Faith

I kept time with the metronome as I pirouetted around my living room. I’d decided early on in my transition that I wanted to be more graceful, and ballet had seemed like a good way to accomplish that while staying in shape. Murder on the feet, but so worth it- I was, if nothing else, of a marginal amateur level of talent, which was all I was asking for. So, each night, I donned my workout garb, moved the orange couch and brown coffee table a few feet so they pressed against the back wall, rolled up the white carpet that normally covered the linoleum floor, and put on the metronome and danced around the living room.

The tumblers clicked on the lock, and my front door opened to reveal my handsome, dashing, wonderful roommate and best friend entering the apartment. 

I broke out of my pose and grabbed my towel off of the couch, blotting my sweaty face. “Hey!”

“Hi,” he said, taking off his suit jacket and sticking it in the coat closet that indented our apartment just to the left of the front door, hanging it alongside his leather jacket and my white overcoat.

“How’s it going?” I asked, switching off my metronome and pushing the couch and coffee table back into their normal positions in front of the plasma screen television.

“Oh, you know, it’s going,” Zeke said. “You have a good workout?”

“Yeah!” I said, trying my best to show off my winning smile. My orange sports bra and black tutu may not have been the most conventional ballet attire, but it did show off my abs, something I was very eager to do now that I had them. 

Dancing didn’t just help me get in shape and feel that sweet, sweet gender euphoria, either- it gave me a great opportunity to be alone with my thoughts and actually THINK them. And that evening, I’d come to two conclusions: one, my friendship and working relationship with Zeke was too important to risk destroying by asking him to be my boyfriend out of the blue, at least not when I had no idea if he felt the same way as I did; two, I wanted him to make the first move. Maybe I was old-fashioned, but the idea of the guy being the one to escalate the relationship from non-romantic to romantic really appealed to me. Plus, if I put out hints that I liked him, was a bit more flirty and forward than usual, and he slowly cottoned on to what I was getting at and then asked me out, then it would all be perfect. And if he didn’t pick up on the hints, or just wasn’t interested, I had plausible deniability. It was an immaculate plan, totally fool-proof. 

I put a hand on my hip and leaned forward to show off my modest boobs and toned abs and smooth legs. “How do I look?”

“Like you just worked out?” Zeke said, aiming for the fridge and retrieving his jug of cranberry juice. He reached into the liquor cabinet after that and pulled out the flask of vodka, then poured himself a shot of it mixed with a glass of cranberry juice. 

‘ Oh. Right. I was sweaty and gross. “Good point. I should hit the shower. After that, wanna hang out?”

“Sure, sure,” he said, nursing his drink, swirling it around in his hands, staring at the wall. 

“You okay, Zeke?” I asked, tilting my head. 

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, looked at the screen, and chuckled. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Sorry, I’m just a little tired.”

“Oh?” I said. “What were you off doing? I never got a chance to ask you before you left.”

“Oh, just hanging out with a friend.”

“Who?”

“Calloway,” he said. 

My eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, what?”

He took a long sip of his drink. “What?”

“Why were you hanging out with him?” I said, folding my arms over my chest and shrinking in on myself a bit. 

“Calloway texted me asking if I wanted to watch Gundam. I said yes, because I’m tired of all the weird hostility between us. And because I like Gundam,” Zeke said simply. “Honestly, Calloway is pretty cool outside of the ring.”

“Oh,” I said, taking a step back. “Fair enough. I… You can do what you want, but I’m probably not gonna hang out with him any time soon. You know that, right?”

“I mean, you two actually have more in common then you might think-”

“I… Am not crazy about that comparison, but if you say so, sure,” I said, taking another step back, pivoting left from the kitchen towards the hallway that led to the rest of our apartment. Finally, I turned around and went for the bathroom. “Glad you had fun, though. Seriously. You can never have too many friends. I’m gonna hop in the shower now.”

“Sounds good, Faithy,” he said, and he flashed that smile, and for a second everything was fine.

Everything was fine, fine, fine, fine, FINE. 

I showered, put my hair up in a towel, and wrapped a bathrobe around myself as I stepped out into the living room, where I found Zeke texting again while smiling that smile of his. The one that I knew wasn’t for me and me alone, but that I… 

No, stop that, Faith, he doesn’t owe you anything, I thought. He’s a person, and he can make his own decisions about what he does with his free time. 

Zeke and I wound up watching an old film noir that night, but I barely paid attention, and he was texting the entire time, smiling and chuckling every time his phone buzzed from a new message. I didn’t need to ask who it was.

***

The week went by normally, all things considered. Zeke and I worked on Dai Guren during the days, hung out and watched movies at night. Nothing was wrong, per se, but he was just always texting, and whenever I asked who he was talking to, he had the same answer:

Calloway. 

The one thing I found odd was that, despite the two clearly being close friends now (apparently), he always referred to Calloway by his last name. Never his first. And yeah, sometimes guys just did that, even with close friends, but even when he’d thought I was a guy Zeke called me by my first name. 

I tried to just keep it, keep him, out of my mind. Who Zeke spent his free time with was his business, and everyone needs more than one friend. I mean, I only needed one, but other people, yeah, they require multiple outlets for social engagement. And if Zeke and I were gonna start dating- which was not a guarantee, obviously, just something I’d really really really like to happen- then he would need a new platonic best friend. And I may not have been crazy about Keith Calloway, but hey, Zeke could do worse. Could be Olivia. 

Olivia. I had to go up against her in less than a week. I wasn’t crazy about that, but if nothing else, it might be a bit cathartic to defeat her. 

On Thursday morning, the day before our match, I decided to do a bit of shopping. I’d just gotten my monthly stipend from my parents- they were still a little iffy on the whole trans thing, still occasionally misgendered me and then immediately corrected themselves but got annoyed at me when I tired to correct them. But they were trying, and that was the important part. And hey, when both your folks are in the Army Corps of Engineers, wanting to build fighting robots for money is far from the worst thing you can do with your early twenties. I’ll get a real job someday- right now, though, I’m still figuring myself out. No reason I can’t do something I love while I do that. 

Zeke was passed out on the living room couch clutching his beloved baby seal plushie, Lacus. I jotted down where I was going and when I intended to be back on a sticky note and put it on his forehead. He didn’t wake up- the man slept like a rock, it was almost impressive- and I headed out. 

I cruised down Lincoln in the Star-Rocket Racer, weaving in and out of traffic as I headed for Venice. The best shops were in Santa Monica, but the more affordable and more trans-friendly ones tended to be in Venice. The air was warm with early-summer heat, the sky was clear and blue for miles, and the narrow street was uncrowded thanks to the just-shy-of-midday hours. The salty smell of the nearby ocean wafted through the air on a gentle, cooling seabreeze, and the clean street packed with shops and storefronts nearly sparkled in the sunlight. I wore my favorite off-white sleeveless sundress with a sunflower pattern, along with strappy wedge-heel sandals, a wide-brimmed black sun-hat, and a string of pearls around my neck that my mom had gifted me as a coming out present. I’d gone for a natural makeup look that day, subtle eyes and pink lipstick and just enough foundation to cover up my razor burn. My black cat purse was slung over my shoulder as I sauntered down the street, humming an Olivia Rodrigo song as I looked in the store windows. 

At the end of the street, I found a shop called ‘Surf Turf Apparel.’ Palm trees enclosed both sides of the brick store, and in the window was the most adorable green swing dress with white polka dots I’d ever seen. It looked a bit big for me (pros and cons of being hilariously short- thanks, hilariously short parents), but I could at least ask if they had anything more in my size. If not… I dunno, I could try shortening it myself. I’d always wanted to learn how to sew. 

I stepped inside and looked around- they had a lot of great dresses in here! Every style and color and fabric I could name, and plenty I couldn’t, hung from mannequins, harkening to eras as far back as the 1950s. At least one dress was there to represent each decade in the history of American fashion, standing proudly amidst the more standard beach apparel and SO MANY GORGEOUS HATS! I’d never been more in love with a shop this quickly! They had everything!

From the back of the store came an unnaturally high voice, what sounded like someone putting on a traditional female tone, perhaps someone, like me, who didn’t naturally speak in a feminine register. “Hi there!”

Poor thing- I’d gotten a bit better since I’d started doing vocal exercises on the daily. Maybe I could give her a few pointers. 

I looked at the source of the voice as she continued speaking, “Welcome to Surf Turf Apparel! How may I…”

The voice trailed off as I looked at the person behind the counter. We made eye contact. Prolonged eye contact. Prolonged, unblinking, silent eye contact. It was incredibly awkward. But when someone you low-key hated surprised you in a manner this thorough, it was hard not to be speechless and equally hard to look away. 

Calloway stood behind the wooden counter wearing a short-sleeved v-neck burgundy blouse, a golden butterfly necklace, and a full face of makeup- dark eyeshadow and red lipstick and very bold mascara. Her light brown hair was put up in a high but loose ponytail, with freshly-curled ringlets dancing about loosely on the sides of her face. Her eyebrows looked like they’d been freshly tweezed that very morning. It made her face look… Softer. Less aggressive. All of it together honestly made her look like a totally different person.

Was it ‘her?’ Should I be using ‘her’ for her? I should ask. 

But that would require me to do something with my mouth besides let it hang open in shock. Calloway, for her part, still wasn’t saying anything or blinking either. I think I understood now why Zeke had been exclusively using her last name around me. 

A tall, middle-aged woman (MILF, my brain automatically screamed) with long platinum hair, clad in a yellow A-line maxi-dress and flat white sandals, walked out from the back of the shop and said, “Close your mouth, Katie. Flies will nest. Also, you have a customer.”

“Hey, Mom, can I take my ten?” Calloway asked. 

“Sure. You want me to handle this one?” her evident mother asked. 

“Actually, Faith and I know each other, and we need to have a little talk.”

I was too shocked to react to this, too shocked to even do anything when Calloway… Katie, apparently… Grabbed me by the arm and shepherded me outside and into the alleyway next to what was APPARENTLY her family’s shop. Because of course it freaking was. 

“Okay,” I started, “So-”

“I’m not trans!” Calloway said, in that practiced high pitched voice of hers. 

I blinked. “Uh-huh. Right.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not something you should have other people confirm for you,” I said. “And because I think all this speaks for itself, so if you’re too blind to see it, then that ain’t my fault.”

She raised a finger, then lowered it and looked at the ground. “That’s a fair point.”

“So,” I said, arms folded together. Her eyes were instantly drawn to my chest, at which point I looked down and realized the fold was putting my cleavage on display. I tucked my arms away behind my back hurriedly. “Anyway. Was there anything else you wanted to say to me, or was it really just that?”

Calloway… Katie, or maybe it was still Keith on some level (hard to say with eggs this dense), exhaled audibly and said, “I need you to keep this to yourself.”

“Yeah, of course,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. 

“I mean it, Watanabe! I- wait, seriously, just like that?”

“Yeah, just like that,” I said, struggling to keep the monotone out of my voice. “Look, everything else that’s happened between us aside, I am not just gonna out somebody because of spite. I mean seriously, what kind of asshole do you take me for?”

She looked at me blankly, unblinking once more. 

My eyes narrowed. “Oh my God, what kind of asshole do you take me for?!”

She let her mouth hang open for ten agonizingly long seconds before saying, “Is that a rhetorical question?”

“It was, yeah. But now it’s not!” 

“I don’t think you’re an asshole! Okay, there! I said it. I just… Didn’t think you were gonna do me any favors because… Last time we talked, I… And you…”

I heaved a beleaguered sigh. “I… Uh, so about that-”

“I’m sorry for antagonizing you last season!” she suddenly shouted, stepping forward, grabbing my hands and squeezing them inside her own. 

My pulse quickened and my jaw dropped. What the heck was going on?

She kept going: “I just… I liked playing to the crowd. I get way too into it, though, and I forgot what’s fun and hammy for me might be obnoxious and overbearing to other people. I’m sorry. I should have talked to you about this, to your whole team about this, last year, instead of going after you every time I was on camera. I’m sorry.” 

She looked like she was on the verge of tears, sincerity and hope and despair radiating out from her very soul. Her blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight, her long lashes mesmerizing as she opened and closed her eyes rapidly. I could feel my face going red. Was I… 

No, no. She was cute in a freshly-hatched way, sure, but I wasn’t attracted to her- it was just aesthetic appreciation. 

“I forgive you,” I said, squeezing her hands back. “And I’m sorry for blowing up at you. I was… In a bad place. I’d just come out, and my girlfriend dumped me on the spot because of it.”

“Oh my God!” she said, finally releasing my hands from her grasp and putting them on her hips. Outraged painted over her face. “That’s horrible! That’s why she’s on a different team this year?!”

“Yup.”

“What a bitch!”

“Please don’t say that about my ex, I still care about her,” I said flatly. 

“Right! Right, sorry. I just…”

“You get carried away sometimes. I get it.”

“And you’re going up against her this week?” 

“Yup,” I said. “First match of the night, no less.”

“Ooof,” Katie said. I figured I should just call her that- seemed safest. “I’m going up against Haverfield and Ansible.”

“Ugh, I hate that guy,” I said. 

“Big same.”

“Kick his ass for me?” I asked.

She stood at attention and gave a salute, of the kind so formal it would make my parents proud. “Gotta make things up to you somehow.”

“Hey come on, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“Yeah, but I do,” Katie said. “I’m tired of being the jerk. But if I’m going up against another jerk… Well, I’ll feel less bad about it. Also, I… I wanna be friends with Zeke. And since you two are besties… Well, you and I should probably learn to coexist.”

I smiled. She was so… Sincere, so earnest. It was really surprising. She was also much cuter like this, so that probably helped disarm me a bit. “Fair enough! To co-existence.”

“Here, here!” she said, extending a hand. 

We shook, and I’ll admit, I was taken aback by how firm her grip was. She was definitely intense, definitely a lot, but… Maybe she and I could be friends.