The Other Boy

by M. G. Hennessey

  Summer looked startled. “Shane, you shouldn’t—”

  “I do, I hate him. And you can tell him I said that.” I spun around and stormed down the hall. My parents stopped talking when they saw me. I pushed past Dad, ducking to avoid the hand he reached toward me.

  “Shane, wait—” he said.

  “I want to go. Now,” I told Mom without turning around.

  There was a long beat, then Mom said in a low voice, “I think it’s best if I take him with me. We can try to straighten this out tomorrow.”

  Dad waited a long time before saying, “Okay.” I couldn’t tell if he was sad or relieved. Probably a little of both.

  Mom didn’t say anything until we reached the car. “Are you okay?” she asked as we got in.

  I nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Which was what she always said when I didn’t feel like talking. The thing she doesn’t get is that talking doesn’t always help; sometimes it makes things worse.

  “I know, Mom. Now can we just go?”

  She paused, then nodded and started the car.

  SIX

  I yawned and scuffed my sneakers against the chair legs while we waited. I’d been seeing Dr. Anne for four years now. She was a different kind of doctor; instead of colds and earaches, she worked with kids like me. Her office was really nice, with brightly colored walls, photos of kids, and interesting art all around. But even being here couldn’t cheer me up after last night.

  Mom was flipping through Us magazine and snorting to herself. Occasionally she’d raise her eyebrows and tilt a page toward me: Celebrities: they’re just like us! or Kim’s new heartbreak. She hated trashy magazines but always read them anyway while we waited.

  There was a little kid sitting across from me, probably only eight years old. Her hair was still boy-short, but she was wearing a tutu and pink sneakers. Her mom sat stiffly with her hands folded on her lap, staring off at nothing, while the kid played a game on her phone. It made me feel funny watching them; I couldn’t tell if the mom was happy to be here or not. Her lips were pursed tightly together, like she was waiting on bad news.

  I took Mom’s hand and gave it a squeeze. She threw me a surprised smile, then ran a hand over my hair. Leaning in, she said, “I love how it feels in the back after you’ve just gotten it cut, like a baby seal.”

  “Yeah, me too.” I smiled back at her.

  The door to the outer hall suddenly popped open, and we all looked up. No one was more shocked than me when Dad came in. Spotting us, he smiled uncertainly. “I wasn’t sure if this was the right place. Man, what a maze!”

  “Dad, what are you doing here?” I asked. After the way we’d left things, he was the last person I wanted to see.

  “Doctor’s appointment, right?” he said, looking pleased with himself.

  Mom and I exchanged a quick look. He’d never come to a doctor’s appointment before, not even when we still lived up here. He’d always had some excuse. I figured he must still be feeling guilty. I threw him a scowl. If he thought this would make up for last night, he was dead wrong. It was going to take a lot more than that.

  Dad’s tentative smile wavered when I didn’t respond. He took the chair beside Mom and pulled out his phone. We sat there in an uncomfortable silence until Rainbow, my favorite nurse, walked around the reception desk. “Hey, Shane. Dr. Anne’s ready for you.”

  I got up and slung my backpack over my shoulder, keeping my head low. My parents fell in step behind me. I saw Dad checking out the posters on the walls, which were mostly just pictures of kids. He seemed kind of relieved, which made me wonder what he’d been expecting.

  “How’s L.A.?” Rainbow asked, draping an arm across my shoulders as she led me back. I’d had a tiny crush on her ever since I was ten. She was beautiful, with light brown skin and blue eyes. She wore a little too much makeup, but even that couldn’t cover how pretty she was.

  “Cool,” I muttered.

  “I’ll bet. You see anyone lately?”

  I shrugged; she always asked the same question. “I saw some guy named Fabio in the grocery store. He was selling shampoo or something.”

  Mom and I thought it was pretty funny, this huge guy handing out tiny samples next to the kale. I hadn’t known who he was. I’d actually thought he worked there; but Mom explained he was famous for being on the cover of cheesy romance books.

  “Fabio, really?” Rainbow held out one of her long braids for me to examine. “You think his shampoo would work on my hair?”

  “I don’t know. He did have pretty nice hair,” I offered.

  Apparently that was a funny thing to say, because she laughed. “You’re a real comedian, Shane.” Rainbow tucked a file into the slot on the door as she held it open for us. “The doctor will be with you in a sec.”

  The door closed behind us. I sat on the examining table, and Mom took the chair. Dad plopped down on the doctor’s stool, one of those rolling ones that spun. He turned in a slow circle. “She seems nice.”

  “Rainbow is awesome,” I said.

  “Great. And she’s . . .”

  Dad didn’t say anything else, just sat there looking at us with raised eyebrows.

  Before Mom could open her mouth to lecture him, I said, “Most of the people who work here are trans.”

  “Including the doctor?” Mom threw him a look, and he held up his hands defensively. “I’m just asking.”

  “Does it matter?” Mom said impatiently.

  “I don’t think she is,” I muttered, equally annoyed. He was acting like this was a trip to the zoo or something.

  “Well, I’m glad I’ll finally get to meet her,” Dad said, in a big fake voice that was too loud for the small room.

  I could tell Mom was steaming by the way she sat; shoulders tense, knuckles white on her purse straps. I was angry, too, but also felt a little sick. I really wished my dad hadn’t come; it was ruining the whole thing. Thankfully, there was a sharp rap on the door, and Dr. Anne came in.

  “Well, hello,” she said. “All of you today, I see?”

  Dad bounced off the chair as soon as the door opened, like he was afraid of getting in trouble for sitting on it. “Adam Woods. Good to finally meet you.”

  Dr. Anne shook his hand, then turned to us. “Hi, Rebecca, Shane. So great to see you again!”

  “Hey,” I mumbled, even though I wanted to say it was really great to see her, too. I had a regular doctor in Los Angeles for checkups, but Dr. Anne was my favorite. I’ll never forget my first appointment. Mom had made me ask all these embarrassing questions, saying that Dr. Anne would have the answers, and wouldn’t it be great to find out?

  The big one was whether or not I’d ever be a “real boy.”

  I’d asked that question last, totally mortified the minute the words left my lips. I mean, I sounded like Pinocchio or something. I waited for her to laugh me out of the room.

  But instead, Dr. Anne sat down and looked in my eyes and said, “The most important thing to realize, Shane, is that you already are. You’ve got a boy’s brain, and there are ways we can help you get the rest of it eventually, if you want. But all that stuff is the least important part about being a man. Does that make sense?”

  I could tell she really understood. And it kind of made me think of things differently, too. Mom was always insisting that I hadn’t been born in the wrong body, just a different one; a special one. That always seemed like total nonsense to me, but for some reason when Dr. Anne said it, it sounded right.

  Now, she was lifting pages in my chart and nodding slightly, as if confirming something she already knew. “So you turned twelve a few months ago. Happy belated birthday!”

  “Thanks.”

  “All right.” Briskly, she closed the folder, adjusted her glasses, and looked at my parents. “Why don’t you two step out for a minute while I do a quick exam?”

  Dad looked disgruntled, but Mom was already gathering up her purse. After they le
ft, Dr. Anne did the normal routine: checking my eyes and ears, pressing her fingers along my stomach and back. The whole time, she asked questions. “Still no side effects from the blocker?”

  “Not really,” I said. When I was nine, I’d started getting implants of a hormone blocker in my arm. “Just a headache every once in a while.”

  She nodded and flipped open the chart again. “And we put in the last one a year ago, so we’ll switch that out for you today. So how have you been feeling lately?”

  “Fine.”

  “No bad thoughts?” she asked, flipping over my arms to examine them.

  “No, I’m good,” I assured her. “Really.”

  She always snuck in these types of questions, because a lot of kids like me have issues. Mom and I used to go to a support group in L.A., until our weekends got too busy with baseball. One of the kids there was a cutter; another was so anorexic she looked like her legs could barely support her. “Body dysphoria,” they called it; and it’s why I used to see a therapist in addition to a regular doctor. I don’t hate my body, though; I mean, I wish it was different, but it could be worse. There was a kid in my old school who was born with cerebral palsy; every move he made was jerky and wrong, and he couldn’t play sports or anything. That would really suck.

  “Great.” Dr. Anne gave me a real smile then, showing all her teeth. “I think maybe it’s time to decide whether to start the testosterone.”

  “Okay,” I said, experiencing a thrill of excitement. This was the main reason we were here. It was why I’d been willing to miss such an important baseball game.

  She patted my leg. “All right. Let’s call your parents back in.”

  I kind of tuned out while Dr. Anne ran through the medical stuff. Dad nodded along, while Mom just looked bored and a little annoyed; we’d talked about all this before.

  But then Dr. Anne got to the part about starting testosterone shots. “Most of the other boys Shane’s age will be kicking into puberty high gear over the next year,” she explained. “Ideally, it would be great if he could develop along with them.”

  “Sure, sure,” Dad said, but I wondered if any of this was registering. Dad had a bad habit of acting like he was listening when he really wasn’t.

  “There are drawbacks, of course.” Dr. Anne’s eyes slid across to my mother, who suddenly looked worried.

  Dad’s forehead wrinkled. “What kind of drawbacks?”

  Dr. Anne gave him a patient smile. “Basically, so far the hormone blockers have prevented Shane from going through female puberty. But once we add testosterone to the mix, he’ll develop as a man. His voice will deepen, he’ll get an Adam’s apple and more body and facial hair, he’ll be more muscular.”

  That all sounded great to me. I could hardly wait to start shaving; heck, I might even grow a mustache.

  “Okay,” Dad said slowly. “But if he stops taking the shots, that’s reversible too, right?”

  “Not entirely,” Dr. Anne said. I could tell she was choosing her words carefully. “Some of the changes will be permanent. Others could be reversed surgically, or they’ll just go away. But Shane will have skipped female puberty, which means he most likely won’t be able to have children naturally.”

  There was a long moment of silence. I could see Dad processing this, and I didn’t like the look on his face. “It’s cool,” I interjected. “Mom and me have already talked about it—”

  “Wait,” Dad said, holding up a hand. “You’re telling me she’ll never be able to have kids?”

  “He,” Mom growled. It drove her crazy when he used the wrong pronouns. Honestly, it drove me crazy, too, but in a different way. Kind of an all-the-air-sucked-out-of-the-room way.

  “Not naturally, no,” Dr. Anne said calmly. “And that’s a serious decision.”

  “I’m fine with it,” I said hurriedly. “Really, I—”

  “You’re twelve,” Dad said. “You don’t know what you want.”

  I stared at my sneakers, feeling sick. This all seemed to be spinning out of control, and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it.

  “So we’re supposed to decide this today?” Dad said incredulously. “It just seems really fast.”

  “We’ve been discussing it for a long time now,” Mom said.

  The way she said long time made it pretty clear what she meant, and she wasn’t wrong. If Dad had ever come to a doctor’s appointment before, this wouldn’t be such a surprise.

  Dr. Anne looked uncomfortable. “We don’t have to decide anything today, of course. Shane can come back in six months, or a year.”

  “I think that would be best.” Dad sat back, looking relieved.

  “No!”

  My parents looked at me with surprise, as if they’d forgotten I was in the room.

  “Don’t you get it? All the other boys in my class are going to be changing. The girls already have. And I’ll still look like a little kid.” Tears welled up in my eyes. “I don’t want to be left behind.”

  “Shane, everyone develops at different rates. If we don’t start today, it’s not the end of the world,” Dr. Anne said soothingly.

  But it was. I’d been looking forward to this appointment for months. After brushing my teeth at night, I’d stand in front of the mirror and puff my chest out, imagining how it would look once I started testosterone. I’d flex my puny biceps and picture them doubling in size. I’d practice deepening my voice until it almost sounded like Dad’s.

  And now, it was a wasted trip. Even worse, my team was probably losing without me, which meant our season would be over. And it was all my fault.

  I stared down at the floor. One of the tiles was chipped. I focused hard on that, trying not to cry.

  “Can we have a minute?” Mom asked in a strained voice.

  “Of course.” Glancing at her watch, Dr. Anne said, “Why don’t I come back after checking on another patient?”

  There was a heavy silence after the door closed behind her. Dad was looking everywhere but at us. Mom was glaring at him.

  “I can’t believe you,” Mom finally said.

  I stiffened. They had a rule about not fighting in front of me, but I got the sense that was about to be broken.

  “This just caught me off guard.” Dad ran a hand down his face. His eyes settled on me, and he tried to smile. “I guess I should’ve come to more appointments, huh?”

  I shrugged. Probably. Too late now.

  “This is the only reason we came up this weekend,” Mom said, the anger plain in her voice.

  “I don’t see why waiting is such a big deal,” Dad said defensively. “The doctor doesn’t seem to think so.”

  “I do,” I muttered.

  “Shane, honey, I’ve been on board with all the rest of it. The blockers and . . . whatever.” He waved his hand vaguely. “But this . . . I mean, it’s so permanent.”

  Exactly, I thought. This would permanently make me who I was supposed to be all along.

  “Well, we both have to agree,” Mom said, “since we share legal custody.”

  Dad exhaled hard. He looked old, and tired, and in spite of everything I felt a pang of sympathy. He was trying, but this was all just too complicated for him sometimes.

  Still, when he said, “I can’t decide this today. Sorry,” something withered inside me. Without looking at us he left, shutting the door behind him.

  SEVEN

  All I wanted was to curl up in my own bed at home and cry; but our flight wasn’t until the next afternoon, and Mom said it was too expensive to change the tickets. So we headed back to Stella’s house.

  Stella and Mom used to share a practice when we lived in San Francisco. Stella was tiny, with spiky blue hair even though she was seriously old, like fifty. She always wore ripped jeans and lots of spangly jewelry, and she did salsa dance in her spare time.

  “Oh, Shane,” she’d say, shaking her head. “You need to come take dance with me. If you know how to dance, when you get a little older? The girls won’t be able t
o stay away.”

  I’d actually told Stella I was a boy first; it just kind of popped out one day when I was sitting in her kitchen, waiting for Mom. Stella was cutting veggies for a stew and going on about some guy she’d met in dance class. Then she’d asked, “What about you, Shane? You like any boys?”

  I shook my head hard, suddenly aware of my cheeks flaming. Stella laughed loudly and said, “Aw, Shane, you can tell me! I won’t tell your mother!”

  “I don’t like boys,” I muttered.

  Stella studied me for a minute, head cocked to the side; her bright blue hair made her look like a psychedelic rooster. “Girls, then?” she offered. Seeing the startled look on my face, she added, “No big deal for me, Shane.”

  “It’s kind of complicated.”

  “Complicated how?” she asked, pulling up a chair.

  I shrugged. But Stella wasn’t the type of person who took a hint; she’d sit there all night waiting for an answer. So finally, in a low voice, I said, “Because I’m a boy.”

  It was strange, finally saying it out loud. I’d gone along with my parents calling me a tomboy forever, and this felt . . . different. Like when you drive too fast over a speed bump, and your stomach leaps up. I didn’t dare look at Stella. I held my breath, waiting for her to say something, suddenly panicked that she’d tell my mom.

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Stella cuffed my shoulder lightly. “Now I feel silly. All you had to say was, ‘By the way, Stella, I’m a boy,’ and then we’d have it all out in the open.”

  I was so overwhelmed with relief, I couldn’t answer. I felt shaky and glad to be sitting down. “Don’t tell Mom, okay?”

  “It’s up to you to tell her,” she said. “But when you’re ready, you should. Your momma, she’s cool.” She winked at me and stood back up. “Now finish your homework. I need help chopping.”

  And she was right, Mom had handled it pretty well—way better than Dad. Even now, years later, he still seemed to think this was some “phase” I was going through.

  After we left the doctor’s office, Mom offered to take me out for lunch, but I refused. I wasn’t hungry. When we got back to Stella’s house, I went straight to the guest room and closed the door. Mom had promised to try and convince Dad, but I didn’t hold out much hope. I’d probably be on blockers until I was eighteen and legally old enough to decide for myself. Imagining six more years of this made me want to scream.