“Fine, Mom. Normal.”
“Good.”
“Rough night?” I asked. Mom had been called out on a birth right after dinner.
“First-timers,” she said with a sigh, taking a sip of coffee. “No baby yet. I’m heading back there soon. I’ll text you if I’m going to be late.”
“Sure.” I leaned over and kissed her. “Good luck.”
She gave me a little wave.
Josh was already gone when I got to his house. That was cool; we had a deal where if I was more than five minutes late, he left without me. And today, I was way behind. I broke into a trot, then a full run when I heard the first bell from the crosswalk.
First period was kind of weird; I could’ve sworn people were staring at me, but every time I checked, they were all focused on the blackboard. I shrugged it off; Dr. Anne had said the shots might make me feel edgy.
After class, I spotted Madeline’s red hair through the crowded hallway. Breaking into a grin, I pushed through the mob.
“Hey!” I said when I reached her.
Madeline smiled up at me. “Hey. I talked to my parents. They’re okay with you coming over, but we have to study in the living room. And they want to meet you first.”
“That’s cool,” I said, although the thought was terrifying. What if they don’t like me?
“My mom wants to know if you can come over for dinner tomorrow night.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. Tomorrow was Friday, which was usually pizza and movie night with Mom, but I figured she’d understand. “What time?”
“Like, six o’clock?”
“Sounds great,” I said, trying to act casual.
“Okay.”
We were smiling at each other. Should I lean in and try to kiss her cheek or something? Maybe squeeze her shoulder? Did this mean she was officially my girlfriend?
It was all so confusing.
I was distracted by a couple of people staring at us. When I caught their eye, they looked away and walked faster. Edgy, I reminded myself. They probably weren’t really looking at us at all.
Madeline was frowning when I turned back to her. “What?”
“Oh, just . . . there’s a stupid rumor going around.” She looked uncomfortable.
I froze. “What kind of rumor?”
“Nothing. Just that idiot Nico,” she said dismissively. “His cousins told him something crazy, and now he won’t shut up about it. Ignore it and it’ll go away. Anyway, I’m late for pre-algebra. Bye!”
I stared after her. The bell rang. People hurried past me, their chatter sounding abnormally loud. I waited until the hall had cleared entirely, then walked to the bathroom on wobbly legs.
It was empty, thank God. I went into a stall, closed and locked the door, and sat on the toilet seat with my head in my hands. It felt like I was going to be sick. Nico was spreading a rumor about me. His cousins went to my old school. Josh hadn’t waited for me this morning. People were staring and whispering.
Ignore it, Madeline had said. It’ll go away.
But deep down, I knew it wouldn’t. I’d been waiting years for this to happen—dreading it—and now, at the worst possible time, my secret was out.
I was hit hard by a wave of vertigo. The bathroom stall seemed to lengthen as the walls pressed in, like the trash compactor scene in Star Wars. I couldn’t breathe, my chest shuddered as I tried to suck in oxygen that wouldn’t come.
Over and over, the roar in my head: they know.
TWELVE
When I was in music class in third grade, the teacher asked us to divide up into boys and girls. We were supposed to sing, “Free to Be . . . You and Me” for the next assembly, and there were different parts for each gender.
I don’t know what made me do it, but heart pounding, I climbed up to the boys’ riser. Ms. Cathy said, “Shane, you’re in the wrong row.”
“No, I’m not,” I said in a squeaky voice.
A few of the kids laughed; they thought I was trying to be funny.
Ms. Cathy tilted her head sideways, looking surprised. “I’m not kidding, Shane.”
“I’m not, either.”
At that, the class got really silent and still. The other kids were staring, eager to see what would happen next. Ms. Cathy didn’t seem to know what to do. She just kept frowning at me. After a minute, she cleared her throat and said, “All right, let’s take it from the top. Shane, we can talk after class.”
Ms. Cathy was one of my favorite teachers. She always wore wraparound skirts and scarves, and she smelled like spices. She was younger than the other teachers, too, which made her a lot nicer in general.
“So is anything wrong, Shane?” she asked once everyone else had filed out.
“No.” I stared at the floor, already regretting it. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut and gone with the girls.
“Are you sure? Because this is really unlike you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. My voice seemed to bounce off the walls, the high ceiling, the drums in the corner. Tears tugged at my eyes.
“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m just trying to figure this out.” Her brow wrinkled. “Were you trying to be funny?”
I slowly shook my head.
“Okay.” She bit her lower lip. “Then why did you want to go with the boys?”
Up until that point, I still hadn’t told anyone but Stella. This felt safe, though. Ms. Cathy seemed like the kind of person who would understand. So I drew in a big breath and said, “Because I’m really a boy.”
“I see. And do your parents know?”
I slowly shook my head.
“Okay.” Ms. Cathy sat there for a long time, rapping a tempo on the desk with her fingertips. Finally, she said, “You know what? Next class, I’m going to tell everyone they can take whatever part they want; splitting into boys and girls was kind of a silly idea anyway.”
“Okay,” I said, relieved.
“And Shane, I promise I won’t say anything to anyone. But, well . . . I’ve met your mom, and she seems like a good person to talk to about this sort of thing. Don’t you think?”
I nodded, even though the thought of telling Mom still terrified me.
When Mom picked me up from school that day, I was a mess. I couldn’t stop worrying that, despite her promise, Ms. Cathy had called her. Plus, my classmates were acting weird around me. At recess, a few of them asked why I’d gone with the boys; I didn’t know what to tell them, so I said I was just kidding around. But they didn’t all believe me.
Anyway, I was quiet the whole way home, and Mom kept asking if something was wrong. When I refused my snack, she sat me down at the kitchen table, and it all came out. I told her about what happened in music class. I confessed that I hated looking in mirrors because my hair was too long and made me look like a girl. I explained that I didn’t want to do ballet anymore, because only girls took that.
Mom just sat there and listened. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Her face was kind of closed, which was the scariest part. But then she pulled me onto her lap and hugged me, and said, “I’m so glad you told me.”
“You’re not mad?” I asked, sniffling. Somewhere along the line I’d started crying, and I couldn’t seem to stop.
“Of course I’m not mad, sweetheart. But I don’t know much about this. So why don’t we try to find out more?”
The next week she took me to see my first therapist, a nice lady named Diane who specialized in kids like me. She asked a lot of questions, like when I’d known I was a boy, and what the difference between boys and girls was. She had all these cool toys in her office, and she let me play with them. It was a huge relief to finally be open about everything; it felt like this enormous weight had been lifted.
After my first session, Mom took me to get my hair cut short. I swear I’d never been so happy. Other than that, not much changed. I still played with my friends, Mom and I still had movie night, Dad still brought me to the zoo. I hadn’t told him yet; Mom said I could wait until I felt ready.
Mom sat me down over Christmas break and said that it might be time to tell people at school. She called it “transitioning,” which basically meant letting everyone know I was really a boy. I didn’t want to at first, but she pointed out that I shouldn’t have to keep pretending to be something I wasn’t. “I’ll make sure the teachers help everyone understand,” she promised. “And if there are any problems, we’ll handle them together. Okay?”
I was nervous—actually, more like petrified—but in the end, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
The thing about third graders is that they’re generally pretty easy; if you tell them you’re a unicorn, they just go, “Oh, okay,” and you keep playing. I was kind of surprised by how well everyone took it. They didn’t always get the pronouns right, but they tried, and that mattered.
By the end of the year, it seemed like everyone was used to it. No one stopped being my friend or anything like that. I even accidentally got into a real fight; we were playing dodgeball, and this fourth grader threw the ball too hard, so I pushed him. He turned around and punched me in the chest, knocking me over.
Mom was pretty mad about that, and he ended up getting in a lot of trouble. But even though it hurt, I was really psyched that he’d treated me like a boy; he never would’ve hit a girl. And weirdly, that made me feel good, like I was finally being seen for who I was.
So when Mom announced that we were moving to L.A. because there would be more work for her there, I was devastated.
I barely spoke to her the whole summer. Watching all my stuff get packed up, having to say good-bye to the room I’d lived in since I was born—that was really, really hard. Mom kept trying to cheer me up, saying that I’d be in a great new school, with a public pool right down the street, but it didn’t matter. I was convinced she was ruining my life.
That was when she said that if I didn’t feel like it, I wouldn’t have to tell anyone at my new school. She called it “stealth mode,” like I was a bomber jet or something. Apparently a lot of other trans kids did that, and it usually worked out fine. Still, I didn’t really trust that it would for me.
Looking back, I’m sorry I acted like such a brat. Because moving turned out to be the best thing we could’ve done. I walked into fourth grade wearing basketball shorts and sneakers, my Volcom backpack over my shoulder, and everyone just saw me as a boy. I wasn’t the “special” boy anymore; everyone treated me like I was normal. Until then, I hadn’t even realized how different it had been at my old school. Sure, they’d been great, but they still behaved like I was fragile and had to be handled carefully. I don’t blame them for that; it’s just how it was.
Now it was hard to remember my life in San Francisco; sometimes it felt like a dream.
I walked out of the bathroom and left school without telling anyone. I’d never done anything like that before. I thought about going to the nurse, but she’d call Mom, and I really just wanted to be alone.
I walked home slowly. There weren’t many cars on the streets, and the only people I passed were moms with strollers. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny, but all I could see was gray.
I opened the door with my key, dumped my pack on the floor, crossed to the couch, and collapsed on it.
I don’t know how long I stayed there. I kind of lost all sense of time. I couldn’t get up the energy to watch a show, or to eat anything. I just lay there staring at the ceiling, wondering what to do. The options seemed pretty limited, and none of them were great.
I could just lie and say that Nico was wrong, his cousins didn’t know what they were talking about, they were confused. The problem was if he made any sort of effort, it would be easy to prove. Anyone who went to the Creative Academy could find pictures of me with long hair. And if Nico brought those in and passed them around, it would make things even worse.
I could do what Madeline said and just ignore it. Unless people asked straight out, and not many probably would, it would just be a rumor. Kind of like last year, when everyone was talking about how Jordan Taylor’s arm had been broken by his dad, not in a skateboarding accident like he’d said. Once the cast came off, though, people seemed to forget about it. That could work, for a while; but what if Josh asked, or Madeline? Would I have to lie to them, too?
Or we could move again, which seemed like the best option. We could even go back to San Francisco, but to a different school. I’d legally change my name this time, and would just avoid everyone from our old life.
Of course, then I’d be leaving the baseball team, and Josh. But there were club teams in San Francisco, I told myself. I’d started over before. I could do it again.
I must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, Mom’s cool hand was on my forehead. I opened my eyes; she was perched next to me on the couch, looking worried. There were deep circles under her eyes, and her hair was tied back in a messy bun.
“Did they have the baby?” I croaked.
She broke into a smile. “A little girl.” Mom moved her hand down to my cheek. “Why are you home already? It’s only two o’clock.”
“I felt sick,” I said.
Mom tilted her head. “I didn’t get a call from the nurse.”
“I didn’t go to the nurse,” I muttered. “I just came home.”
Mom looked at me for a minute. I could tell she wanted to ask more questions, but something in my expression must have changed her mind. “Can I make you some tea?”
I nodded. While I listened to her clattering around in the kitchen, I debated the best way to tell her that I wanted to move back to San Francisco. It didn’t seem like such a great idea anymore.
Five minutes later she brought me tea: sugar cookie flavor, my favorite. I sat up and sipped some, but it didn’t make me feel better.
“So,” I finally said. “A little girl, huh?”
“Maybe.” Mom’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “We both know it can be hard to tell at first, right?”
It was silly, but that made me start crying. Mom moved quickly to sit beside me. Tucking my head into her shoulder, she said, “Oh, honey. What happened?”
So I told her about Madeline, and Nico’s cousins, and the rumors. I explained how everyone had been staring at me, and how Josh might not be my friend anymore.
When I finished, Mom sat there for a minute looking thoughtful. “Maybe Madeline’s right. If you ignore it, it might just go away.”
“I doubt it,” I said. “Nico’s been telling everyone.”
She cupped my chin in her hand. “I bet hardly anyone even believes that it’s true.”
“But it is true!” I wailed.
“No, it’s not,” she said firmly. “Anyone who knows you at all knows that you’re a boy, and always have been. And pretty soon, you’ll look even more like one.”
“So you think I should keep lying?” I said slowly. My voice was thick with emotion; it was hard to force the words out.
“Not lying, exactly, no. I mean, we’ve talked about this; it’s not a lie, it’s private. Right?”
I nodded reluctantly. But deep down, I was thinking that at some point this had stopped being private and started to become a secret I was keeping from my friends. Was I just supposed to go through life keeping them at arm’s length? Because that sounded awfully lonely.
“Okay. So maybe we should do some role-playing to prepare for the different things people might say.” When I groaned, she gave me a tight smile. “I know, it’s been a while since we did that. But it never hurts to practice, right?”
When I first transitioned, Mom and I spent hours role-playing different scenarios: what to do when we ran into someone who’d known me as a girl, how to handle it when a friend called me “she” and not “he,” what to say if I was teased.
&n
bsp; We’d even prepared for something like this, soon after moving here. But that was a few years ago. I didn’t think that launching into “I’ve got a boy brain in a girl body” would go over well with kids my age.
“I’m doomed,” I muttered, picturing it.
“Listen to me,” Mom said, bending down so I had to meet her eyes. “We’re going to get through this. I promise it’s all going to be okay.”
THIRTEEN
When my alarm beeped the next morning, I turned it off and rolled over, staring at the ceiling. I’d barely slept all night. I kept envisioning worst-case scenarios every time I closed my eyes. The entire baseball team staring at me. People pointing and laughing. Getting jumped in the bathroom, my face forced into a toilet. Officially, McClane had all these antibullying rules; but that didn’t mean they were followed. I’d been lucky enough to avoid being a target before, but maybe that was about to change.
From my doorway, Mom said, “Good morning, sweetheart.”
“I don’t feel good,” I muttered, turning to face the wall.
“I see.” She came over and sat on the edge of the bed. “School must seem pretty scary today, huh?”
I didn’t answer.
There was a long pause, and then she said, “I can let you stay home if you want, but honestly, that’s only putting it off. Maybe you should just find out what the situation is. Otherwise, you’ll be sitting here all day wondering.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, hating the truth in her words. It wasn’t like I could just drop off the face of the planet, even if that was tempting. “What if they all know?”
“Then they all know,” she said gently. “And we’ll figure out what to do next. Maybe I should go in and talk to Principal Newell.”
I sat bolt upright. “What? No! That would only make things worse. Promise you won’t?”
Mom sighed. “Okay. But if anything bad happens, call me immediately. Got it?”
I swallowed hard. “Got it.”
She patted my back. “Better hurry, or you’re going to be late.”
I managed to choke down a few bites of cereal before leaving. Outside, the colors seemed too bright. It was already nearly eighty degrees, and I was sweating by the time I reached Josh’s house.
The Other Boy Page 6