by Ami Polonsky
We ordered root beer, chips, and guac to start. And even though it turned out that Essie just didn’t understand guacamole, I still loved her.
DAY 102
Just like when I’d put myself into Essie’s shoes and felt how she might have been feeling when she heard the definition of pan, I put myself into her shoes and realized just how much it must suck for your parents to get divorced.
And then I thought about Max.
DAY 103
When I got home from school on Friday, I spent a good while evaluating the back shed. Finally gathering enough courage to face the potential critters, I counted to three, opened the door, and ventured inside, where I pulled on the overhead bulb and dug around for the baseballs and gloves. Dad’s and mine.
Once I found them, buried in a crate beneath a bunch of dirty old tennis balls, I poked my head into the kitchen, where Dad was checking on something in the slow cooker that smelled way too healthy to be edible. “Hey, Dad,” I said. “Want to play catch?”
He looked over. “Really?”
“Here—” I tossed him his glove. “I even wiped off the spiderwebs.”
“You went into the shed to get this? All by yourself?” he teased, snapping the top back onto the … I squinted at the open cookbook … black bean and kale stew? Really, Dad?
“Shut up,” I joked. “I’m brave. Though I did make sure to leave the door open for a bit before going in. You know, to give the critters a chance to make a run for it.”
“Wow. I barely recognize you.”
Out in the yard, Dad and I assumed our regular positions. Okay, the positions that used to be our regular positions, back when we’d toss the ball around every day. My hand felt bigger, the glove felt smaller, but playing catch with Dad was the same: talking while tossing a ball didn’t count as “talking.”
“You seem happy,” Dad said, launching a pop-up.
I caught it, easy. “I feel happy. I feel like me.” I threw him a grounder.
“I’m so glad. I mean, the past couple of years must have been really stressful for you, right?” Another pop-up. “You seem more like—”
“All of me?” I asked, catching it.
“Okaaay…,” Dad replied as he caught my pop-up, “Sure, I can see that: all of you.”
DAY 104
The rabbit hutch was done, and Essie was on her way over to see it. There was no time like the present to temporarily transport Froggy to her larger, outdoor jail.
“Here’s your new vacation home, Froggy,” I told her, setting her down on the grass inside the hutch. “It’s nice in here, see? There are weeds to nibble on, and you can move around more…” I went back in for a pile of alfalfa and then sat on the back step, watching her acclimate to her new jail cell. I mean, hutch.
Froggy was cute, and I was tired of her bringing up bad memories. After Rumble Peak, I’d been embarrassed. Not by who I was. I’d never be embarrassed by that, unless the definition of embarrassed is proud. But I’d been embarrassed that I’d told Addison without really knowing if she was trustworthy, that I’d let her play such a big part. I was still embarrassed. For days after the incident, I’d refused to leave the house. I wouldn’t go to school. I wouldn’t go anywhere. Mom and Dad had finally bribed me with a bunny to rejoin society.
It wasn’t that I had wanted the coming-out story to be some big thing, but that story? It should have been mine. Not Addison’s.
“Ollie?” Mom called through the open window. “Essie’s here!”
Essie waved, hopped down the steps, her long hair falling over her shoulders, and I smiled at her. Because this story—the story about me and Essie—was mine. I’d let Addison steal my coming-out story, but I wanted to own everything about the Ollie and Essie Love Story. Well, at least everything about my half of it.
“Hey,” Essie said, sitting next to me. “Nice hutch.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve been thinking…”
She turned to me. Our magnet bodies were so close.
“I kind of want to tell you a story. It’s about when I got Froggy,” I said. “No, wait. Actually, it’s about me.”
DAY 105
It was a warm day, especially for December. Essie and I sat on the swings, side by side, at the park. “Luciana and I used to fight over that orange swing,” I told her, motioning toward the one she was on.
“You did?”
I laughed. “All the time.”
“Tell me more,” she said. “About when you were little.”
“I was never self-conscious. I’m not talking about gender. Just in general. Until fourth grade. Then I was.”
“Because of Addison?”
“Maybe. I think the whole situation just derailed me.”
She nodded.
I went on. “I always wanted to be the best at whatever I was doing, even if it was something totally dumb. I got so mad once in second grade, because this kid collected a bigger pile of pebbles than me at recess.”
“Jerk,” Essie confirmed.
“I broke my arm in third grade falling out of a tree.”
“Yikes.”
“I was kind of proud of the cast, actually. Now tell me about you. What were you like when you were little?”
“My best friend was Emily.”
“And?”
“I went through a phase where I’d only eat foods that were primary colors.”
“Of course,” I joked.
“I used to be obsessed with horses. And I had a fuzzy collection.”
“A fuzzy collection?”
“Yeah. Anytime I’d find something fuzzy, like a piece of lint on the rug, I’d put it in a jar.”
I laughed as Essie jumped off her swing. “Didn’t you tell me before that Damien was expecting you at five?” she asked, tapping her watch.
“Yeah.” I’d told him I’d be over to work on my stage weapons. I wanted to go, but I didn’t want to go. “Come with?” I asked her.
* * *
“Damien?” I called through his and Annabella’s screen door when Essie and I arrived. “You there?”
“Come in!” he yelled from downstairs.
“Follow me,” I told Essie, leading her down to the basement.
“Hey, Ollie! Oh, you brought Essie!” Damien said, drill in hand.
“Do you have time for another student?”
“There’s a waiting list, but if the student is Essie Rosenberg, she can jump the queue.”
“Great!” I said.
“Does my new student have a project idea in mind? No more rabbit hutches, I hope.”
“I was actually hoping to build a duck pond,” Essie replied, giggling.
Damien looked worried. I cracked up. “Relax. She’s kidding. She’s going to help me make stage weapons.”
“I am?” she asked.
“You are. Making them is my concession prize for dropping out of stage combat.”
“Wait, what?” she asked. “Why are you dropping out?”
I explained how I couldn’t be at GLOW meetings and stage combat meetings at the same time.
“Ollie,” Essie said, “remember: You’re Superperson. Can’t you figure out some way to make it work?”
Damien pulled out a couple of saws and some sandpaper, and left us to do some work.
I thought about what Essie had said as she took a step backward and skeptically examined the saws. So I’ll admit to being a wimp about roller coasters (and anything else that moves), but I definitely wasn’t afraid of Damien’s tools. Essie, it turned out, was the exact opposite. Apparently, she loved all the craziest rides at amusement parks. But when I picked up the tiniest saw, she practically screamed.
“You have to chill out!” I told her when she found a pair of giant leather work gloves to wear as she sanded the dagger Damien and I had started a few days earlier.
“I’m scared of blood,” she admitted, giggling.
I laughed. “You look so funny with that tiny piece of sandpaper and enormous gloves that practi
cally go up to your shoulders!”
“Shut up, or I’ll maul you with this,” she said, waving the scrap of sandpaper in my face.
Essie and I got into kind of a rhythm, standing there together, sanding wood. It was nice, like the cores of who we were just-being together.
Eventually, Annabella called to us from upstairs. “Hey, humans,” they yelled. “It’s not that we don’t love you, but you’re getting the boot. Damien and I have a thing to go to.”
“’Kay,” I called up. “Cleaning up now.” I swept sawdust into the dustpan that Essie held for me. “I’m proud of you,” I told her. “It was really brave, how you touched the handle of that saw with the tip of your finger a couple of minutes ago.”
“Shut up,” she said, dumping the sawdust onto my shoes.
“Hey!” I swept up the pile—again—laughing.
“How’s the gothic arming sword coming along?” Damien asked when we came upstairs. Annabella shoved his coat into his hands.
“Almost done,” I confirmed.
“Excellent,” Damien told me as Annabella hurried us all out the door. Outside, the sun was setting. Essie and I waved to Damien and Annabella as they rushed off.
“Do you have to go home?” I asked Essie.
“Not for like an hour. I have to … I want to FaceTime my mom when she’s back from a meeting.”
I nodded.
She nodded. “So…”
“We could sit in the hammock for a bit?”
We lay back in the netting, looking up at the darkening sky. Essie put her thumbs together. “Butterfly,” she said.
I squeezed them. They were so warm. “Hands.”
DAY 106
Essie and I were in the backyard on Monday after school, sitting side by side, watching Froggy do her bunny thing. In other words, lying there, sleeping. I thought of my text conversation with Max. This was my last week with Essie. My last chance to find out how things had looked all this time through her eyes. “Es?” I asked.
“Yeah?”
My heart thudded. Just do it, Ollie! “What made you stop liking me? You know, after the spinny-spin.”
“What?” she asked, staring at me. “I never stopped liking you. You stopped liking me.”
“No I didn’t!” I looked from her perfect face to her hand, which was so close to mine. “Essie?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I…” God, this was awkward. “Can I hold your hand?”
She grabbed my hand. Wrapped her fingers through mine.
“I never stopped liking you,” she repeated. Tiny drops of rain were starting to fall.
“It seemed like you did. I was worried that you weren’t into me because I’m nonbinary.” There. Simple. Not easy, but simple.
She shook her head. “No, that wasn’t it. That was never it.”
“So what happened? On the spinny-spin.”
“Maybe I panicked?” Her eyes were so brown and her bottom eyelashes curled all the way onto her freckled skin. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “I don’t know what happened.”
Suddenly, it seemed kind of obvious. “Do you think maybe you were just overwhelmed, in general? Because of your parents separating, and your mom staying back in Saint Louis?”
“Maybe?” she said, looking suddenly so sad, like she was mulling over something that she’d never understand. “It’s just that, before they separated, there was at least always some hope that they’d start liking each other. That we’d be the kind of family I wanted us to be. You know?”
I nodded. “It’s okay,” I told her. “It’s okay to be sad.” I reached my arm around her.
She leaned her head against mine. “Yeah.”
My rabbit: Essie isn’t attracted to me because I’m nonbinary. Essie’s duck: I’m sad. My hands: Essie stopped inviting me over, so there you have it—proof. Essie’s butterfly: My heart is on my wall.
DAY 107
It was like I was returning to the Ollie I was before—before I’d become focused only on my gender.
“What are you thinking about?” Essie asked, as we sat on the stone steps before school.
I held up my phone to show her my text exchange with Lucy. “Lucy and Peter have a homework date.”
“It’s about time!” she said.
“Yeah, I gave Lucy the advice she always gives me. Apparently she thought she had some smart ideas! Hey, I’ve been thinking. Do you ever wish you could go back to being young?” I thought of teaching Lucy to catch roofballs, playing baseball with Dad, the days when my brain was freer.
Essie reached for my hand, wove her fingers through mine. Smiled. “Only sometimes,” she replied.
* * *
After lunch, I tossed my garbage in the trash (LeBron style) wondering if there were any coed basketball leagues in the area that I could join, because basketball was one of those things I’d given up due to the whole gendered-sport thing, and I really wished I could still play. Then I went to Ms. Rose’s classroom. She was at her desk, her back to me. I didn’t want to scare her. “Hey, Ms. Rose,” I whispered.
She jumped anyway. “Ollie! You scared me!”
“Sorry. I tried not to.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay. Recovered. Come in!”
I sat down at the desk nearest to hers. “Can we talk about next semester? GLOW?” I asked her.
“Of course! What’s up?”
“I got an idea. What if, starting after winter break, I had a co-president? That way, I’d still be totally involved, but maybe I wouldn’t have to come to every single meeting. It would give me more time to do other clubs, too.”
Ms. Rose looked thoughtful. “That’s a very mature idea. I really, really like it. How’d you come up with it?”
I shrugged, thinking of Essie. The open doorway. The way she thought I could do everything. “It just came to me.”
* * *
Lucy was on the stone steps, waiting for me after school. “How are you?” she asked. “Four more days, huh?”
“I’m okay,” I told her. “I’m going to be okay. Eventually.” I forced a smile. “Any Peter updates?” I asked, sending her a secret message: I’m not just going to look at things through my lens anymore.
She smiled, like she’d received it. “I’m meeting him at the library in an hour to do homework.”
DAY 108
Essie had been obsessing. Over words. Labels. She was reminding me of me, in fourth grade. The bell dinged as we entered Jak’s. “A word is just a word, right?” she was saying as we approached the counter.
I interrupted her. “Would it be weird for anyone other than a little kid to order Blue Moon?”
“Like that!” she said. “Why would we label ice cream flavors that way, some for kids and some for adults?”
“Right.” I scanned the labels, looking for the most adult-like one. “I’ll have a scoop of Mocha Chip,” I told Jak. Essie ordered, and we took our ice cream outside. “I used to obsess about this, too,” I assured her, taking a bite and wishing I had ordered Blue Moon, after all. “Labels—the benefits, the drawbacks…”
“And then?”
“I guess I moved on … started obsessing about different things. Space, Star Wars, superheroes, Basketball. GLOW…” You …
“Yeah…,” she said, licking her cone.
I started thinking of all of my labels—because even though my gender label was one of my favorite and most important labels, I liked thinking about the other ones, too, and I knew that without them I wouldn’t be me. White. Upper-middle class. Competitive. Athletic. Sibling. Child. Woodworker. Stage fighter. Founder of GLOW. Only and always high-top-wearer. Wannabe dog owner. President: Essie Rosenberg Fan Club.
“I just think,” Essie said, “that life should be about things, not the words for things.”
“Are you talking about gender and sexuality labels, by any chance?”
“Maybe.”
“My experience was that the labels didn’t seem like a big deal for too lo
ng.”
Essie nodded, thinking.
“Can I tell you something about my ‘President of GLOW’ label?” I asked, after a minute of silence.
Essie nodded. “Sure.”
“I asked Ms. Rose what she thought about me having a co-president next semester.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you helped me realize that I can do lots of stuff. Like, GLOW plus other things. I can do stage combat, woodworking…”
“And you can text me?” she interrupted, looking kind of thoughtful, or mysterious, or something.
“Yeah,” I said, “I can text you.”
* * *
When we got back to Essie’s, her dad was waiting for us. He’d moved her bed away from the wall and laid drop cloths down on the ugly beige carpet. “It’s a great mural,” he said, handing us paintbrushes. “I’ll be sad to see it go.” Then he opened the windows so we wouldn’t suffocate on paint fumes and left the room.
For a long time, Essie and I stared at the wall; at us, in the hammock, back in September. Then I picked the glow-in-the-dark stickers off where we’d placed them, inside Essie’s heart.
“At least you can put them back on your ceiling,” she said.
“No, I want you to have them. For your room back home.”
“Okay, but you keep the moon.”
The first coat of white paint lightened the mural, like a dream that fades when you try to remember it in the morning.
With the second coat, it was gone.
DAY 109
“Maxi Pad!” I yelled, running through the front door after school.
“Ol Doll!” he screamed from the kitchen.
We ran toward each other in pretend slo-mo as Mom stood back and watched happily. Max scooped me up like a baby when we met and tossed me onto the couch. “You got tall!” he said, sitting down next to me.
“Did I?” I asked. “I’m starving all the time.”