by Cat Clarke
I already knew the word. Transgender. I sort of liked it because it made me think of Transformers, and Enzo and I love those movies. “Trans” is the short version, which isn’t quite as cool, but it is a lot faster to type. I found out that there are a lot of trans people out there. This one website had a bunch of their life stories, and I read them over and over again. Then I discovered more sites and blogs, and tons of videos on YouTube. It was just the best thing. I wasn’t alone.
Sometimes I thought that Maisie would understand, and she would accept me for who I am. But looking at her that morning, in her skirt and shiny, pretty shoes with her long brown hair tied back with a matching black-and-red ponytail holder, I wasn’t so sure.
She looked comfortable, whereas I felt about as comfortable as an octopus in a spacesuit. My shirt didn’t seem to want to stay tucked in to the top of my skirt, and the itchy tights kept wrinkling at the knees. Tights are the worst invention in the entire world. After nuclear weapons and guns and things like that, obviously.
The one consolation was that my tie looked better than Maisie’s. I’d practiced again and again until I got it just right. A bow tie would have been cooler, but they were not included in the dress code.
I could tell she was nervous too, but Maisie was just better at being nervous than I was. I only knew because she was quieter than usual, and there was something tense and almost robotic about the way she walked—as if she’d forgotten how. Still, I was glad to have her next to me as we walked up the steps and through those huge wooden doors into Bankridge Middle School.
I took a deep breath and wished as hard as I could for the day to be over as soon as possible.
Chapter 4
Elementary school had been awesome. Now that I wasn’t there anymore, it seemed even more awesome, and I realized maybe I should have appreciated it more at the time. There was no uniform, for starters, and there was a courtyard with a garden where we helped grow vegetables. The nice thing was that you knew almost everyone. Even if you didn’t know them know them, at least you’d seen them around and recognized all of the faces.
Bankridge Middle School, however, had that stupidly strict uniform policy. There didn’t seem to be any vegetable-growing whatsoever. Last but not least, the school was huge. The main building looked like something out of a horror movie—old and gray and menacing. Then there were some other newer buildings that looked as if they were clinging to it. They gave us all maps on orientation day, but I lost mine. I thought that I would never ever be able to find my way around it and get to my classes on time.
On orientation day, the principal told us that there are a little more than five hundred students at Bankridge. Five hundred! That’s enough for an army or something. A very neat army with blazers and shiny black shoes. I think there were about 150 of us at my elementary school—a nice, sensible number. Enzo didn’t know how lucky he was to have three more years there.
Maisie seemed to know where we were going. I teased her about having memorized the map, but she was too busy trying not to get knocked off her feet in the rush to class to even smile back at me. We stood back and plastered ourselves against the wall as a bunch of boys ran past, whooping and laughing and whacking each other with their backpacks. I watched them and wondered if I would ever feel comfortable enough here to do that. Or would I always be the one scurrying down the corridor, staying close to the walls, and trying to make myself as small as possible?
Everyone was so tall. It was weird to go from being the tallest, oldest ones at elementary school to being the smallest, youngest ones here. It was as if we’d progressed through all these levels on a video game only to find ourselves unceremoniously dumped right back at the start, and without any of the special powers we’d earned.
Luckily, Maisie and I had been put in the same homeroom. I was really happy about that. It was a big relief not to have to worry about who was going to sit next to me. It meant I could focus on all the other worries instead.
By the time Maisie and I walked into homeroom, I was feeling like maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to survive my first day. Then the homeroom teacher, Mrs. McCready, had to ruin everything with assigned seating.
Two people were to sit at each table: one boy and one girl. Part of me wanted to say something—to tell Mrs. McCready that I should get to sit next to a girl, and there was no good reason why that girl shouldn’t be Maisie. But something told me that wouldn’t go down so well. Mrs. McCready looked a little bit like an angry eagle.
My table was diagonally opposite Maisie’s. There was a boy already sitting in the seat next to the window. I’d always sat next to the window in school, so that was already annoying.
“Hi, I’m Liv. What’s your name?”
The boy looked up at me, blinking slowly. He narrowed his eyes, acting as if I’d asked a really tough question. “Jacob. What kind of a name is Liv anyway?”
I disliked him immediately. He was obviously one of those boys. The popular ones. His dark brown hair was messy, but not properly messy. It was the kind of messy that requires a lot of time spent in front of the mirror and loads of hair gunk. He was slouched in his seat, perfectly at ease, like there was nowhere he would rather be. Whenever I sat that way at Gram’s house, she always told me to “sit up properly—like a lady.” You can probably guess how much I enjoyed that.
The only thing that gave me a glimmer of hope about Jacob was his eyes. They didn’t seem to be the eyes of a terrible person. There was a kindness lurking there under the smirk.
I sat down next to him and shoved his leg so it was under his half of the table. Why do real boys always take up so much space? I mentally kicked myself. I don’t know when I’d started thinking of them as “real” boys. I knew it was wrong; I wasn’t Pinocchio. I was as much a real boy as Jacob—even if no one else could see it yet.
“It’s my kind of a name.” I concentrated on getting my pencil case out and lining it up with the edge of the desk. Then I noticed that the stupid skirt had ridden up my legs so I had to wriggle a bit in my chair to pull it back down again. Was the simple act of sitting down going to be a major ordeal from now on? Or would I get used to it, in time? No. I will never get used to this. Not ever.
Jacob rummaged in his bag and swore when something clattered onto the floor. I leaned over to see what he’d dropped, but his back blocked my view while he zipped up his bag. A couple of seconds later, he turned around, triumphantly brandishing his pencil case.
It was the same as mine, except his was old and punctured with compass holes and had been scrawled all over by various pens. Mine was brand-new, bought especially for today. Gram had bought me a pink one, but Mom had my back (“You know full well Liv doesn’t like pink!”). Mom took me to the store the next day and I chose a new one that was black, white, and gray camouflage. It made me feel like an urban warrior. (An urban warrior armed to the hilt with pens, pencils, and a Tyrannosaurus rex ruler that I stole from Enzo.)
“Isn’t that a bit too butch for you?” Jacob asked with a smile. How many times had I heard stupid comments like that? It was so dull.
“Isn’t it a bit too butch for you?” I asked, giving him the full-on evil eye.
We stared at each other for a second or two, and I wondered if I was going to have to fight him. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Then he laughed loudly and said, “Fair enough. Cool name, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I like your watch.”
Jacob spent the next five minutes telling me about every single feature on his diving watch. I was super jealous, obviously. I was happy, though, or as happy as you can be on your first day of middle school, wearing clothes that make you feel about as far away from yourself as it’s possible to get. My first impression of Jacob Arbuckle may not have been a good one, but it was looking like it might have been wrong. Normally I hate being wrong, but I didn’t mind so much in this case.
Chapter 5
“Oh my gosh, you are so lucky!” Maisie grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the classroom.
My head was still reeling from the realization that math was going to be (a lot) harder than before.
“What are you talking about?”
She looked at me as if I were being particularly stupid. “That boy! Jacob Whatshisname! He is sooo…”
“So what?”
“Hot!” She elbowed me and said, “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed!”
I sighed. “Hot” was Maisie’s new favorite word. She’d started using it over the summer and it was already beginning to annoy me. She usually used it in relation to dumb-looking boys in bands, or actors in these terrible romantic comedies she’d started watching. This was the first time I’d heard her say it about a real person.
“I can’t believe I’m stuck next to nerdy Nicholas Barker and you get to sit next to him!” Maisie’s outrage made me laugh.
Someone behind us interrupted. “As if you would ever have a chance with Jake!”
We turned around to find two blond girls who’d obviously been eavesdropping on our conversation. I’d noticed them in the classroom earlier—everyone had noticed them. They were loud and obnoxious and already acting as if they owned the place. When Mrs. McCready had taken the roll, I’d listened for their names and learned that they were Jade Evans and Chelsea Farrow.
“Hi,” Maisie stammered, “I’m Maisie and this is…”
“Yeah, whatever. We know who you are.” said Jade, the blonder, taller one of the two.
“Sorry, I was just…” Maisie was blushing fiercely.
I was embarrassed for her, backing down in front of these girls. Maisie always hated confrontation, so I stepped forward. “Thanks for the input, but this is a private conversation. And anyway, it’s a free country and Maisie can say what she likes about who she likes.”
I linked my arm in Maisie’s and propelled her away from the two girls. “You can thank me later,” I muttered under my breath.
She wriggled away from me. “We’re supposed to be making new friends, remember?”
I was genuinely puzzled. “Why would you want to be friends with those two? They’re awful!”
Maisie sighed. “How do you know they’re awful? Why can’t you give people a chance!”
I opened my mouth to speak and then clamped it shut again. How could I explain that sometimes you can just tell what people are like? You don’t have to get to know them first. Sometimes it’s best to judge them before they judge you. To dislike them before they dislike you.
Maisie rolled her eyes. “Forget it. I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll see you in history.” She walked away.
I was left standing in the corridor. Abandoned.
I needed to go to the bathroom as well, but there was no way I was going to follow Maisie. I’d just have to hold on until lunchtime. I was not looking forward to braving the girls’ bathroom.
My first day was not going well.
=
By the time the bell rang at three thirty that afternoon, I was thoroughly fed up, but I managed to plaster a smile onto my face before getting into Mom’s car.
She wanted to know everything. By the time we’d arrived at Monty’s, I was exhausted from pretending that my day had been fine. Of course, then I had to go through it all again with Mamma and Dante while Mom went to pick up Enzo from karate. I was just desperate to get home and change into normal clothes.
Dante didn’t comment on the skirt, but he did ask a bunch of questions about my day, and I actually started to feel a little better. Monty’s is probably my favorite place in the world, and Dante is a big part of that. Mom says he’s the best barista in town. I don’t know about coffee, but he makes a killer hot chocolate.
I leaned against the counter while Mamma sliced some ham for us to take home for dinner. She let me have a sneaky slice or two (OK, three), which was just as well because I was starving. I’d barely eaten a thing at lunchtime.
When I was at lunch, I couldn’t make up my mind whether the cafeteria was more like a zoo or a prison. Either way, it was somewhere I didn’t want to be. Everyone seemed to know each other already—even the sixth graders. Jade Evans and Chelsea Farrow were sitting in the middle of a very busy table.
Maisie and I stood there with our trays, trying to figure out where to sit. I’d been worried she wouldn’t want to have lunch with me after what had happened earlier, but she’d waited for me outside of class. “You have no idea where the cafeteria is, do you?”
I shook my head, feeling sheepish.
Another sigh from Maisie, but it was more like the kind of sigh you aim at someone you actually like. She even smiled. “Come on.”
Now Jacob was sitting at a table with a bunch of boys. They were laughing and joking as if they’d known each other forever. Maybe they’d been to the same elementary school?
I spied a table on the other side of the room and pointed it out to Maisie. A girl from our homeroom, Marion Something-or-Other, was sitting by herself, looking up hopefully every time someone walked past her table.
Maisie shook her head. “How about that one?” She nodded toward a table next to the one with Jade and Chelsea. There were only two empty seats.
I knew she was testing me, waiting to see what I would do. So I said, “Fine,” and marched across to the table and sat down.
It was miserable. Maisie struck up a conversation with the girl sitting on the other side of her. The girl across from me was busy talking to the person sitting on the other side of her, so I was left looking at my lunch: a big globby pile of mashed potatoes and two grayish sausages. I squirted ketchup all over the mashed potatoes and mixed it altogether until it turned pink. I usually don’t play with my food—I leave that to Enzo these days—but these were special circumstances. I stuck the sausages into the pink mash and sort of molded the whole pile so that it looked like Loki’s helmet.
Maisie glanced over, saw what I was doing, and kicked me under the table. “Ow! What was that for?”
She just glared at me and turned back to talk to the other girl. I didn’t even know her name because Maisie hadn’t bothered to introduce me.
I felt sick. Lonely too. I ended up eating three bites of mashed potatoes and half a sausage, but by that time, everything was cold and even more unappealing.
The rest of the afternoon wasn’t much better. I sat next to Jacob in Spanish, but he barely talked to me. He was too busy drawing something in the back of his notebook. I kept leaning over to try to see what it was, but his elbow was curled around the page, blocking my view.
I rushed out as soon as the bell rang, not even bothering to say bye to Maisie. I was worried that we’d just end up having another argument. Better to say nothing and start fresh tomorrow.
Chapter 6
The next couple of days weren’t much better. Friday afternoon couldn’t come soon enough. I’d been lectured (twice) about my shirt not being tucked into the waistband of my skirt and (once) because my shoelaces were undone. I’d gotten holes in my tights (twice)—those things are more fragile than a butterfly’s wings. And, worst of all, the skirt continued to be a skirt, which was about the worst thing it could do, but not that surprising.
I tried talking to Maisie about it at recess on Wednesday.
“I really don’t see the point of skirts now that pants have been invented.”
“Some people like skirts, you know,” said Maisie.
“Yeah, well some people are idiots.” I winced. “Not you, obviously. I just…it’s this stupid dress code.”
“You knew there was a dress code before you came here.”
This wasn’t going so well. I’d expected Maisie to be sympathetic. That’s kind of a best friend’s job, isn’t it?
“I hate it here.” I kicked the wall to emphasize my point. So now, I was in a
terrible mood and had a sore toe. Good work, doofus.
“It’s just a skirt, Liv. Don’t be such a drama queen.”
There were probably worse things Maisie could have said right then, but that was right up there with them. Sometimes, instead of getting angry and shouty, I go quiet instead. This was one of those times.
I didn’t say another word until Maisie apologized. It took approximately forty-seven seconds for that to happen. “I’m sorry. I know you hate skirts and dresses and girly stuff. But I don’t. So I guess it’s hard for me to understand…but I want to try.”
It was the perfect opportunity to tell her the truth about me, but the bell rang and our next class was on the other side of the building, so we had to rush. If I’m being entirely honest, I probably wouldn’t have said anything, even if we hadn’t been interrupted by the bell. I wasn’t ready. Not even close.
=
Each afternoon, I changed out of my uniform and into jeans and a T-shirt the minute I got home. If the clothes didn’t need washing, I stuffed them into the bottom drawer and slammed it shut.
Even after I’d changed into normal clothes, it still took about an hour or so to feel like me again. I also made sure to take off my watch and hide it in my bedside drawer. That way, I wouldn’t have a constant reminder of how many hours it was until I had to get ready for school again. I had to be extra careful not to look at the time on my phone, and I studiously avoided glancing at the clock in the kitchen at mealtimes. It was hard work. Suddenly, time had become my enemy, and there was nothing I could do to fight it. It kept marching on, no matter what I did.
Only two good things happened in my first few days at Bankridge:
1. PE class. PE was pretty much the best thing about Bankridge because there were a ton of different sports. The only downside of PE was the locker room, but I’d already figured out how to deal with that. I ran the whole way to class so that I was the first one there and changed my clothes in record time. By the time everyone else trickled into the room, I was sitting there in shorts and a T-shirt, ready to go. At least the school wasn’t stupid enough to insist that girls wear skirts for sports. The icing on the cake was that I won the 100-meter race in our first class. Jade Evans came second and was not happy about it.