“Why’d you duck out when Gina showed up?”

Alex and I are sitting on the bleachers in the gym. There’s a required assembly this morning, and since I missed the last one, I figured I should show up for this one. Some speaker is coming in to talk to us about what to do in case of an active shooter in the school. Because apparently limiting guns in any way is off the table.

“I thought you might appreciate the time alone with her,” Alex answers.

Something seems off about that statement. Like, as a statement it may be true, but as an answer to my questions, maybe not so much. Should I call them on it? There’s not really a point to it, I suppose. If they’re avoiding giving me an answer, they’re not going to change their mind just because I know they’re avoiding.

Maybe they’ve got a reason for not wanting to be around Gina and me at the same time. I’m not sure what the reason would be, but that seems like the most likely answer. I’m about to tell them my conclusion when they look past me and start waving. I turn around.

Gina is waving back and is heading our way. Maybe the assembly won’t be a complete waste of time after all.

Just as Gina reaches us, the principal walks up to the podium and signals for quiet.

📎 📎 📎

Therapy is frustrating today. I don’t have much new to say, so I’m not sure what the point is. I’m still trans. I still don’t know what to do.

“You seem frustrated,” Madison says.

Well, she’s observant anyway.

“I guess.”

“What about?”

Maybe not that observant after all.

“What do you mean what about?” I say, “I don’t feel like I’m getting anywhere.”

“Where do you want to get?”

“I want to know what I should do.”

“Do you want me to make the decision for you?”

I hate rhetorical questions. “Sure,” I say, “Go ahead.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Don’t transition. I, or another therapist, can work with you —”

She’s still talking, but I don’t hear her. No! Does she really think I shouldn’t transition? Does she think I could just let this go? Like it’s some kind of phase? I’ve tried that. I’ve pretended to be a boy. I may be fooling the people around me, but I’m not fooling myself. I can’t go on like this. I just—

Oh.

I look at Madison. She’s stopped talking and is watching me carefully. I’m glad she’s not looking smug, or I would be so pissed at her.

“Oh,” I say it out loud this time.

Madison nods, and waits for me to go on.

“That was a dirty trick,” I continue.

“It wasn’t a trick. If you could put it away, would that really be such a bad idea?” She asks,”It would certainly be an easier life.”

“But I can’t.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s going to be so hard.”

“I can’t argue with that. But a lot of worthwhile things are. And you’re strong.”

“What’s next?”

“That’s up to you.”

And that’s annoying. But I say, “I know that, but what I mean is, how do I do this? How do I start?”

“You have some options.”

That turns out to be an understatement.

📎 📎 📎

Dinner is on the table when I get home. Madison let the session run little long as we came up with a strategy, and I stayed out in the parking lot on my phone making an appointment.

I can hardly eat. I’m too filled with energy. I’m going to tell my parents my decision, and I’m not scared. I’m excited! I know who I am. Who I’m going to be! I want to share. But dinnertime is for eating. There’s time to talk when we’re done.

Which is now. And Mom even gives me the opening I need. Well, want.

“How was therapy?” She asks.

“It was really good.”

“That’s nice. Do you think it’s helping you with your feelings?”

“Definitely. As a matter of fact, I came to a decision today.”

“A decision?” Mom asks. She looks a little confused, “About what?”

“About my future. About transitioning.”

“But I thought . . .”

What did she think?

And every snippet of conversation I’ve had about this with her rushes through my head. When I told her how much it hurt that I couldn’t transition, she was sympathetic. She was supportive.

She was relieved.

I glance to my dad. He looks a little worried. He’s glancing back and forth from me to my mother. I think he wants to say something, but he’s staying quiet. What do I do now? My excitement has fallen into the pit that has opened up in my stomach. I look to my dad for help. He nods, ever so slightly. I think I know what he means.

“I’m going to transition,” I say.

I can barely read Dad at all. He’s concerned, I think, but something else there. Something positive. Satisfaction? Maybe pride?

Mom on the other hand, is almost transparent. Shock. Disappointment. Something else, too, but no hint of positive. Then she shuts down.

“It’s much too early to talk about that,” she says, “Once you graduate—”

I don’t interrupt my parents. I just don’t. They raised me to respect them, by respecting each other, and by respecting me. But—“I’m not waiting until I graduate. I’ve already waited half my life. I’m—”

I guess I broke the dam. She doesn’t let me finish. I don’t let her finish. The volume doesn’t go up—we’re not a yelling family, even right now—but her concern turns to anger. I try to just listen. My mind is made up, but I can hear her out. She’s my mom. She loves me. I can hear her out. Then—

“You’re almost six feet tall, for God’s sake. You’re a good looking boy, why would you want to be an ugly girl?”

I don’t yell. I don’t say anything. I walk away. I don’t know who’s doing clean up tonight, but it’s not me.

📎 📎 📎

Dad finds me at the park down the street.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Why didn’t you tell me she’d react like that?”

“I wasn’t sure she would.”

“But you suspected.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I ask again, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Would it have affected your decision?”

Would it have affected my decision? How could it not? But I’d have come to the same decision anyway. Wouldn’t I?

“Maybe,” I say, “Probably.”

“That’s why. This is your decision. You have to make it for you. Not for me. Not for your mother. Not for your friends. Not for Alex. For you.”

Dad pulls me in for a hug. He’s still got a couple inches on me. He says he kept growing until he was twenty one, so we both expected that one day I’d be taller than him. Right now, I’m grateful I’m not.

“Give her time,” he says, “but don’t wait for her.”

I don’t quite burst into tears, but it’s close. Going forward without her support will be so hard.

“It will be okay,” Dad holds me tight, “I love you, Maggie.”

I burst into tears.

I don’t see Mom as I get ready for school. I didn’t see her when I got home last night, either. Her car’s still there when I leave, so she hasn’t left for work. So, she just doesn’t want to see me. Is she so ashamed of me? I’ll find out eventually. She can’t hide from me forever.

📎 📎 📎

I’m on autopilot at school. I assume I went to first period, and when I check my notes, they’re there, but for all I know they could have appeared magically. I’m sitting in English class, a few seats away from Gina. I guess I avoided her on autopilot, too. I take a deep breath and try to focus on what the teacher is saying.

I’m going to transition. I’m going to get to be me.

Wait. I try again to focus on the teacher. She’s talking about characterization and plot. I must have missed something because she’s arguing that plot is more important than character, when I could have sworn she was saying the opposite at the beginning of class. I look at my notebook to see if I took any useful notes, but all I’ve written is “Maggie” about fifteen times. Focus. Get off of autopilot. Okay.

I manage to mostly follow the teacher for the rest of class. When she starts arguing that theme is most important, I get what she’s doing. I think. At least I take some real notes.

📎 📎 📎

“Gina,” I call, once I’m out of the class room, “Do you want to grab a sandwich with me at lunch?”

I’m done with autopilot. I’m done with being scared of consequences. I’m asking her out, even if it is just for lunch. No more hiding.

“With you and Alex?” She asks.

No. With just me. But I say, “Yeah.”

“Cool. I’ll meet you at your car.”

📎 📎 📎

I ambush Alex at their locker. “We’re taking Gina to lunch,” I inform them.

“I can’t,” they lie, “I’ve got to—”

“Uh-uh,” I interrupt, “I said ‘We’re taking Gina to lunch.’”

I can see the gears turning in their head. The excuse generator is spinning furiously. Too bad.

“Don’t bother. You’re coming.”

Their shoulders sag, “Fine. Let me just—”

They’re moving as if to head to the bathroom.

“Nope, Dom’s has bathrooms. Come on,”

This time their defeat looks a little more genuine.

📎 📎 📎

True to her word, Gina was waiting at my car. As I’ve previously established, I have no ability to have a conversation while I’m driving. Gina seems to be having trouble, too. It may be related to the way she is holding on for dear life to the dash.

“You do have your license, right?” She asks.

“Yeah.”

That, and various gasps and sudden exhalations are all that come out of her on the drive to Dom’s. Alex doesn’t let out a peep as they sulk in the back seat. This might not have been a great plan.

📎 📎 📎

Standing in line, then waiting for our order, the three of us talk about English. Gina likes Ms. Markham a lot. Alex thinks she’s adequate. I’m indifferent. I’m not crazy about English class, but at least she isn’t making it any worse than it might be, and she’s mildly entertaining.

I can tell what Gina really wants to be talking about. But she must know that talking about Alex when there are other kids from our school around might make her look crazy. Once we’ve got our sandwiches, we manage to grab the corner booth. It’s far enough away from the other tables that, if we’re quiet, we probably won’t be overheard.

Before any of us get our sandwiches unwrapped, Gina starts the questioning.

“Is it true that you’re a god?”

Alex rolls their eyes. “What makes you ask that?”

“Daniel told me.”

“Then ask Daniel.”

“But he already told me.”

“Well, there you go, then.”

Gina doesn’t give up that easily. “Okay, is it true that you told Daniel that you were a god?”

“I’ve told Daniel a lot of things.”

I’m half way through my sandwich at this point. Alex has taken one bite, and Gina’s is still wrapped up.

“I told you that they can’t tell you,” I say to Gina.

She looks from Alex to me, then back. Then she unwraps her sandwich. After a few bites, she tries again. “Are you Fey?” She asks Alex.

“What’s that?” They reply.

Now they’re being difficult on purpose. If they weren’t already.

“Never mind,” she says, “Would you say that Daniel is a liar?”

“I might, depending on the situation. But, probably not”

“Or crazy?”

“I’m not qualified to make a clinical assessment.”

Hah. They’re lying. They think they are qualified. I don’t quite manage to suppress a snort. Gina glares at me. I shrug an apology.

“You two need to finish your sandwiches, or wrap them up for the car. I don’t want to be late,” I say.