Sunday afternoon, Alex swings by the house for lunch. Apparently my dad invited them. It’s fine. We even discuss our upcoming English project. I ask them if I can read their report. It’s on a different book than mine, so it’s not cheating. I’m just curious. I figure they’ll email it to me later.

Instead, they fish around in their backpack (where did they get that anyway? Did they steal it? Does it count as an office supply?), pull out a composition book and hand it over. They’ve written it out by hand. Of all the stuff about them, that may be the weirdest.

Their penmanship is perfect. After reading the first paragraph or so I start skimming, looking for any sign of a mistake. A smear. A misspelled word. Nope. I guess they are a god. Other than that, the paper’s decently written. No better than mine, really. Or, at least not much better.

It’s getting time for me to give them a ride “home.” I don’t want to bring it up, but I don’t want them to show up at school tomorrow unprepared. I don’t want to show up at school tomorrow unprepared.

“So,” I stall. “About Gina.”

They hold up a hand. “I told you, I can’t—”

“No, no. It’s not about that. She came by the shelter Saturday while I was working. She said she was looking for a cat.”

“It is a good place for that.”

“I think she was really there to talk about you.”

I’m a little disappointed when they don’t look particularly surprised. I wait a moment for them to comment, but eventually give in and go on.

“She thought maybe you were Fey. That’s—”

“Everybody knows what Fey is. What did you say?”

“I said you weren’t.”

“And?”

“She wanted to know what I thought was up with you.”

“Did you tell her?”

“You said you could only tell one person.”

“And?”

“I didn’t want to mess up your bet.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t tell anyone.”

Okay. That’s true. “I just assumed . . .”

“You can tell her what you want. The truth. Something you make up. Whatever.”

I went into this conversation dreading it. They were going to remind me of our deal. Make me swear to keep their secret. But this is worse. I have to make my own choice.

📎 📎 📎

I manage to avoid Gina for a little bit by showing up to English right at the bell, and rushing out at the end of class. I still haven’t decided what to say to her. I plan to go off campus for lunch to make sure I don’t see her then, but she’s waiting for me at my car. Great. Now I have two stalkers.

I don’t turn and run. I want to. But I don’t. I approach her. I can do this. I’m ready for her questions.

“How do you keep getting this parking place?”

Okay. Not that one.

“Is Alex doing some weird Fey magic for you?” She continues.

“I told you they’re not Fey.”

“But it made you really nervous. So how do you keep getting this parking place?”

What do I say? I want to date her. How can I do that if I lie to her? You can’t have a good relationship built on lies. So I guess I’m going with the truth.

“I’m honestly not sure. The only theory I’ve come up with is that it’s a favor from the Goddess of the Parking Places.”

Of course, it’s probably hard to start a relationship with someone who thinks you’re crazy, so I probably haven’t done myself any favors here. At least I can live with myself.

“Really? Is that who they are?”

“Who?”

“Alex. Who else?”

Wait. She doesn’t think I’m crazy? Or maybe she’s just humoring me.

“Should I be calling them she?” She continues, “I mean, if they’re a goddess.”

I try to catch up. “No, no,” I say, “They’re not the Goddess of the Parking Places,” I take a deep breath. Then another. “They’re the God of Paperclips.” I pause, then add hurriedly, “and Other Small Office Supplies.”

She’s silent for a moment. Digesting this. I wish I were digesting my lunch right now, instead of having this conversation. She keeps considering.

“Let’s get some lunch,” she says.

We have lunch. Luckily there’s no line left in the cafeteria, so we’re able to grab something and get to a table with time to wolf it down. We eat in blessed silence.

We’re dumping our trays when she finally speaks, “So if I ask them, that’s what they’ll tell me?”

Well, Alex said I could tell her any of it. So I tell her all of it. Except for the part about the deal.

“That’s pretty convenient,” she says, when I get to the part about Alex only being able to tell one person.

“Why is that?”

“They can’t confirm your story.”

“You can believe it or not. I’m not trying to convince you of anything. You came to me, after all.”

“Point,” she responds.

The bell is going to ring any minute. I feel like I can’t just walk away, though. She’s got that thoughtful look on her face again.

“So you’re dating a god,” she says, “Huh.”

Wait? What? No.

And the bell rings. Before I can respond to her, explain that that isn’t what’s going on, we’re separated by a wave of students rushing to get to class.

📎 📎 📎

I nearly lose a finger in welding class, I’m so distracted. Instead of focusing on what’s in front of me, I’m picturing Gina’s face as she said I was dating a god. What was that expression? Was she intrigued? Envious? Maybe disappointed?

I’m lucky that the teacher wasn’t looking, so I don’t lose equipment privileges. I’m not completely stupid, though. I yield the equipment early to the next student and step aside. I’d like to keep all my digits in place and uncooked.

📎 📎 📎

I’m at home, still worrying. I won’t see Gina again until Wednesday. She’ll have all that time to cement the idea in her head. Maybe I should call her. I don’t have her number, though. She didn’t have a cell phone yet back when we were friends. I know her home phone, but calling her on that would be weird. I could email her. That might seem desperate and defensive. Maybe DM her? No, even worse.

But should I correct her at all? Won’t it sound desperate? Besides, maybe that was a little disappointment I saw in her face. People want what they can’t have, and maybe if she thinks I’m dating Alex, she’ll get interested in me. After all, if I’m worthy to date a god, well, that’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?

School is not going as well as I’d like. For some reason, I’m having trouble focusing on my school work. I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’ve managed to become friends with a god, I’ve finally come out to my parents as trans, and I have a date with my crush.

Maybe date is too strong a word. Gina texted me after school and asked me to meet her this evening. Which I can’t, because I’m working. But she’s going to come by the shelter again and hang out while I clean crap out of animal enclosures. Okay, date is definitely too strong a word. One might even say a completely wrong word.

Thinking about all this is why I get approximately zero percent of my homework done before heading to the shelter. Technically, this violates my agreement with my parents. I’m only allowed to have the job if I’m getting all necessary homework done before going in. My defense, should I need one, will be based on the vagueness of the word “necessary.” It’s somewhat less than an ironclad defense.

📎 📎 📎

I get to the shelter before Gina. Which is great. I wanted a little more time to prepare myself. Alex, however, is already there. That’s not so great. But I suppose I should have expected it, since we completely missed each other at school today. They walk over to my car as I park.

“Good evening,” they say.

“What are you doing here?” It’s a stupid question. I know why they’re here. It’s our daily check in. “Never mind,” I continue. “Just bask in my aura or whatever it is you do so you can clear out.”

“Why the rush? I thought you were over being mad at me.”

“Gina’s coming.”

“So?”

Fair point. Why do I not want Alex to be here when Gina gets here? Am I worried that she’ll take it as more evidence that Alex and I are dating? Or am I worried that she’ll see how we are together and know we aren’t? I hate not knowing what I want. It’s exhausting.

“It’s complicated,” is the only answer I can come up with.

“Did you tell her about me?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Everything, almost.”

“Almost?”

“I didn’t tell her about our deal.”

They nod, “That makes sense. How’d she take it?”

I’m clearly not getting rid of them any time soon. I sigh and walk into the building to clock in. They follow.

📎 📎 📎

I’ve cleaned three cages and mostly explained Gina’s reaction, and my reaction to her reaction, when the subject of the conversation arrives. She strides into the room like she owns the place.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says.

I wave it off.

“I thought I heard you talking to someone in here,” she continues.

I look around. Alex is nowhere to be seen. How did they do that? There is another door, but I’m sure it didn’t open. Mostly sure, anyway. Okay, then. I don’t have to mention them.

“Alex was here,” I say, “But apparently they just left.”

Gina looks around. “Do they do that a lot? ” She asks, “Just disappear?”

I shrug and turn back to the enclosure I’m working on. “Why’d you want to meet?” I ask.

“I wanted to discuss plans.”

“Plans for what?”

“Helping Alex, of course.”

Gina is worried about Alex losing their bet. She’s convinced that they can’t make it through the whole year without money. Further, she’s decided that it’s our job to make sure that they do, that Alex wins that bet.

“Why, exactly, is that our responsibility?” I ask.

“I didn’t say it’s our responsibility,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t do anything,” I reply, “I’m already helping out, and it seems to me they’re doing fine.”

“They’re living in the storeroom of an office supply store.”

“It’s like living in a church, for them.”

“That’s supposed to be better?” she replies, “Anyway, they’re stealing their lunches and breakfasts from vending machines.”

“Not lunches. They managed to get set up on the free lunch program.”

“How’d they do that?”

I have no idea. I didn’t ask, because I’m probably better off not knowing. According to my dad, that’s called plausible deniability. It sounded sketchy when he told me about it, but, hanging out with Alex, I’m starting to appreciate the idea a bit more.

“Anyway,” I say, “I’m, like, ninety-nine and a half percent sure Alex will win the bet without any help from us.”

“Oh, really?”

There was an obvious plan. At least I couldn’t see any flaws with it. The way I see it, the easy, if really boring, way out would be for them to get arrested and thrown in juvenile detention. Or, even easier, considering Alex, convincing the school that they’re crazy and getting locked up.

I don’t say any of that. I don’t have any money on me, but Gina probably does. I’m not sure how the god of money would react to hearing that they’ve been tricked. That Alex was never in any real danger of losing.

“They’re resourceful,” is all I actually say. Before she can respond, I continue, “But I’ll help some. I’m just not going to let my life get turned any further upside down by them.”

“How has your life been turned upside down?’

Oops. For obvious reasons, I’d left the whole bit about Alex practically outing me out of the stories so far. So far exactly five people (or four people and a god) know I’m trans. I’m not ready to increase that number, just yet. Maybe never.

“Just some stuff that came up at home while they were staying with us,” I say.

There. No lie. Not even a lie of omission. It’s none of her business, after all.

She lets it go. Instead of pressing, she starts laying out plans and contingencies to make sure that Alex makes it back to the Divine. I’ll give her this. She is persistent

And smart.

Cute, too.