Finding Your Feet

by Cass Lennox

  Gigi was right where he’d left him: draped over the table with a glass of water, using ten empty shot glasses as a pillow. Ten. Jesus. Tyler knew better than this; however, Gigi on a bender was nigh unstoppable. At least Gigi had drunk most of them.

  “Still awake?” Tyler asked, poking Gigi’s face.

  “U’for—unfort— Yeah.” Gigi moaned into the table. “Fuck men. Aaallll assholes.”

  “Yes, yes, I know.”

  God, this took him back. Who knew gay men and straight women talked about similar things when wasted? He took it as a reminder that men had a habit of screwing things up. It was a point of principle to not be a screw-shit-up man now that he’d transitioned.

  But Gigi’s mention of guys seemed promisingly close to the nub of Gigi’s meltdown. Maybe they could finally talk this shit out and go home and sleep.

  After Evie left, Gigi had apologized again for the straight men remark—and Tyler had only forgiven him because he knew how thoughtless Gigi could be when upset—then had resumed bitching about Mark and his sin of being heterosexual. Reading between the lines of his complaints, it sounded like Mark was actually doing well with Gigi’s routine. So clearly something else had riled him up. Really riled him up. Enough to drag Tyler out for happy hour at a bar close to the dance school, with a promise of paying for Tyler’s drinks and having two, max.

  Of course, he’d hit the rum and Cokes so hard he’d been slurring within an hour. Tyler had managed to make out something about a guy and the name Brock, but nothing more than that before Gigi had gone to the washroom for the longest time and come back with shots.

  Since then, Gigi had crumpled onto the table and moaned about life being awful. Evie’s response to Tyler’s message had confirmed a growing hunch: Brock and Gigi had had words and now Gigi was freaking out. Tyler made him sip the water while trying to gauge the total alcohol units they’d both consumed and whether that was okay for his testosterone levels. So far his head was telling him lots and probably not. Right now it wasn’t the biggest of deals.

  “You.” Gigi glared, pointing a finger in his face. “Yooouuu’re damn han’some, you know tha’?”

  Well, no, but it was always good to hear. Tyler smirked. “Course I am.”

  “Beh you never ha’ any issues in high school.”

  The fuck? “Hey. Hey. I transitioned at the end of high school. I thought I was a messed-up dyke for a long time. Plus,” he gestured to his skin, “you know, black?”

  Gigi waved dismissively. “I was fat.”

  Oh hey. Hey now. Not like it was a competition or anything, but he was pretty sure racism and gender dysphoria at least equalled obesity in terms of fucking your life over. Tyler wasn’t in any condition or mood to argue with a wasted Gigi about it, though. Especially not if the memory of said high school obesity was fuelling this rage drinking. Goddamn it, Gi.

  “You complain you’re fat now,” Tyler pointed out.

  “Yeah, buh I was ac’shly fat back then. Chubby little gay who was into theatre arts and dancin’, that was me. A teenage cliché.” Gigi flicked a shot glass across the table. “High school fuckin’ sucked, man, and not in the good way.”

  “It sucked for everybody.”

  “Yurr not lis’nin’.” Gigi sat up, gulped some of the water, and began gesturing wildly. “So. There I was, okay, the chubbiest little queen-in-waiting you ever seen. G’ttin’ beat up, locker graffiti, insults, allovit. An’ there was this . . .” he screwed up his face “. . . guy. Yanno? A guy.”

  Tyler did not, in fact, know, having always been into girls, but he knew exactly what that tone meant. This wasn’t just anyone. This was someone.

  “Crush?”

  Gigi closed his eyes in consternation. “Huge. Massive. Fuckin’ head over fuckin’ heels. Course I didn’t say anythin’ ’cause I liked having all my teeth in my head, yanno?”

  “Who was he?” Tyler thought he probably already knew.

  “Brock.”

  Yup.

  Gigi sighed dramatically, slumping across the table. “He was gorjush.” He frowned. “Well, gorjush to teen me. If I saw sixteen-year-old him now I’d be all like, ‘Back in the playpen, child.’ Yechhh. Anyway. He did, like, technical shit for the school plays or whatever. Lights’n sound’n stuff. Trust him to show up now with a fucking camera.”

  Yeah. What a total douche-canoe. “Word.”

  They stared morosely at the pile of empty, sticky shot glasses.

  Tyler poked Gigi’s forehead. “So what happened?”

  Gigi frowned at him. “Huh?”

  “High school. Brock.”

  Gigi covered his face, almost knocking over the water. Tyler rescued it and took a gulp for good measure.

  “He kissed me.”

  Tyler choked and sprayed the water out.

  Gigi didn’t seem to notice, because he continued despondently. “It was after rehearsal this one time. Erryone was packin’ up an’ I was g’ttin’ my crap from where I stashed it an’ he totally ambushed me. Heh, bushed. Sayin’ stuff like, ‘You were good tonight,’ an’ bein’ all friendly an’ shit. An’ I was all like ‘Oh em gee, I’m gonna die from happiness’ ’cause he was talkin’ to me. Jus’ talkin’. Then he kissed me. And I was all like—” Gigi swept his arm around grandly “—whhaaat the fuuuck? Yanno?”

  Tyler protected the water. Gi had totally lost all, like, spatial awareness and stuff. And Ty needed water because water was like life. Second only to Gatorade.

  Gigi sighed. “We made out an’ gave each other handjobs for like three weeks, then his frien’s saw us, an’ tha’ was the end.”

  Tyler winced. That couldn’t have been good. “Aw, Gigi, I’m sorry.”

  Gigi reared back up. “Yurr sorry? I’m sorry! I was so fuckin’ happy he liked me, I didn’t fuckin’ think.” He rapped his own forehead, then winced. “Ow. So his frien’s catch him kissin’ the chubster queer, right, an’ he was gone. Vroom! Said it was my fault. Said I came on to him. Closeted prick.” Gigi’s face fell. “Never spoke to me again. Bullied worse.” The expression on his face made Tyler want to hug teenage Gigi. “Stayed that way till I graduated an’ got the fuck out of Dodge.”

  Well, Jesus. That sounded awful. Why were people so crap in high school? This was kind of reminding Tyler of Sarah’s stories about her town. She’d never come out there, but being . . . Well, she hadn’t known she was asexual back then, but she’d totally not sexed people at all, and apparently that had sent rumours flying around, which meant she had been bullied for being a lesbian and for being a prude. Somehow. He wondered what Evie had had to deal with. Man, it would suck if Evie had had to deal with that too.

  Though, now that he was thinking about it, his school had been relatively okay with LGBTQ people. There had definitely been bad times for him too, not least heightened by the fact that he couldn’t seem to do the girl thing in any way. Hindsight explained all, but at the time he’d felt like someone had given him a stick shift to drive and he only had the instruction manual for an automatic. He could still sort of drive it, but he knew he wasn’t doing it right and it felt wrong and made everything just that much harder.

  God. People sucked. Life sucked. Why did it all suck so much? Suddenly he felt so unbearably sad for him, and Gigi, and Sarah, and everyone else who’d had to take crap from people just for being themselves. Ordering another round of drinks looked downright necessary.

  Huh, maybe the alcohol was getting to him more than he’d realized. Melancholy didn’t usually set in this quickly.

  “That’s really shit.” Tyler patted Gigi’s shoulder heavily. “Like, total fucking remove-someone’s-nutsack-and-shit-on-it shit.”

  “I know, right?” Gigi sat up straight. “So. I graduate. I get to Toronno. I drop eighty pounss. I enrol in dance school. I go out. I fuck whoever the fuck I wan’. I have boyfrien’ss. Ssss. Like, plural. Life is fuckin’ sweet.” His hands exploded out from the table. “Then Closeted Assface shows up with his fuckin’ camera an’ tel
ls me he’s sorry.”

  “That ass— Wait, wha’?” Tyler wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “He apologized?”

  Gigi scoffed. “Yeah. Says he’s sorry an’ I’m gorjush an’ can he make it up to me. Canyu b’lieve him?” Gigi’s face darkened. “Make it up to me? He broke my chubby little gay heart. He does not get t’make that up to me now that I’m sexy. Thass not how it works.”

  Tyler nodded. “Totally.” He paused. “But he apologized?”

  Gigi snapped his fingers. “Tyler! Honey! I’m sayin’ that he can’t jus’ waltz in here, say he likes me, and expect me to be okay with it.”

  “Nah, nah, it doesn’t sound like that. He said he wants to make it up to you. That’s a better thing.” Apologies were good things. They were awesome things. He’d know.

  Gigi peered at him suspiciously. “Whose side’re you on?”

  “Yours. Duh. Always. But, Gi, if you really didn’t care, you’d’ve walked away or fucked it out.” Tyler thought about it. “Definitely fucked it out.”

  Gigi grinned. “And then sashayed away. Like a boss. Like a queen.”

  Tyler stacked two shot glasses, thanking the breakup gods that he hadn’t done this with Gigi when he’d broken up with Lucette. Like he needed more vague memories of feeling anxious and exposed in public; starting to transition had been bad enough. “But, Gi, like, my point is that you only drink shots when you’re upset.”

  “So?”

  “So, he got to you. You still like him.”

  Gigi blinked at him, then moaned and face-planted onto the table. “Nooo, Ty. Fuck. Fuck. ’M a fuckin’ mess. Stop showin’ me the mess I am. An’ I don’t like him. I hate him. Him an’ his stupid face an’ ’mazin’ shoulders. Why does he have such a great body? How is that fair? Why?”

  Tyler knocked on the back of Gigi’s head. “Hey. Hey. You’re, like, proving my point. He’s your first love. Let him make it up to you.”

  Gigi raised his head to glare at Tyler. “How is he my first love? My first love should’ve been grand! Poetic! Passionate! His closeted ass tossed me to the fuckin’ wolves. Wolves, Ty!”

  Tyler knew from experience that first love could be all those things and still end in heartbreak. Or wolves. “But he apologized.”

  Gigi did seem to be thinking about it. “Revenge sex is too good for ’im.”

  “Did I say go easy on him?”

  Gigi peeled himself off the table and picked up the water glass. “I guess I could consider indulging him.” He was still wasted, but seemed much calmer now. He fixed his gaze on Tyler with surprising focus as he swallowed a gulp of water. “Sooo what’s your mess? Who keeps texting you?” His eyes narrowed. “It’s not the Überbitch is it?”

  Heh. Überbitch. Oh hey, he probably shouldn’t find that funny. “If you mean Luce, no.” Tyler balanced a third shot glass on top of his stack. “Shana’s the one hassling me right now. I have no idea what’s up with her and—”

  His phone buzzed and he checked it. Evie again: Shots are always the answer. Is he okay? Aw, she was asking! That was sweet.

  “You know, Evie saw you and Brock in the hall.” He tapped out a positive response. “What happened there?”

  Gigi waved his hand dismissively. “Assface came on too strong an’ I told him to back off is wha’ happened.” He leaned forward and rested his chin in his hand. His elbow slipped on the table, and he almost ended up face-first in his water glass. “Sooo,” he said, recovering. “You’re messaging Evie.”

  “She is my dance partner for the next week.” Tyler’s voice came out a little sharper than he’d expected. He fidgeted with a nearby shot glass, feeling uncomfortable now.

  “Baby Marky Poo an’ I are partners, buh you don’ see us textin’ each other our boy problems.” Gigi’s eyes gleamed. “She an’ her magnificent thighs live up to tha’ high score?”

  Tyler rolled his eyes. Gigi was definitely back to his usual levels of drag wit. “You have to stop it with the weight cracks. It’s not funny. She, like, asked after you. Such a waste.”

  “Tell her ’m fabulous an’ you totally look like someone slipped you E.”

  Tyler dropped the shot glass. “What the hell?”

  Gigi pointed a finger at him. “You look happy.”

  “Well excuse me for getting along with her.”

  “Her thighs mus’ be amazin’.”

  “I don’t wanna think about her thighs.”

  Gigi grinned wickedly. “Yeeeaaah you do.”

  Tyler scowled. Maybe he did and maybe he kind of already had, but where was the need to point it out? “Why don’t you drink your fucking water and think of revenge stuff for Brock to do for you?”

  Gigi lifted his glass to Tyler. “Jus’ sayin’ she’s, like, sexy-nice. Tha’sss all.” His face darkened. “Better’n Bitchface. Oooh, girl, nah. An’ waaay better than Marky Mark the het’ro puppy. Did I telyu that his girlfrien’ texted him like seven times? At practice? An’ that he ac’shlly texted back?”

  Only about fifty gazillion times. “You did.”

  Evie hadn’t responded—which, okay, that was okay, she probably had other things to do than watch this soap opera from afar—so Tyler put his phone away. Gigi seemed to have talked himself out of his funk. Suh-weet. Tyler could tell this would be a night where Gigi stayed over. The edges of the world seemed a little less blurry now, and he figured with more water, he might just avoid a hangover.

  Evie walked into the school on time the next morning, ready to dance once more. Tyler hadn’t messaged her again since yesterday, so she wasn’t sure where to go. Were they using the same practice room? She had no idea.

  Katie and Brock were in the reception area, heads together over a laptop. When they saw her, Brock went red and Katie stood quickly and waved. Evie joined them, noticing that Brock avoided her eye—embarrassed? Unsure? Who knew. Katie seemed cheerful though, with a cup of coffee in hand and gum going voraciously. Quite how those two flavours meshed was beyond Evie.

  “Check out the interview we did with Mark yesterday.” Katie swivelled the laptop around.

  Mark’s wide grin filled the screen. Katie pushed Enter and his face started moving. “I’m on?” He looked beyond the screen. “Like, now?”

  “Yes,” Katie could be heard saying.

  “Wow, awesome!” He waved at the camera. “Yo, Mom!”

  “Please ignore the camera. Could you tell us your name and what you do?”

  “My name’s Mark Castle, and I’m studying economics at Ryerson.”

  “Why are you doing this dance competition, Mark?”

  He looked excited. “I’m doing this because dancing is boss. And my little bro is gay too, so it’s like personal for me and stuff. And my girlfriend said I should totally do this.”

  “You’re straight?”

  “Oh yeah!”

  “You don’t mind dancing with a guy? Your girlfriend doesn’t mind?”

  Mark waved dismissively. “No way! We’re solid, Frannie and me. Totally solid. She’s super excited about it. Like I think she’s more excited about it than I am, and I’m really excited about it. I’ve never danced with a guy before. It’s way different than dancing with a girl.”

  “Who’s leading?”

  “I am,” Gigi called from offscreen.

  “Yeah, you are, bro!” Mark raised his hand. “High-five me, man!”

  Gigi gave him the most lacklustre high five Evie had ever seen. God, watching these two interact was hilarious. She had high hopes for their dance at the competition.

  Katie paused the video, the corners of her mouth twitching.

  “He’s certainly . . . enthusiastic,” Evie said. That was the nice way of saying ridiculous, right?

  “He’s adorable.” Katie’s smile broke through. “Clueless, but adorable.” She winked at Evie. “Brock hates him. He glowered at him the entire time we filmed that.”

  “I did not,” Brock muttered.

  “You totally did. You did it again this morning.�
��

  Brock went even more red and turned away to do something with the camera.

  Katie shook her head and focused on Evie. “Which room are you in today?”

  “I don’t know. Isn’t Tyler here already?”

  Katie shrugged. “I assume so.”

  One of the reception staff called over to them and directed them to a nearby practice room. The three of them walked together, Brock still very intent on the camera. Tyler stood outside the room talking to Gigi and the third QS dancer in the competition, the one with the sweet face.

  Gigi noticed them first. “Evie’s here with her entourage. I’m out. Don’t forget, Ty: go see Jean.” He clapped Tyler’s shoulder as he walked past, nudging Evie when he reached her. “Give him hell, girl.”

  Evie grinned. Someone seemed back to normal today.

  Tyler met her eyes, face weary and body slouched. He’d pulled his hair back, which looked good. Better than the rest of him did; Tyler was very obviously hungover.

  “How does Gigi look so fresh and you don’t?” she asked.

  “Because he sold his soul to Satan.” His voice was gravelly.

  “It’s because he’s younger than you. Hi,” the dancer next to him said, smiling at Evie. There was a soft Spanish lilt in her voice. “I’m Carmen.”

  “Evie.” They shook hands.

  “Carmen’s scoping out the competition,” Tyler said.

  Carmen gasped. “I am not!” She shoved him and turned back to Evie. “I just wanted to say hello and good luck.”

  Even if she was their competitor, Evie was inclined to like her. Carmen oozed warmth and empathy, and combined with everyone’s friendliness, Evie could feel herself melting a little. How was everyone so nice here? “You too,” she said.

  “I’m going to set up,” Tyler muttered, stepping into the practice room.

  Carmen rolled her eyes. “He’s just grumpy because Gigi kept him up until 3 a.m. He’ll be better once he’s danced a bit.” Evie noticed Brock scowling, possibly at Carmen’s choice of words. She decided she definitely liked Carmen. Especially when the dancer leaned in and murmured, “Take a tip from me? He might be leading, but you’re in charge.” She winked. “Good luck, sweetie.”