“I understand,” I said, looking down at my hands.
“All right then,” he said, pulling out a prescription pad and scribbling on it. “Stop by the front desk to take care of your copay and make your next appointment, and I’ll see you back here in a month. Good to meet you, Amanda.”
“You too,” I said, feeling like I was walking through a dream as I made my way back to the lobby.
* * *
Later that night, after the moon had risen and Mom had long since gone to sleep, I took my bottle of estradiol and a can of Diet Coke into the backyard. The grass was cool and wet between my toes, and the frogs and crickets were singing softer than usual. I fell back in the grass and stared up at the faintly glowing crescent moon. Its points were facing to the right, which meant it was just emerging from the darkness of the new moon.
I opened the pill bottle, fished one out, and held it above me. The tiny blue oval felt dry and powdery on my wet fingers. God, it was so small, only a third the size of my pinky nail, and yet it was everything. Breasts and sterility were irreversible side effects, but I knew I was never going back.
It was going to be hard. I was going to have to pretend to be a boy for a little while longer. No matter how much I tried to hide it, classmates and family members were going to notice my body change. The bullying would probably be worse than ever, but somehow, now, I felt like I could handle it. I felt like, as Amanda, I could face things that would have kept me cowering in bed before.
I closed my eyes, placed the pill on my tongue, and washed it down with a sweet, bubbling sip of soda. Then I lay my head back down, closed my eyes, and bathed in moonlight, letting myself dream of how good life could be every now and then.
33
The girls picked me up outside Dad’s apartment for the first day of my second semester in Lambertville. I settled into the left rear seat, next to Chloe, same as always, and in the quiet moment before we would hurriedly catch up with one another I breathed and marveled at how normal everything felt. The world had ended, and yet the world was still here.
“The prodigal daughter returns!” Layla said, beaming at me in the rearview.
“It’s good to be back,” I told them honestly. “I missed you guys.” I hesitated for a moment, then asked what I’d been afraid to ask. I leaned forward so my head was between the two front seats and looked at Anna. I couldn’t help noticing she was having a hard time looking at me. “Are we okay?”
Anna started to say something, but Layla gave her a dangerous look. She looked thoughtful, and started again. “Lord knows I don’t walk the straight and narrow,” she said, very primly. “None of us is perfect except God, right? So I think it’s a sin”—there was another furious look from Layla—“but I think lots of things are sins and Jesus died so we’d be forgiven for our sins, so…”
“Okay,” I said, gently putting a hand on her shoulder, “but are you still my friend?”
“Of course!” Anna said. “Just ’cause I’m grappling with the … the…”
“The metaphysics,” Layla said.
“With the metaphysics doesn’t mean I don’t still love you and Chloe like sisters!”
“That’s all I need to know then,” I said, falling back into my seat and sharing a smile with Chloe.
“I did do some reading though, online,” Anna said, turning to face me. “And if I ever do or say anything homophobic or transphobic, y’all just let me know, okay? And I’ll have a talk with the folks at church, Amanda, ’cause everybody loved you and I want you to feel comfortable coming back.”
I put my hand over hers and felt a prickling tenderness in my fingertips. “Thank you.”
“Of course she’s the one that gets thanked,” Layla said. “You and Chloe with your super-secret queer girls club—”
“Actually,” Chloe said, stifling a laugh and glancing at me, “I had no idea she was tra—”
“And Anna just mutters something about Jesus sort of loving you and suddenly she’s an angel and meanwhile I was there with you when your dad punched Grant—”
“Your dad punched Grant?” Anna said, her mouth wide.
“I pulled a loaded gun on Parker,” Chloe reminded nobody in particular.
“But who cares about Layla? No one, obviously! I’m just the girl with the car nobody gives a shit about, so why—”
“Layla!” I said. She stopped and glanced back at me. I hugged her from behind and kissed the top of her head. “You shush. You’re a treasure. Thank you guys so much.” I thought of Andrew then, that sad child who wanted desperately for someone to be a friend, for someone to understand, who never could have imagined a future like this. Who couldn’t imagine a future at all.
“That’s all I wanted,” Layla said, flipping her hair and giving a haughty look to the middle distance as she pulled into the parking lot. “Just, you know, some recognition of my grandeur.”
We all got out of the car and hugged. Anna and Layla had to rush off to an early student-government meeting, but Chloe and I had nowhere in particular to be for fifteen minutes.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Chloe said as we sat cross-legged in the grass by the front steps. “For being jealous about Bee. I know you never liked her like that.”
I sighed. “No, not like that,” I said. “But I’m still sorry.” I hadn’t heard from Bee yet, and I wasn’t sure what it would be like when I saw her. Maybe she would try to apologize, try to be my friend again. But no matter what she said, I knew I couldn’t let her back into my life. What she did hurt me even more than Parker, even more than the assault in the mall bathroom, because I had trusted her. I knew now I would have to be careful with who I let myself get close to. But maybe that was a lesson everybody had to learn.
“Don’t apologize,” Chloe said. She plucked two long pieces of grass and held them between her index and middle fingers. “Really, don’t. It was just that you were new, and pretty, and you just came in and got everything you wanted, and then it felt like you took her too. And it was like everything was so hard for me, while it seemed so easy for you. But I know now that it ain’t that simple.”
I gave her a wry smile. “No. ‘Simple’ is not a word that has ever described my life.”
We sat for a few minutes in pleasant silence before I asked, “So I haven’t heard anything since homecoming … how’s your family been about the news?”
“My folks’re a work in progress,” Chloe said with a shrug. “My brothers sort of always knew, and they’re more or less okay. They say Bee’s lucky she’s a girl or they’d’ve run her over in our pickup for what she did at homecoming.”
“Misogyny saves the day?” I said.
“It’s all bluster,” Chloe said, letting the blades of grass get blown away by the wind.
“Chloe?” I said, looking around to make sure nobody was looking. “I’m going to do something now, as a friend, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, knitting her brows. I pulled her into a bone-crushing hug and kissed her on the cheek. “You are a fucking amazing girl and whatever town you end up in, whatever girl you end up with, they’re all lucky to have you.”
“Thank you,” Chloe said, her cheeks bright red. She brushed off her jeans as we both stood up. “And you—whatever guy you end up with’ll be lucky too.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder. “Think it’ll be Grant? Is there any way?”
I checked the clock on my phone, stood, and shrugged as I picked up my own bag. “I have no idea,” I said. “But I guess I’ll find out today.”
* * *
As I made my way to homeroom, I kept my eyes locked on the glossy floor tiles, afraid to look up and make eye contact with my classmates. The bell hadn’t rung yet and the hallways reverberated with the sounds of sneakers on floor tile and slamming locker doors.
“Welcome back,” I heard a voice say, and looked up to see a mousy girl with cat-eye glasses gripping the straps of her backpack and smiling at me. She looked vaguely familiar, but I didn’t think we’d e
ver spoken before. I realized that even though I didn’t know her, she knew me, and the thought that she noticed I was gone—and that I’d come back—made me smile.
I continued down the hall with my head held high. A few classmates looked away when I passed, but the rest nodded in my direction or waved. As I rounded the corner toward homeroom, I stopped short. A dozen students were milling outside the locked classroom door, waiting for the teacher to arrive, and my eyes were immediately drawn to Grant’s broad back. My mouth tugged in a smile at the sight of him, but then he turned around, and my brain caught up.
The crowd parted for him easily, all eyes on us. He looked around and registered how many people were staring. “Can we go somewhere else?”
I nodded and together we walked down the hall and into the empty cafeteria.
When the doors closed behind us he looked up. His eyes were shining, his gaze unreadable.
“Hey,” he said again.
“Hey.” I looked down. “How are you?”
“I got news,” he said, squinting and rubbing the back of his neck, looking away again. “I won the Hope Scholarship to go down to Chatt State.”
“Congratulations!” I said, meaning it. “I’m really happy for you.” Our eyes met again for a moment and words passed silently between us. I love you and I need you. I’m sorry and forgive me.
“Sorry about my dad,” I said finally.
“Ah,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose where the blow had hit. “He’s got a mean right hook for an old guy.”
I looked away, but couldn’t help smiling. “I’ll tell him you said so.”
“I understand though,” Grant said. I returned my eyes to him. He was leaning against the wall, looking up at the lights, picking nervously at his thumbnail. “What Parker did … your dad thought it was me.” I nodded. “It’s not exactly the same, but if anybody hurt Avery or Harper…” He clenched his fists. His eyes were wide when they met mine again, and there was too much behind them to decipher. “I’d probably do more than punch ’em.”
“I’m glad you understand,” I said, reaching out to touch his arm but stopping myself. He noticed the movement and sighed.
The bell rang, but neither of us moved.
“You didn’t call,” I said, trying to keep the hurt from my voice.
“Neither did you,” Grant said softly before giving me a rueful smile.
“I guess not,” I said, running my fingers through my hair. “I assumed you were done with me.” I looked up, taking in his long-lashed dark eyes and boyish, open face. I thought about the first time we kissed, the feeling of weightlessness at the lake, driving in his truck, all the moments we had shared, and the memories he had given me. They were the realest, truest moments of my life, and yet to him, they now probably felt like lies. “Honestly, I would have understood if you were done with me.”
“Yeah?”
“I never wanted you to find out that way,” I told him. “I’m sorry if I … embarrassed you.” For a second I found the old shame creeping up, threatening to pull me back under.
“More embarrassing for you,” he said. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
“I told you I loved you at the dance,” I said. “I didn’t know if you heard me.”
He shook his head. My heart throbbed.
“I didn’t abandon Tommy,” he said, his expression serious, “and I won’t abandon you.”
I exhaled a breath. “That’s sweet, but what does that mean?” I shook my head. “Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“You do?” I said, taken aback.
“I’ve shared more of myself with you than anybody else,” he said. “And, even if I burned the note, you shared everything with me. Whatever we are…”
“‘Whatever we are’?” I said, my throat clenching up. “So we’re not…?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I tried to look stuff up while you were gone, but I don’t have a computer, and it turns out when you do a search for ‘transsexual’ on the library computers—let’s just say I ain’t allowed in the library for a while.” He rubbed his arm and opened his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know if I can understand, and even if I can understand I just don’t know…” He trailed off. His shoulders sagged. “I don’t know, Amanda. I just … I just wish you were a girl.” His eyes widened as the words came out. “I mean, I wish you were never … I wish you were always…”
“No,” I said, the strength in my voice surprising me, that one word so clear in the empty space. He sniffed and shifted his weight. “I was always a girl, always,” I said, my eyes burning. “See you around, Grant.” I turned and started to walk away but he grabbed my shoulder.
“I wanna try,” he said. He took his hand away and I turned back. “I think I need to hear it from you, though.”
I heard the kids down the hall shuffling into homeroom. I stayed where I was. “I still have the letter I wrote you,” I said slowly. “I could print it again.”
“No,” he said. “I’d like you to tell me face-to-face.”
“Okay,” I said after a moment. “How about tonight?”
* * *
Grant’s car motor was the only sound cutting the peaceful silence of the lake. I turned and watched him get out, my heart hammering at my chest. In the soft light at the end of the day, it felt like I was seeing him for the first time. His shaggy black hair rippled in the soft, cold breeze, and his dark eyes practically twinkled when they caught mine. He was wearing a faded old hoodie, jeans, and work boots, but even through his clothes I could tell how strong and graceful he was when he walked.
“Evening,” he said, flashing me a smile.
“Hi,” I said, taking a long, deep breath and closing my eyes. A silent moment passed as I readied myself for what was to come. “Where do you want me to start?”
“At the beginning,” Grant said. In the distance, a lone cicada made its call. “I wanna know everything, if you’re okay with telling me.”
“Okay,” I said, as I led him to the tree house. We settled in, not looking at each other, our eyes trained ahead on the sparkling water as it faded from the brightness of day to the dark glimmer of night. “I’ll start with my birth name.”
As I spoke I thought back to what Virginia had said weeks before, about getting anything you wanted if you let yourself believe you deserved it. For as long as I could remember, I had been apologizing for existing, for trying to be who I was, to live the life I was meant to lead. Maybe this would be the last conversation I would ever have with Grant. Maybe not. Either way, I realized, I wasn’t sorry I existed anymore. I deserved to live. I deserved to find love. I knew now—I believed, now—that I deserved to be loved.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
To my cisgender readers—which is to say, to those of you who are not trans: Thank you for reading this. Thank you for being interested. I’m nervous about what you might think of this book, though maybe not in the way you might think. I am, of course, anxious that people might not like it, but even more than that I’m worried that you might take Amanda’s story as gospel, especially since it comes from a trans woman. This prospect terrifies me, actually! I am a storyteller, not an educator. I have taken liberties with what I know reality to be. I have fictionalized things to make them work in my story. I have, in some ways, cleaved to stereotypes and even bent rules to make Amanda’s trans-ness as unchallenging to normative assumptions as possible. She knew from a very young age. She is exclusively attracted to boys. She is entirely feminine. She passes as a woman with little to no effort. She had a surgery that her family should not have been able to afford, and she started hormones through legitimate channels before she probably could have in the real world. I did this because I wanted you to have no possible barrier to understanding Amanda as a teenage girl with a different medical history from most other girls. Amanda’s life and identity would be just as valid if she didn’t figure herself out until later in life, or if she were
a tomboy, or if she were bisexual or a lesbian or asexual, or if she had trouble passing, or if she either could not or chose not to get “bottom” surgery. Grant’s attraction to her in any of these scenarios would have been no less heterosexual, nor would Bee’s have been any less homosexual. It is easy to get hung up on these points if you haven’t lived our lives though, so I wanted to set those aside. I hope that, having gotten to know Amanda, you will not apply the details of her experience as dogma other trans people must adhere to but rather as inspiration to pursue an ever broader understanding of our lives and identities, as well as your own understanding of gender and sex.
* * *
To my trans readers: It’s okay if you’re different from Amanda. She isn’t real, and you are. I spent the better part of two decades trying to convince myself that I wasn’t something I knew myself to be because I didn’t fit a very specific, very toxic model of what society says transgender people are, and trust me when I say that my life story is radically different from Amanda’s. It’s okay to be trans and also gay, lesbian, bisexual, asexual, or anything else. It’s okay to be trans and not pass (and you can still be legitimately beautiful without passing), and it’s okay to be trans and pass and go completely stealth. It’s okay to be a trans man. It’s okay to be genderqueer, or to change identities more than once in your life, or to feel you have no gender at all. It’s okay to be trans and never pursue any of the medical aspects of transitioning, and it’s also okay to be trans and alter your body in whatever ways you want. There is no wrong way to express and embody your most authentic self! You are beautiful, and you deserve to have your body and identity and agency respected.
* * *
For trans people contemplating suicide, please, please call the Trans Lifeline at 877-565-8660 in America or 877-330-3366 in Canada. They are staffed entirely by trans people, they understand what you’re going through, and they want to help. For cisgender gays, lesbians, and bisexuals contemplating suicide, please call the Trevor Project Lifeline at 1-866-488-7386. For all other people contemplating suicide, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.
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