“Keith”

Fight night came faster than usual that week. I spent an hour debating what to wear in front of my mirror before deciding to go masc for the evening. I’d spent most of the week wearing hardly anything besides feminine clothing- I’d even put on a pair of cutoff jean shorts when I was in the garage wrenching on Poly. It felt… Weird, wearing boys’ clothes again. Wrong, almost.

No, no, not ‘almost.’ It felt wrong. It felt like I was wearing clothes made of sandpaper, sliding over my skin and scraping it every time I moved. Everything was screaming at me, and my brain was smothered by a tight layer of plastic wrap that kept it from forming normal, rational thoughts.

I wondered, for not nearly the first time in the past seven days, if maybe… Maybe this was a sign I shouldn’t try to be a boy anymore. It felt… Easier to be a girl. Better. I was happier when I was in dresses- not even I could deny that. But still, the idea of saying that out loud, of committing to it… It was like wading out into a section of ocean oversaturated with slimy seaweed. It scared me, filled me with shame, made me feel like… A…

A pervert. That’s what I was. All I’d ever be.

I tried to swallow that as I finished making some more adjustments to Poly while in the pits, and jumped when someone said, “Hey.”

I yelped, and then registered it was Zeke and Faith.

“Maybe switch to decaf, huh Calloway?” Zeke said, that stupid, smug, handsome smile plastered to his face. Ugh. That was the worst part of all- when I was in girls’ clothes, when I was Kate, it felt normal and natural for me to get a little flustered when I saw Zeke, for me to want to stare at his face and appreciate how handsome it was, for me to feel at ease in his presence and want to stand closer to him. But when I was Keith, it just felt… Wrong. I felt wrong. He felt wrong. Not even different, but like it didn’t match me, and it just made the proverbial sandpaper of my male identity scratch and scrape me even more than it did already.

“Probably a good idea,” I said, breaking off eye contact.

“You wanna watch us?” Faith asked.

My eyes went wide and I blushed as an IMAGE went through my brain. I gulped, and the burning feeling inside my skull was extinguished ever so slightly as I realized it was time for their fight. “Yeah!” I squeaked. “Yes. Good look out there! I’ll be out in a minute cheering for y’all.”

“Thanks,” Faith said. “We’re gonna need it.”

“Good luck with your fight too, yeah?” Zeke said, offering me a thumbs up. STOP. BEING. SO. ATTRACTIVE. STOP MAKING ME FEEL LIKE AN EVEN BIGGER PERVERT THAN I ALREADY AM. GAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

“Thanks,” I said with an even tone.

I want to say I wasn’t staring at his butt as he left. I really, really want to say that. But…

You get the idea.

Eventually, I got tired of making minor adjustments and tweaks and just went outside to watch the fight.

I’d never been able to get much of a read on Olivia Root. I’d only ever really known her as Faith’s girlfriend, frequently either in the pilot’s seat or operating a secondary weapon. On at least one occasion, they’d busted out a mini-bot that Olivia had piloted personally. She was a good driver- really good, in fact, but as last season had gone on Faith had done more and more of the piloting personally. Which wasn’t a bad thing, per se, but…

Look, Faith is a great engineer, but I’m not being arrogant when I say I could drive circles around her most of the time. Mostly because Olivia could drive circles around me. It didn’t excuse her for doing what she’d done, but still… I could see why she might have been frustrated with her partner’s actions even before the whole ‘awkward coming out’ thing.

That was a concept that terrified me: I’d always been a one man… One person band. My own engineer, my own mechanic, my own pilot. But there were other people I needed. My parents were the most supportive folks on the planet, but I didn’t know if the same could be said for my sponsor. And what if I got a girlfriend some day. Would she be okay with… Whatever it is I am?

Zeke would be. The thought went through me like a bullet, tearing through layers of cognitive dissonance. I shook my head as I walked through the archway into the contestant’s viewing area, a dugout of sorts near the commentators side as the opening hype-monologues rolled. I squirmed a little bit and adjusted my panties discreetly, making sure no trace of them went above the top line of my jeans.

I looked across the arena and saw Faith and Zeke walking into their control area, Olivia operating with a small team in her own square.

The mechanical voice wailed, “ROBOTS, ACTIVATE!”

And it began.