“Who was that?” Julia asked when I rejoined them. “He was cute, in that confident nerd way.”
I gave a pained smile at the description. “Just an old friend.”
“An old friend . . . that you have a thing for?”
“I don’t—” I stopped. Who was I kidding? I did. “He has a girlfriend.”
“Don’t see him with one tonight,” Julia pointed out.
“Well . . . he’s not into me, then,” I said.
“His loss. Plenty of other fish in the sea.”
Were there, in my sea?
Leslie misinterpreted my silence. “If you’re shy, I’ll be your wingwoman. It’ll be perfect. Come hang out with me at the bar. You don’t have a stamp, so they won’t serve you, but you can at least mingle.”
The opening band started its set, and things got loud again. I joined Leslie in the sweaty press around the bar. As we waited to be served, she nudged me. “Hey, that dude is totally checking you out.”
I turned, scanned the crowd, and saw him. It was Josh. Pinstripe Shirt from my night out in Whitesboro. My heart did a triple jump in my chest.
“Lara, right?” He slid over, leaning in until I could smell the Pabst on his breath. “What’s up? You never called me back after that one text.”
“Hey!” My mind raced to find an excuse. “I’m sorry. Things have been super busy. And I had surgery.”
His eyes widened with real sympathy. “No shit? Well, it must’ve been minor because you’re looking pretty fine now,” Josh said, his gaze drifting down from my face for a moment. Leslie tapped me on the shoulder and I watched out of the corner of my eye as she slipped away after a smiling “See ya later, Kristin.”
After a second of panic, I allowed myself to be flattered that Josh wanted to come back for more. Wasn’t this what I wanted? To be swimming in the sea? We shouted at each other for a little while, to at least pretend that we were there for the conversation, but I was glad when Josh led me back out onto the floor.
It was so crowded that we were practically glued to each other. Right away, Josh put his hands on my waist. Then they snaked up my back, and his hips were moving and I could feel his hard-on rubbing against me as we gyrated. It felt gross and amazing at the same time, raw and real.
In between sets, Josh pulled me behind a decorative curtain hiding a little nook in the wall. We could still hear the noise of the club, but we were hidden from view. In the tiny, enclosed space I had a moment of doubt, until I reminded myself that this was what I had come for.
Josh kept on whispering how hot I was, and I closed my eyes to get beyond the terror of being found out, and to focus on the feel of someone touching me, desiring me beyond any doubt. His hand slid up my skirt and under my panties, and I willed myself not to flinch.
Behind the curtain it was like a sauna. My hair was a mess, my neck sticky with sweat, so I put it up in a ponytail. I stripped down to a tank that I had layered under my top, and reached a hand up to wipe my forehead. And that’s when Josh truly looked at me for the first time.
“Shit,” I heard him say. I glanced through the slit of the curtain, thinking that there was a bouncer coming around.
“Are you that . . . ?” Josh was staring at me. The lighting was all wrong for me to see the expression on his face, but I sensed the shock of his recognition. And heard the disgust creeping into his voice.
I recoiled, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my fingertips. “No,” I said, so desperately it sounded like a whimper. He couldn’t even say what I was out loud.
“You said your name was Lara, but that girl called you Kristin. You’re . . . whatshername. Kristin Lattimer.” Josh’s voice started to rise. “I remember seeing you at a track meet last year with my sister. She was saying at dinner the other night that she might have a chance at State because you’d been DQ’d because you were . . . a man.” He spat the last word.
I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come back, but the shame paralyzed me. When I didn’t say anything, Josh shook his head, running his hands through his hair over and over.
“Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ,” he muttered, so close to me that I could feel his breath on my face. “Why didn’t you say something?” At first, it was almost like a plea. But then the cap came off his rage, bursting like a shaken-up soda bottle.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice filled the curtained nook. I reached up to cover my ears, but my quick movement must’ve startled him, because he reached out to grab my left wrist so hard I could feel my bones rubbing against each other. I screamed, partly in pain and partly in fear.
“What the fuck kind of freak are you?” Josh shook my wrist.
“I didn’t . . . I’m not . . .” I’m a girl, I wanted to say. But nothing came out of my mouth except sobs. Then all of sudden Josh started tearing at my clothes with his free hand, pulling at my miniskirt. There was no room where we were, nowhere to back up, and I could feel the unfinished concrete of the wall pressed against my bare skin.
“Where’d you hide it?” His fingers were thick, and they groped at my waist, gouging into my flesh.
“What? What?” I finally got out between the tears. “I’m not hiding anything!”
“Where’s your dick? Did you, like, tie it back or something?”
“I don’t have one, I swear.”
“You’re lying.” He let go of my wrist to go at my skirt with both hands. I scratched at his fingers.
“FUCK!” Josh yelled.
My eye lit up with an explosion of pain and I jerked at the curtain, pulling us into the flashing lights of the club. It was so noisy that my cry for help got absorbed into the chaos. I scrabbled toward the dance floor, but Josh grabbed me in a rough embrace and backed me toward an emergency exit.
He growled in my ear. “Scream again, and every person in this club is going to find out what you are.”
Behind us, people cheered even louder as the emcee came onstage.
“All right, my friends, time to get this party started! Let’s have a hand for The Concept!”
The strobe lights came on again as Josh led me outside. In the alleyway, he shoved me through the piles of garbage and broken-down boxes. After the stifling heat of the club, the cold air and the silence almost felt like a relief.
“What are you going to do?” I whispered, my breath barely frosting the air.
Josh spun me against a wall so we stood face-to-face. In heels I was taller than him, though he had more bulk. I knew I should be terrified, but I’d been expecting hatred and violence since the first text message and the vandalism to my locker. Now we’d come to the natural conclusion of my story. The worst-case scenario.
I watched the sinewy muscles on his neck for the first sign of a blow. My fists clenched in anticipation.
Then the back door to the club clattered open, and a hoarse voice shouted out, “Hey, you! Hey, Neanderthal!”
I stiffened. I didn’t want an audience. Josh swore, and turned. “What the fuck do you want?”
I looked past him. Saw a scrawny figure in a light-gray band T-shirt. And my heart sank.
CHAPTER 42
In an eerily calm voice, Darren held up his hands palm out. Despite the chill, I could see a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. “Look, is this about money? Because . . . here. I’ve got some cash on me. And a phone. Take it.” He bent over and laid his wallet and phone on the ground.
Josh ignored Darren. So he didn’t see how Darren had pressed one of the numbers on his phone a little more deliberately than most people would during a supposed mugging.
“Mind your own business, will you?” Josh said.
There was no way I wanted Darren to get involved. He was tall, but Josh had at least fifty pounds on him. I still held out a crazy hope that I could talk Josh down. “It’s okay, Darren,” I called out. “We’re just trying to figure some things out. You should go back inside—I don’t want you to miss the concert.”
“Nah, those guys suck,” Darren
lied. “I just wanted to get some fresh air.” I almost laughed at the thought of him coming out to breathe in the smell of stale hops and old puke.
Josh turned to take a closer look at Darren. “I told you. Get. The fuck. Out of here.” He let go of me and took a threatening step in his direction.
Still, Darren didn’t go.
Instead, he turned to one side, like he was a fencer getting into a ready stance. He curled his hand into a fist, and I felt a sinking sense of impending doom.
Josh threw the first punch, but Darren managed to dodge it. They circled each other a couple of times, but before Darren could even get a punch in, Josh rushed him, swept his ankle up in a vicious circle and kicked Darren’s legs out from under him. I winced as Darren dropped to the ground with a thud. I thought I heard a shoulder crack. Josh looked around grimly, and picked up an empty bottle lying in the alleyway.
I couldn’t run for help because they were blocking my way to the club. Desperately, I scrabbled through the debris on the ground next to me. No rocks. No bottles. Then my fingers curled around a can of spray paint left behind by a graffiti artist.
I hauled myself up. Josh leaned over a half-crouching Darren, the bottle raised high. The light from the streetlamp made the brown glass glitter. With all my strength, I slammed the spray paint down onto Josh’s head with both hands.
The can dented with the impact.
Josh’s head didn’t. He turned on me. A vein stuck out in his forehead. His breaths came out in huge puffs of steam. He reached for me.
And I brought my leg back in my best hurdler leap, and kicked him in the balls.
It turned out that David Letterman’s gender-verification test had something to it, after all.
CHAPTER 43
Josh toppled over with a garbled moan. On the ground, Darren let out a faint whoop of relief. Then the back door slammed open and someone shouted, “There he is!”
“Darren, Kristin, are you okay?” Jessica ran out, trailed by Quincy.
An older, red-haired man ran out and made a beeline for me and Josh. He stopped about a foot away. “What’s going on here? The cops are on their way!”
There was a dull thud as Josh dropped the bottle. He got to his feet, grimacing. He was so close I could feel him tremble as he struggled to gain control over his emotions.
“No, Mr. Sanderson,” Josh said. Clearly the guy was a manager of some kind. “It was just a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” The red-haired man looked at me, and frowned. “Did someone hit you, miss?”
“Yes.” I pointed at Josh.
The red-haired man’s frown deepened into a scowl. “So you’re the type of guy that likes to hit women?” he growled.
Josh reddened, then looked at me. Suddenly he grinned. A crowd had gathered at the door. “Actually, sir, that’s not a woman over there.”
I froze. No, no, no. Not here.
Josh looked through the crowd and found the bouncer who’d been at the entrance. “Hey, Pinky, did this one pay the chick rate?” The bouncer nodded and Josh’s grin widened. “Then she’s guilty of fraud. She’s a man.”
I crossed my arms to cover my chest, and kept on squeezing as if I could pinch myself right out of existence.
“You’re a tranny?” a bouncer asked, bug-eyed.
“Actually, the technical term is intersex,” Quincy said. I knew he was trying to be helpful, but I was mortified.
“What, are you her . . . his . . . boyfriend?” the red-haired man asked. He was still trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
“Oh, no,” Quincy said, making a point of putting his arm around Jessica. “Just a friend.”
Josh’s laughter made me wince. Left unsaid was the question: What kind of freak would date someone like me?
A few of the girls huddled in the club doorway giggled, and I stared at the ground. A gust of wind blew through the alley. In the distance I could hear the emcee trying to get people back into the club, and some of the curious heads disappeared. I heard the red-haired man enlist Pinky to get Josh inside.
Within minutes, the cops that policed the clubbing district arrived. One of them, a stout older man with graying temples, took a statement from me, and asked if I wanted to press charges.
I thought of police stations and depositions and having to tell my dad, and shook my head. “There’ll be a report of everything, right? In case anything else happens?” Though I doubted it. Josh wasn’t stupid. He knew that he could never do anything now, after having fifty witnesses.
“We’ll have a record, miss. And if you change your mind . . .” He handed me a business card, which I clutched tightly like a talisman. I tried to get out a thank-you, but all I could manage was a shaky smile.
After the cops left, I sat down against a pile of broken-down boxes, too drained to move and too raw to go back inside. In the blessed silence after the last group of people filed out, the burn of my shame faded to a dull ache.
But I had done it. My worst-case scenario had occurred, and I was still here.
The last surge of adrenaline had come and gone, and I felt hollowed out inside.
Darren limped up, rubbing his shoulder. He sat down next to me, picked up the dented spray paint can, and flipped it around and around.
“You okay?” he asked me.
I nodded, and forced an unconvincing smile. “Thanks for . . . intervening.”
“It’s not like I did anything but distract him. You delivered the knockout punch.” He let out a puff of a laugh. “Remind me to donate to a sperm bank before I ever pick a fight with you.”
I smiled. Then I burst out crying.
All the anxiety and guilt and self-loathing that I’d been holding in for weeks came out in the catharsis Dr. LaForte had been hoping for since I started therapy. But it wasn’t fear that pushed all my emotions past the tipping point; it was the realization that I was kind of in love with Darren Kowalski for making me laugh minutes after I’d survived a potential hate crime. I cried like a baby, and as embarrassing as it was to have a meltdown with the object of my affection sitting there patting me awkwardly on the arm to get me to stop, the release was so liberating that I didn’t care.
When the torrent had subsided, I leaned my head back to gaze up into the midwinter sky. The air was so clear and cold that you could see the stars even through the city lights.
“Wanna get in out of the cold?” Darren asked. He had his hands tucked deep into his pockets.
“You should go inside. I just need another second or two out here.”
“No, I’ll stay and keep you company,” he said, trying to pretend that he wasn’t freezing. Though I could have stayed out there all night, I took pity on him and went inside.
The minute we stepped back into Club Eternal, Gretchen came running. “There you are, Kristin! Are you okay? We heard there was a fight.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I just want to get home.”
“Are you sure you’re up to driving all the way back to Utica alone?” Leslie asked. “You could always crash in my dorm.”
“I can drive with her and walk home,” Darren said behind me. “If that’s okay with you,” he added, suddenly shy.
Julia flashed me a quick smile. I blushed, wondering what Becky would say about Darren driving home with me again.
“Okay, then,” Gretchen said, jangling her keys. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” I nodded.
CHAPTER 44
After Darren sardined himself into my car, we didn’t talk much. I fiddled with my stereo and settled on a classic rock station, not sure what to say, not daring to start something that Darren might not be willing or able to finish. As we neared my neighborhood, he pressed some money into my hand to pay for the toll on the Thruway. I waved him off.
“No, please,” I said. “It’s the least I can do for dragging you into that situation.”
“Whatever; it was nothing.”
“No, seriously. What would
Becky have thought if you’d gotten hurt defending me?”
Darren winced. “Well, if I go by what she said when she dumped me last weekend, she’d probably think I deserved it.”
“Oh no!” A thrill went down my spine, and my cheeks flushed. “What happened?” I worked to keep my voice steady.
“It’s not that big of a deal; I mean, it was kind of doomed from the start. She’s a sophomore, and I’m going to be leaving for college. She really didn’t like the idea of me being in New York City. Besides . . .” Darren paused, and I watched him struggle for a second before he turned to give me a swift, shy glance. “I think she knew that I might have feelings for someone else.”
Suddenly, I found it hard to breathe. There was an ache just below my right collarbone; it was the wrong side of the chest to be my heart, really, but close enough. Darren started to say something. False-started. Finally, he asked me:
“You know that I’ve had a crush on you since our parents dated, right?”
“No,” I whispered. I’d always assumed that he was just shy, and nice. I shook my head, unable to think of anything remotely crushworthy about me during middle school.
We turned off the main drag onto my street. All the traffic signals had switched to flashing yellow; it was getting to be the witching hour. How else to explain what Darren was telling me?
“Why me?” I asked.
Darren laughed, incredulous. “Because you’re probably the only Homecoming Queen in the world who would ever wonder why someone would like her.”
I grimaced. “I’m also probably the only Homecoming Queen who’s intersex.”
“True enough. But you can run me into the ground and aren’t snotty about it. Your idea of a fun Saturday-night activity is filling éclairs with my mom. And you make a mean Popsicle-stick puppet.”
I remembered the day at the clinic when I’d caught him staring at me under the play tent. I’d thought he’d just been ogling the freak. “Aren’t you afraid of what people will think?”
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