by Arin Andrews
• • •
I got a text from Jazzlyn late in the afternoon, with a photo of Katie sleeping. She did great, it said.
I didn’t hear from Katie herself until I was in history class the next morning.
Hey, baby. I’m out. How are you?
I hid my phone under the desk as I typed back.
How am I doing? How are YOU doing? You just got your penis turned inside out!
I waited for a response, and a few minutes later a picture of something black and red and blue popped up, followed by a smiley face. It took me a few seconds to realize what I was looking at.
So proud of you, baby, I wrote. But you might want to wait and heal a little before sending me any sexy pics.
For those first few days she was pretty drugged up and loopy, and I amassed an arsenal of blackmail-worthy videos and texts from her while she was on morphine. But even though she was always either high or in pain, her happiness radiated through the mental haze.
• • •
Right after Katie returned, we went to Papa and Gigi’s lake house for the weekend. I was worried that she needed to relax in bed, but she insisted it was better for her to be up and moving around. She wore her only bathing suit—a black bikini with a skirt bottom that previously hid her bulge.
“I guess we’d better go shopping for some new swimwear,” I said. She was perched on the prow of Papa’s speedboat like a figurehead, and the lake glistened all around her, reflecting off her skin.
My binder suddenly felt extra tight and sweaty under my T-shirt. I pictured myself stripping it off, my chest somehow magically flat, and joining her up at the top of the boat. I imagined what the sun would feel like on my bare skin, and suddenly little licks of the lake breeze found their way inside my shirt, only to be stopped short by the extra fabric. It was a cruel tease, but seeing how peaceful Katie looked lessened my jealousy over her newfound freedom. I was happy because she was happy.
We stayed up all night, kissing and laughing. Since she would still be healing for up to three months, we were limited in how far we could go. But it didn’t matter to me at all at first. It was the best summer of my life. We went on long camping trips out at the lake with Dale and other friends from OYP, and failed miserably at trying to scale the fish we’d catch. We went on a Color Run, a five-K race where at five different checkpoints organizers would blow huge clouds of brightly hued dust all over us. The sweat made it stick to our bodies, and by the end we were two rainbow-covered messes. I blew pixie snot out of my nose for a week.
We had so much fun at the race that Katie decided we should throw our own sort of flying-dust party. So one afternoon when Dale’s parents were out of town, Katie and I met him and his girlfriend at his house with several twenty-five-pound bags of flour. We all chased one another through a homemade sprinkler we’d made by duct-taping onto his hose a two-liter soda bottle with a bunch of holes punched into it, and we tossed handfuls of white powder at one another. Soon we were a goopy mess and collapsed on the ground, cracking up under the sun. But suddenly I felt my skin start to stiffen. I looked around and noticed that Dale and Katie were clawing at their arms and legs.
“What is going on?” I yelled. “I feel like I’m turning to stone!”
That was when it hit me. Flour and water are what papier-mâché is made out of! We spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get the gluey, rapidly hardening second skin off us.
Despite all the fun, I was worried about Dale. He still wasn’t out to his family, because they were so homophobic. They called him Tanya, and it was really starting to mess with his head.
“I keep trying to get the courage up,” he told us as we scraped and wiped the goo from our bodies. “I get it all planned out in my head, but then I chicken out. I’m pretty sure they’d kick me to the curb.”
“Then you can just come live with me,” I decided. “I bet my mom would be cool with it.”
He smiled faintly. “Thanks. But it’s not the same. I wish my family were like both of yours.”
Katie and I glanced at each other, feeling helpless.
“We’re always here for you,” was all I could think to say.
• • •
A few weeks later, Tulsa World did a follow-up story on Katie’s life postsurgery, and my name appeared in the paper as her new boyfriend. It made me feel that much more official when we marched in the Tulsa gay pride parade together the following weekend with a bunch of other kids from OYP. Katie and I dressed in corresponding handmade FTM (female-to-male) and MTF (male-to-female) T-shirts, and held hands the entire way. I took her swing dancing, and she wore a simple black dress that I had worn to a formal dinner on the cruise where I’d first bonded with Darian. It looked a million times better on Katie than it ever had on me. She knew how to walk in it, how to make it hug and curve around her body when she moved. When I first saw her in it, I had a small flash of unease, remembering how constricting it had felt on me, how I’d torn it off and thrown it into a corner as soon as the dinner had ended. It was like a ghost coming back to haunt me.
But seeing her inside a part of my past was also oddly comforting, as if she’d been with me this whole time and I just hadn’t realized it.
• • •
One night we were camping with Dale and a few other friends. They busted out guitars, and I grabbed a small bongo drum, and we all started playing music and singing songs. Some we knew, some we made up, and I was lost in a little reverie, when I noticed that Katie had withdrawn from the group and was sitting with her knees up to her chest, far back from the fire. I stopped playing and got up to sit beside her.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“You’re all so talented,” she said quietly.
“What are you talking about? We’re just screwing around. I’m sure we’d sound awful to anyone who walked by.”
“I don’t have any talents,” she said, staring into the fire.
“Are you kidding? You’re probably the most gifted person I know!” I couldn’t figure out where this was coming from; I’d never seen her doubt herself before.
“You know that things are going to get really intense for me when school starts, right?” she asked.
“Yeah, of course,” I said.
“I just mean, I’m not going to have as much time to hang out. I have to study really hard to keep my grades up. And I’m going to be making new friends.”
“Wait, what are you saying?” I asked, getting nervous.
“Nothing, really. I just want to make sure we both have the same realistic expectations. You’re starting your junior year of high school, but college is a whole different world.”
“But I’ll still get to see you. We’re going to stay together, right?” I was starting to panic.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “I just want you to be prepared for this to change. It might be a shock, since we see each other every day right now.”
I relaxed. “I can handle that,” I said. “You know I support you no matter what.”
• • •
OYP held their annual summer prom, and I was determined to give the tradition another shot. My disastrous night with Jessica felt like it had happened in another lifetime, but in reality it had been only a couple of months before. I decided to go with a more casual look instead of a full suit, so I put on slacks and a vest over a white button-down shirt and a tie. I was especially excited because I’d started getting the first few hairs on my chin. I couldn’t stop touching them, and would even massage my face to try to make more grow in.
Katie wore the same beautiful dress she’d worn to the gala. The prom theme was “Masquerade,” and everything was decorated in purple and green. I saw Dale and gave him a hug.
“Vote for me for prom king!” he said.
“I’ll vote for you if you vote for me,” I said, half-joking.
“Done!”
We danced our asses off, took tons of photos, played with the balloons that were flying everywhere, caught up with fr
iends—all the normal, dumb, innocent things that are supposed to happen at prom. But it mattered. Everyone who was there had been robbed of this experience in some way or another, by not being able to be themselves at their own school’s prom.
Toward the end of the night the DJ stopped the music and announced it was time to name the prom king and queen.
“Our finalists for king, Arin Andrews and Dale Martin!”
We looked at each other, shrugged, and ran onto the stage together. The DJ made the final decision based on how loud the crowd cheered for each us, and I was convinced that Dale had won, until I heard my name and felt a crown placed on my head. I barely had time to register what had happened before the DJ shoved us aside.
“And now for your queen!”
He rattled off about nine names, including Katie’s. As the girls filed onto the stage, I realized that all of her competitors were drag queens, vamped up to the extreme with glitter and giant wigs and heavy makeup. They preened and posed while Katie stood in the center, smiling nervously.
She won the cheer vote by a landslide. As she was being crowned, I saw one of the drag queens, clearly disappointed by the loss, turn to Katie and say, “Who the hell are you?” before stomping offstage.
The lights dimmed and the floor cleared as the DJ ushered us down for our dance. He played “True Colors” by Cyndi Lauper, and for the first half of the song it was just the two of us out there, holding on to each other. We kissed, and when I heard the crowd scream wildly, I realized half of them hadn’t even known we were a couple to begin with. I felt like I was living the happy ending of a 1980s teen movie, right down to the song.
But real life keeps going after the credits roll. And the happy ending is just there to please an audience. And, boy, were we about to get an audience.
15
One day in August I got a call from Katie. “So, something awesome just happened,” she said. “A media company found me on Facebook, and they want to come out and film us talking about our relationship. Apparently they saw that follow-up piece that Tulsa World did on me, the one that mentioned you. I gave them your number so they could talk to you about it.”
“What do they want to film?” I asked. “Is it like a news show?”
“No, I don’t think so exactly,” she said. “They want to do a video on us that’s just about how we’re a trans teen couple in love. They’ll run it in England and then also try to get us news coverage here, too.”
It sounded a little confusing, but I said okay. I’d seen how much good Katie had done for our local trans community in terms of raising awareness, and I loved the idea of being able to help out too in any way I could. I got a call shortly thereafter from the producer, who kept assuring me that they weren’t out to exploit us.
I told him he’d have to talk to Mom, so I gave him her number. I probably would have forgotten about the whole thing, except suddenly plans were being made, and the next thing I knew, a camera crew showed up at our front door.
Everyone was perfectly nice. The producers interviewed Katie and me together and then one-on-one. We talked about our life stories up until that point, and explained how we’d met and fallen in love. They did a regular still photo shoot too, and it was fun, I guess, but Katie really enjoyed it. She loved having her hair and face done, and I couldn’t blame her. She was great with lipstick and mascara, but having professional makeup artists working on her took it to a whole other level. She looked like a model. And she was a natural in front of the camera. She always knew exactly what to say—somehow understanding like an expert the right time to make a joke versus the right time to be serious.
I felt way more awkward. I think maybe it was because she had already had her surgery, which then put me in the position of having to explain that I hadn’t had anything done yet. I was quick to let them know that it was part of my plan, though.
They finally wrapped up and went home. Life continued as normal for a week or two, until the first story about us appeared in a British paper. We clicked on the website link, and I sat back in shock. There was a photo of us, and the caption was something like: Meet the Transgender Teen Couple: “We’re in Love and We Want Babies!”
“I never said that!” I was horrified.
Katie laughed it off. “Look, any exposure for the community is good.”
A couple of days later we got a call from the producers of the original story, saying that Inside Edition wanted to do a story on us. That was when things really took off. A bigger film crew came out to my house, and we went through all the motions again, telling the same story of how we’d met, how she could wear my old clothes, how great it would be if we could just swap genitals.
This time the answers and stories rolled easily off my tongue, like an encore performance. We knew what they wanted to hear and had perfected the lines.
• • •
While I was cool with talking about my experiences transitioning so far, a part of me still craved the stealth anonymity that the cruise had afforded me—a world where no one had ever known me as Emerald. So I switched schools again, to a much larger place called Owasso that’s known to have better academics than Catoosa. It honestly didn’t occur to me that anyone in my town would actually see the television interview Katie and I had just recorded. There was still this sort of unreality about seeing myself on television, like I was a character. School was my real life. And amidst the more than three thousand students that attended Owasso, I figured I could fly under the radar.
Mom came with me on the first day to talk to the school counselor. The sheer amount of students milling about was totally daunting. I couldn’t imagine talking to anyone, but as we made our way down the hallway, I saw a girl with cropped hair wearing a big rainbow bracelet. As we passed by her, I turned to Mom and said loudly, “Gee, I wonder if they have any sort of LGBT student alliance here.”
The girl whipped her head around. “We do!” she called out.
I smiled and waved. Even though I had no intention of joining—I still wanted to lie low—it was comforting just to know that there was one if I ever wanted to get involved.
The school secretary ushered us into a counselor’s office for my new-student orientation. “Let’s see,” the counselor said, shuffling around some papers on her desk. “Oops, I think they gave me the wrong file.” She started to stand up.
“No, they didn’t,” Mom said, all business. “Emerald goes by ‘Arin’ and uses the male pronoun. He’s transgender.”
I didn’t even have time to brace myself for a reaction, before the counselor smiled. “Not a problem at all,” she said. “I’ll inform all of the teachers.”
She went on to tell me that I could use the bathroom in the nurse’s office, and that according to my transcripts, I’d already fulfilled all of Owasso’s gym requirements back at Lincoln, so locker rooms wouldn’t be an issue. The school was totally accommodating.
I completely passed as male among the student body, but I had a hard time focusing on anything the first week. All I could think about was Katie starting her new college life. And it didn’t help that I didn’t hear from her at all.
Her classes had started a week earlier, and Jazzlyn and I had helped her move all of her stuff into her dorm room. It looked like a cinder block cage, and the entire building smelled like some sort of strong disinfectant trying to cover up the scent of dirty diapers. But at least she had a single instead of having to deal with a roommate.
As I helped her hang up her clothes, I realized that half of them used to be mine. At least they’ll get an education, I thought.
Before my mom came to pick me up, I wrote Katie a note telling her how much I loved her, and slipped it inside one of her textbooks so she’d find it later. Katie came downstairs and hugged me good-bye, but I felt really uneasy as my mom and I pulled away from campus. All around us were hundreds of teenagers unpacking their cars, and in my mind they all had the same look in their eyes—Time to get laid.
I knew I had to give Kat
ie space so that she could get established, but after spending almost every single day with her since we’d first met, the sudden silence between us was jarring. I kept in the front of my mind our conversation by the fire over the summer—she was going to need time to focus on her work. But when she canceled our plans to meet up on the weekend after my first week at school, we got into our first real fight.
It happened over the phone. “We went over this. I’m going to need time to settle in,” she said, sounding annoyed. “This is a huge deal for me, and I’ve got to start out right. I can’t lose my benefactor.”
“I know all that, and I totally understand, but we also agreed that we’d make time for each other.”
“I know you think you understand, but I don’t think you can.”
There was a distance in her voice that freaked me out. She finally agreed to come over one night during the following week. And when we saw each other in person, everything was fine. We built a fire outside and cuddled by the flames, letting the smoke blow over us so the warm, woodsy scent would permeate our clothing.
“The classes are way harder than I thought,” she said. “It’s a lot to keep up with. What about yours?”
“Tougher than Catoosa but easier than Lincoln,” I said. “And everyone knows me as a guy. I don’t think anyone suspects. All the teachers are so cool—there hasn’t been a single pronoun slipup.”
“See?” she said. “Everything is working out for us. And even though I can’t see you as much, I’m not going anywhere,” she reassured me.
I really wanted to believe her, but the fact was, we rarely had sex anymore. There was only so much we could do over the summer while she healed, and now that she had healed, we hardly saw each other. It was almost starting to feel like Darian all over again—a relationship in words only.
I figured if Katie was studying extra hard, then I should too. I threw myself into my schoolwork and stayed under the radar at school, not attempting to make any new friends. Katie kept her promise and made more time for me on the weekends. I took her swing dancing a few more times with my CAP friends, but I never really met any of her college friends. That part of her life remained separate.