As I entered my classroom the following Monday, something weird happened: everyone stopped, and turned to look at me. They’d apparently been chatting in small groups, as they always did, but when I opened the door and walked in all sound ceased. There was an eerie silence in the classroom.

This was… Bizarre. I was used to being ignored, to people (even my classmates) barely acknowledging my existence; I never had garnered such a reaction just by walking into a room. And I quite disliked being the centre of attention like that.

“What?” I asked irritably, with a frown; instantly, everyone turned away, and they started whispering among themselves, glancing at me once in a while.

My frown deepened. What the hell was going on? I thought about grabbing someone and making them tell what was up, but that would only have worsened my already bad reputation; and I had no relationship with my classmates to speak of, so I couldn’t just walk up to someone and ask politely.

With a deep sigh, I made my way to my desk, sat down, pulled out the textbook from my backpack and started revising; it wasn’t long before the teacher walked into the room, called for order, and began the lesson.

As I listened to him, I pushed the morning’s events in the back of my mind: they were unusual, sure, but they were probably nothing worth worrying about.

-----

Maybe the morning’s events were something to worry about, especially since they seemed to be continuing: I’d never given paranoia much credit, I never saw conspiracies or people talking behind my back everywhere, but during each break between lessons, my classmates seemed to be looking at me and whispering.

By mid-morning it was getting really annoying; I was beginning to get the feeling I was the only one in the class who wasn’t in on some important event, who wasn’t privy to some critical piece of information.

Yeah, I could have asked one of my peers, but would they have given me a straight answer? Probably not. And I’d never really socialised with them, and I wasn’t about to start there and then.

So I did the next best thing: I asked Josh.

After the history teacher had left the room, I pulled out my cell phone and sent him a text: Hey, I noticed people gossiping about me. Do you have any idea what this might be about?

His answer came almost immediately: You too?

I frowned down at my phone. What do you mean, you too? I typed.

I noticed people glancing at me and whispering. It started this morning, I don’t know what this is about.

I felt the blood drain from my face. Josh had been subject to gossiping too? Why? The only thing we had in common was…

Had someone learned that we were trans, and outed us to the whole school?

I dismissed that thought as soon as it ran through my mind: no, it was just not possible. Josh and I had both been really careful. Hell, I hadn’t dressed in girl clothing since the time we’d bumped into each other at the clinic, there was just no way someone could’ve seen me since then – and if they had before, why would they have waited until now, a week and a half after the fact?

No, it must have been something else.

But what?

Try to investigate, see if you can find out what happened, I wrote to Josh. I’ll do the same on my end.

Aye-aye, cap’n, came the reply.

I smiled. Dork, I wrote, and shut down my phone.

Alright, time to try to talk to my classmates, and find out what they are gossiping about.

“Alright, everyone, settle down,” the maths teacher said, entering the classroom. “It’s time to begin the lesson.”

I sighed. I would ask them later.

-----

The answer to my question came unexpectedly, and from a surprising source.

After maths, it was time for lunch: I made my way to the cafeteria and grabbed some food, intending to corner one of my classmates and ask them about the glances and whispering after I was done eating, so I shoved my meal into my mouth as quickly as possible – while still being careful to chew every single bite.

As I was eating, someone sat down in the seat across the table from me; this was unusual, since everybody tended to leave me alone, which included not sitting next to me – or near me – at lunch.

I looked up at them: a male student, probably a senior, with short cropped hair and a sneer on his face. We glared at each other across the table.

“Sorry, that seat’s taken,” I said.

“Is it now?” he replied. “Too bad, I’m sitting here now.”

I deliberately paused, picking up another forkful of food, putting it into my mouth, chewing and swallowing, before speaking. “What do you want?” I asked.

“Troy wants to talk to you.”

Oh, so that was it: this guy was one of McPearson’s cronies. I looked at his face carefully, trying to remember if I’d seen him before, but to be honest, I couldn’t be bothered keeping track of every single wannabe tough guy who kept buzzing around McPearson.

“He knows where I am,” I answered nonchalantly. “If he wants to talk, he can come here in person.” I took another bite of food.

The guy hesitated; he probably hadn’t expected any backtalk. Still, after a moment he narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think you understand. Troy wants to talk to you,” he repeated.

“Heard ya the first time,” I said. “What about?”

“He knows about you and Woods.”

I froze, my fork halfway between my plate and my mouth. What the hell did that mean? Oh, shit, maybe Troy had somehow realised Josh and I are trans, and he was planning to--

I forced myself to take a deep breath. No. There was simply no way McPearson could know about me being trans, I’d been really careful about it. Unless Josh had snitched on me, but he really didn’t seem the type to do that. Especially since it would mean outing himself, too. But then, what did this mean?

“Does he now,” I said. “Where is he?”

“Around the back of the school, behind the gym,” he said.

I shook my head. “Nope.”

Again, he hesitated. “What do you mean, nope?”

“I’m not going there,” I said, mentally adding: do you think I’m dumb? That place is secluded and out of sight, I would be an idiot to agree to meet McPearson there.

“But… Troy wants to talk to you,” the guy insisted, almost lamely.

“And he doesn’t want to come to me to do it,” I replied. “Fine, but I won’t go to him, either. Let’s meet halfway, the benches just outside the rear entrance should be fine.” A nice, open spot, in full sight of everyone.

He nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“You go on ahead and tell McPearson the meeting point,” I said. “I’m not done eating yet.”

I picked up another morsel of food with my fork to demonstrate, and put it in my mouth; I gave him a challenging glare as I chewed and swallowed.

“…Fine,” he hissed through gritted teeth. He got up from the chair, turned around, and walked away.

While I watched him walk away, my thoughts were in turmoil.

He knows about you and Woods. That had been what the guy had said. But what exactly did that mean? It just couldn’t be that he’d found out that we were trans. But then… What? Maybe it had something to do with the glances and whispers I’d been subjected to all morning? Yeah, that would make sense.

Well, only one way to find out.

I finished my meal and then, as a precaution, I typed out a message to Josh, explaining that McPearson wanted to talk to me, and where the meeting would take place.

I hesitated before sending it: I looked at the text for a while, then added another line:

If you don’t hear from me before lunch break is over, come find me.

I nodded to myself, and pressed the ‘send’ button. I had to say, it felt good to have someone I could rely on.

While I was quite worried about how the confrontation with Troy would go, I took my time making my way to the meeting point, walking leisurely, without any rush: this way I hoped I would manage to not give him any hint as to how I was feeling.

When I exited the school’s back door, McPearson was already there, with three of his cronies by his side, including the guy who’d extended the invitation to me. I gave him a blank look, taking in his appearance: short – a full head shorter than me, and I already wasn’t among the tallest people in school – with short black hair, slicked back in a hairstyle that was pasted to the top of his head by too much hair gel; his face was a bit chubby, and he wore a leather trench coat on top of a knitted sweater and slacks. He was trying really hard to give off an air of importance, of being above everyone else, and failing completely at it. “Here you are, Wilson,” he said, almost sneering at me.

“What the hell do you want, McPearson?” I asked. “I was enjoying a nice lunch, and I had to skip dessert to be here. You owe me a pudding.”

His glare told me there was something else he wanted to give me instead of the pudding, but when he spoke next his voice was devoid of emotion. “There is something we have to discuss,” he said.

“Your pal told me as much,” I replied. “So what is it?”

“You’ve been hanging out with Josh Woods, haven’t you?” he said, still in the same flat voice.

Oh. So that is what this is about.

“No, I haven’t,” I said. “Still hate his guts.”

He frowned. “Why are you lying to me, Wilson? You disappoint me.”

I crossed my arms in front of myself. “What makes you think I’m lying?” I asked.

Instead of answering, Troy snapped his fingers; one of his cronies stepped up beside him, held up a tablet, and tapped the screen a few times. “Look at this,” Troy said, as a video started playing.

I could just about catch the title of the video before it disappeared: Sun Vulcan Live Jam Session!!!

Oh.

The video had been shot from some distance away, it was a bit grainy, the lighting wasn’t the best, and the sound quality wasn’t very good, but it clearly depicted the brief jam session my sister Chloe and Sun Vulcan had done two days earlier… Including me and Josh, just standing there at first, but then dancing together for the last couple minutes.

Oh.

Well, that would explain everything, wouldn’t it?

As the video ended Troy looked up at me, crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow.

I looked at him. “That’s not--”

“Don’t even try, that was you and Woods,” he cut me off.

I held his gaze for a few seconds, then sighed. “Yeah, okay, that was me and Woods,” I admitted. “But we weren’t really hanging out, we just happened to meet by chance at the concert.”

“And it was also by chance that, after the concert, you ended up dancing together while the band was having a jam session,” Troy said.

“That was… Spur of the moment,” I replied. “The band invited us over, my sister is a really big fan, and we just got caught up in the music. There’s nothing to it. I still hate him.”

“Mmhmm,” Troy mused.

“If we were friends we would be hanging out at school too, in any case,” I continued. “And we’re not doing that.”

“Right,” he said. He seemed entirely unconvinced.

“And, in fact…” I began, but then stopped. Why was I justifying myself like this? And to Troy McPearson, of all people. Why did I feel the need to deny my friendship with Josh?

True, there was the whole game theory aspect. The fact that, if Troy became aware of the friendship – or non-enmity, rather – between me and Josh, he would feel threatened. But still…

“…In fact, that’s none of your business,” I said.

Troy’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “What?”

“Who I do or don’t hang out with is none of your fucking business,” I repeated. “Even if I were friends with Woods – which I’m not – that’s not something a miserable bully like you should concern himself with.” I looked straight at him. “So fuck off, and leave me alone.”

McPearson blinked, and then narrowed his eyes at me. “What?” he repeated.

“You heard me. Fuck off,” I said. “I don’t have to answer to you, or to anyone else.”

Without waiting for his reply I turned around and walked away; I’d already reached the door which led back inside the school building when I heard him answer.

“Alright then,” he called after me. “But remember, if I find out you two are hanging out, then we have a problem.”

I turned around and glared at him. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I shot back.

I walked through the door and slammed it closed behind me.

As I walked, fuming, back to my classroom, I pulled out my cell phone and checked to see if Josh had read my message: as it turned out, he had, and replied promising to come to my help if I needed.

I smiled, and started typing.

[13.20] Me: hey

[13.20] Me: I’m done with troy

[13.20] Woody: oh good

[13.20] Woody: no help needed then?

[13.21] Me: no I’m fine, no need for you to come

I paused, looking down at my phone.

[13.21] Me: thanks anyway

[13.21] Woody: don’t mention it

[13.21] Woody: that’s what friends are for right

[13.21] Woody: 😉

[13.21] Me: … yeah

[13.21] Woody: oh btw

[13.22] Woody: I found out why everyone was looking at us today

[13.22] Woody: my cousin ryan called me

[13.22] Woody: you remember ryan right

[13.22] Me: yes, from sun vulcan

[13.23] Woody: yeah

[13.23] Woody: apparently someone filmed the jam session on saturday

[13.24] Woody: after the show

[13.24] Woody: put it on youtube

[13.24] Woody: went viral

[13.24] Woody: they tried having it taken down but it only made things worse

I sighed. Yeah, it would, wouldn’t it?

[13.25] Me: yeah figures

[13.25] Me: streisand effect

[13.25] Woody: ???

[13.25] Me: I’ll explain later

[13.25] Me: but I figured it would be that

[13.25] Me: troy’s seen it

[13.25] Woody: … oh

[13.26] Me: yeah

[13.26] Me: oh

[13.26] Woody: crap

[13.26] Woody: what do we do?

[13.26] Woody: ???

[13.26] Me: nothing really

[13.27] Me: we still pretend we’re not friends

[13.27] Me: things will go back to normal soon

[13.27] Woody: that is

[13.28] Woody: uh

[13.28] Woody: …

[13.28] Woody: bit naive?

[13.28] Me: …

[13.28] Me: yeah, maybe

[13.28] Me: but it’s the best choice

[13.28] Woody: …

[13.29] Woody: okay 😢

I frowned. Why the sad face?

[13.29] Me: why the sad face

[13.29] Woody: just

[13.29] Woody: feels bad

[13.29] Woody: having to pretend

[13.29] Me: …

[13.29] Me: sorry

[13.29] Woody: no, you’re right

[13.29] Woody: best choice

[13.29] Woody: but feels bad

[13.29] Me: … yeah

With that, the lunch bell rang, so I quickly said goodbye to Josh, turned off my phone’s screen, and made my way back to the classroom for the afternoon lessons.

I sighed. This was a really big mess: despite Josh and I pretending we didn’t like each other, Troy had still found out, and he was likely to try and do something about it.

But there was nothing we could do about it: we just had to keep our heads down, and wait for things to come to a head.

-----

As it turned out, things came to a head the following week, on Tuesday. Josh and I had spent a full week and a day ignoring each other: I hadn’t seen him in person since the concert, though we’d kept up with each other via text and the occasional phone call. And it was a shame; ever since I’d started talking to him I’d found out I really enjoyed his company.

That Tuesday we had a free study period just before lunch, and I decided to spend it in the school library to look up something in reference books for a biology test I had coming up; our textbook was good enough, but I thought that if I maybe put in some extra work, the teacher would notice and give me an even better grade.

I was sitting at a table in the library, the book open in front of me, when the intercom near the ceiling buzzed to life: from it came the principal’s voice, which ordered me to go directly to his office.

I exchanged a puzzled glance with the school’s librarian, whom I knew by sight, asked her to return the book I’d borrowed to its place in my stead, and then I made my way to the principal’s office; the door was open when I arrived, the principal looking over something on his computer.

I knocked on the door frame. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Carlson?” I asked.

He looked up at me and nodded. “Yes, Mr. Wilson,” he said. “Please, close the door and take a seat.”

Still wondering what this was about, I complied, and sat down in front of him.

Mr. Carlson took a deep breath. “Mr. Wilson, someone came to my office earlier today. A first-year student, they’d been beaten up, not too badly but they were bruised.”

I nodded, but didn’t say anything, instead waiting for him to continue.

“The student told me that they’d been cornered in a secluded corridor, beaten up, and forced to give up their lunch money,” the principal said. “And they told me it was you who did that.”

He was staring at me, and I returned the look. “And you believe--” I began.

“No, I do not believe them,” Mr. Carlson cut me off. When I looked at him in surprise, he continued, “True, you’re a troublemaker, and you drive the teachers, and me, insane sometimes. But in the nearly three years you’ve been at this school, you’ve never done anything of the sort.” He paused, giving me a significant look, and said, “But, as principal, I have to investigate this, so here I am asking you: did you do it?”

“No, I didn’t,” I replied.

He nodded. “Alright,” he said. “And, just to be sure, where were you when it happened?”

“I’m sorry, when exactly did it happen?” I asked.

“Right, sorry. About half an hour ago.”

“Well then, that’s easy,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “It literally couldn’t have been me, I was in the library, revising for a test. The librarian will confirm it.”

“Well, that’s good then,” Mr. Carlson said. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Wilson, we’re done here. You can go.”

I nodded, stood up, and left the room without another word.

I closed the door behind me, inhaled deeply, and slowly let the breath out.

Troy McPearson. It had to have been him.

That’s the only way it would make sense: he’d beaten up the student, and then forced them to say it had been me. All this because he wanted to get rid of me, because I’d become friends with Josh: even keeping up the charade hadn’t helped, McPearson was out to get me – to get the both of us. Even though I’d told him I wasn’t friends with Josh, specifically to try and avoid this situation, he’d decided to come after me anyway.

What had been the point of Josh and I ignoring each other at school, then? It clearly hadn’t worked, and the whole game theory thing had gone right out of the window.

There was no real reason for me and Josh to keep pretending we didn’t like each other.

Coming to a resolution, I marched down the corridor, towards the second year classrooms: lunch period had just started, and a few students were milling in the corridors, but almost everyone was still in their rooms, gathering their things before heading to the cafeteria.

I knew precisely where to go: Josh had told me which classroom was his during one of our chats. I strode through the door, looked around to find him, and when I saw him I walked forward and planted myself in front of his desk.

“Hey. Woody. Let’s go to lunch,” I said.

Josh looked up at me in surprise, his eyes widening; everyone else in the room was looking at us. “Wilson? What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Taking you to lunch,” I repeated, offering him my hand. “Come on.”

He gave me a bewildered look, but then nodded, grasped my hand, and let me pull him to his feet; he grabbed his backpack, and we left the classroom, followed by the stares of his classmates.

“Wilson, what the hell?” Josh said as we walked. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to find out we’re friends.”

“Things have changed,” I replied. “That was for Troy’s benefit, and it doesn’t matter any more. And, truth to be told, I’m sick and tired of pretending we hate each other.” I stopped, turned around, and looked at him. “Because I like you, Josh.”

Josh looked at me, and raised an eyebrow. “You like me?”

I blushed, and punched his shoulder. “Not like-like, you dork,” I said with a smile. “I like you as a person, and I like hanging out and talking with you, and I don’t want anything or anyone to stop us from doing that.”

He held my gaze for a few moments, then smiled back. “Okay.”

“Good,” I said. “So, lunch?”

He nodded. “Lunch.”