, forced to live under rules they didn’t even quite understand. Birch doesn’t have a problem with religious problem. He only has a problem with ignorance.

        Snow looks like a boy. He’d never point it out, but it’s to be expected with a family like hers. Though Birch doesn’t shop often, he enjoys it, if only for the window shopping. The last time he was at a mall, the trip ended with Grace seizing in the food court, and being asked to leave. 

        “Want anything specific?” Driving is difficult for Birch due to his multitude of vision problems. He’s not only sensitive to light, although that’s a big one. His car is dark and his windows tinted.  “I don’t have a lot of money, but I can get you some things.” Birch is a Big Brother. Of course, this is only a volunteer job. He works as a tutor in between his classes, and on weekends. This is easy for him, and it makes him feel good lending a helping hand.

        His sister looks younger than she is. Her hair is scraggly, shoulder-length, blonde like the hair of everyone else in the family. Birch’s hair is thin and wispy, and white as snow. It’s relatively rare for someone to have natural white hair, so he gets a lot of attention for it, and it’s not all positive. Snow shrugs. “I was thinking just some makeup and a few outfits? I won’t wear them in front of Mom and Dad; I just want to see what they look like on me…” She falls silent, placing her hands in her lap and twiddling her thumbs.

        It’s not hard to tell that Birch is gay. He’s slim, short, and he dresses in the sort of way that drives muscular men wild. He doesn’t do it on purpose; nobody can help the way they look. Birch hates being short, and he hates being soft and slight, but it’s unchangeable. “Okay,” he says and continues driving.

. . . . . . . . . .

      

       It’s so hard to be a gymnast. Gray used to be agile, flexible: even taking part in gymnastics competitions, since childhood. Gray misses childhood, misses the days of carelessness and being worry-free. When Gray was a little kid, they were a very picky eater. At least, that’s what everyone assumed. It’s hard to tell Gray is sick just by looking at them; aside from their unnatural frailty, they look just like anybody else. At lunch, Gray sits in the bathroom or the very corner of the cafeteria, eating things like carrots, almonds, and plain white rice. Gray doesn’t know why they’re afraid of food. One day, they just tried to take a bite of something, and nothing has been the same since. 

        The front handspring used to be Gray’s strong suit. It still is, they suppose, but they get tired a lot faster these days. While they used to be able to jump and flip easily for hours, it’s now a struggle to balance for more than five minutes. Gray wasn’t always like this. They miss the times when they weren’t.

      In the teenager’s room is an acoustic guitar and a writing desk. Gray has always been interested in music, and started writing songs a few years back. It’s comforting, on the days when life gets overwhelming. They pick up the guitar, strumming a few chords from their favorite song, which is slow. Their room is messy: bright and decorated with gemstones, runes, and crystal balls. 

        It’s Samhain. This is a holiday that Gray has celebrated since childhood, and treasures greatly. Gray had a younger sister, once, when they were a child. Now, the Samhain is the most important time of year, to get in touch with her again. Gray’s father, Abbe Mundle, knocks on their bedroom door. “Gray? Would you like to come help decorate the altar? Your brother will be here soon.”

        Rome always visits during the holidays, even though he lives across the city. Gray sets down the guitar, and zips their jacket higher; they’re always cold. When they stand, they get dizzy, and this isn’t uncommon. Gray knows they’re very sick. Even so, they can’t seem to figure out how to get better. “Coming.” The family altar is near the front door of the home. It’s tradition for a family to decorate it for the Sabbats. Removing the large pentagram from the wall above their bed, Gray wanders into the living room. 

        The house is filled with gemstones. Everywhere you look, there are gemstones. Gray’s fathers were always very spiritual, even back at home in Barbados, which might seem strange. The altar gets decorated with many things: candles, athames, chalices, a wand. Most of these things remain here even when the Sabbats are completed. Growing up, Gray always had the choice to follow in the beliefs of their fathers, or to choose their own. Many people are not fortunate enough to have such understanding, supportive parents. Standing photographs are placed, as well, of Gray’s little sister, Calixte, who died tragically of sickle cell disease. Gray and Rome don’t talk about this much.

         “Hey, guys!” Rome appears, carrying some small stones for the altar. "I brought some food for the Feast.” The Feast of the Dead, Gray’s least favorite part of any Sabbat. It’s hard not only for Gray, but for their fathers as well. Nobody enjoys watching a loved one suffer, even if they don’t understand the suffering.

        Sunset on Samhain is dedicated to bonfire magic. Gray’s father Lyron is High Priest, a role he doesn’t take lightly. He dresses well and prays frequently; at present, he’s leading the family down to the covenstead, a place they share with the rest of their members. “Happy Samhain, Avalon,” he says to the High Priestess, an old family friend, who joins the coven with her family. “It’s good to see you again.” 

        On Samhain, the barrier between the worlds of the living and the deceased becomes very thin. Many of the deceased souls choose this day to visit their living loved ones, and Gray values this. They’ve spoken many times to Calixte, and many more to any unknown souls who’d shared in their religion. It isn’t hard to understand, and yet, there are so many people who still don’t seem to. Rome stands beside Gray in the circle entwining the bonfire, holding his prayer notebook in his hands. Everyone has one. Gray’s just happens to be something they keep secret. 

        There’s so much to do. It’s raining, soaking Gray to the bone. They don’t like the rain. Their father speaks, and Gray tries to listen. They have to be honest; they’ve always felt a bit out of place within this religion. Just like everything else, it’s gendered: the Triple Goddess and the Winged God, the High Priest and the High Priestess. Although it’s not that bothersome anymore, and men and women alike just call themselves witches anyway. 

        Gray’s favorite part of Samhain is the communication with the dead. The family will sit around their candle-lit living room, speaking to the souls of all they’ve lost, and it always makes Gray feel so at peace. Rome agrees. The two look nothing alike: Gray is pale, and thin, and Rome is brown and muscular. But family, of course, has nothing to do with blood. 

        The Book of Shadows sits at the front of the altar, well-used and brown. It’s a collaborative piece of work, in which all members of the family scribble down new knowledge. “I miss Calixte,” says Gray when the family sits down for the Feast of the Dead. “Here, Calixte, this is for you.” They set down an extra plate of food, an extra glass of water, so the girl can join them for the meal. Rome does the same for anyone else. Eating is hard. For Gray, food is the biggest source of anxiety, and no one can explain why. Trying a new food is Gray’s biggest fear: even only thinking about it makes them feel sick. It’s easy to be jealous of Rome, who eats what he wants without any issues at all. Gray picks at their plate, setting some foods aside and nibbling on others. Most people don’t have a list of foods they’ll eat and foods they won’t. But Gray is not like most people. In the time their family finishes their meal, Gray has barely taken three bites.