by Steph Bowe
We’d reached the end of the beach. Jewel tossed the empty chip wrapper in the bin. We stood there a moment and she buried her face in my shoulder, whispering between sobs. ‘It was so long ago, I should have got over it. I should have got over it.’
‘Shh,’ I murmured, ‘it’s okay, it’s okay, everything’s okay.’
Jewel wiped her eyes. ‘Make-up didn’t last long!’ she sniffed, and we walked back along the beach holding hands, looking at everyone in the water, and making up stories about their lives.
‘See that guy there?’ asked Jewel, pointing to a man across the sand playing volleyball. ‘He’s a cross-dresser. Not right now he’s not, but by night he gets up to all sorts of shenanigans as his alter-ego Roberta. Roberta’s a red-head. She’s a sucker for a good pair of stilettos. She loves her jewels; she’s got a miniature spoodle—’
I laughed. ‘What’s a spoodle?’
Jewel gave me a look. ‘I can’t believe you don’t know what a spoodle is. It’s what happens when dog breeders decide to play God and make poodles and spaniels have babies. But Roberta, she loves her miniature spoodle, Donnie.’
‘But what’s that guy’s real name?’
‘His real name isn’t important,’ she said. ‘He feels like he’s Roberta. He keeps up this act—he plays volleyball with his daytime friends, works his office job. But on the inside, he is Roberta. Your turn.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘See that girl?’ I pointed to a girl up the beach. ‘She was born a man.’
‘Hey!’ cried Jewel. ‘You practically copied me. She doesn’t even look transsexual, anyway.’
‘They never do, the real ones. They call them “lady boys”. They’re incredibly popular in Asia.’
Jewel laughed. ‘You know that saying “born a man” makes no sense? It makes her sound as if she was born a full-grown man, not a baby.’
‘That’s because she was born a full-grown man,’ I nodded.
Jewel shook her head. ‘No, you have to stay within the realms of the possible.’
‘If a spoodle is possible, a man being born fully grown and turning into a woman is almost definitely possible.’
Jewel laughed again and squeezed my hand, and I turned and kissed her. We probably looked like stupid kids, but I didn’t mind, because I was so happy. What people thought didn’t matter any more.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank the wonderful people who made this book possible: my fantastic agent, Ginger Clark; Penny Hueston and all the brilliant people at Text Publishing; Weronika Janczuk, this book’s first reader; and Sara J Henry, without whose encouragement and advice I would not be where I am right now.
I’d also like to thank my family: Nan and Pop, for reading my books and blogs and always telling me how great I am; Aunty Pat, my number one fan, for always being fabulous, Grandma, Grandpa, Susan, Carol and Dean, for all of their support; my beautiful little sister, Rhiannon; and Mum, for her never-ending hugs, for listening to me talk incessantly about imaginary people and for giving me resilience.
To everyone I’ve ever known who has encouraged or inspired me in one way or another, I am immensely grateful. Don’t worry; the characters in the book are completely fictitious.