“A little bit,” I admitted.
“It does that. I used to have another brother,” she said gravely.
I gaped at her, not knowing what to say, until she burst out laughing. Then I started laughing, too.
“Wow, you really are a good actress,” I said.
“Ugh.” Madeline grimaced. “It was horrible. I hated it.”
“Then why’d you do it?”
“Mom started taking me to auditions when I was a baby. She moved here to become an actress, but she didn’t get much work,” Madeline said matter-of-factly. “And she thought that maybe if she’d started younger, with singing and dancing lessons, it would’ve turned out different.”
“So you sing and dance too?”
“A little.” She threw me a wry smile. “When I was eight, they cast me as the younger sister on a TV show. It was going to mean dropping out of school and everything. I got so stressed out, I had constant stomachaches. Finally, three days before the show started shooting, I told them I couldn’t do it.”
“Wow,” I said. “What’d they say?”
Madeline made a face. “Mom was super bummed, she kept calling it a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But Dad explained that we don’t all have the same dream.”
“That was cool of him,” I offered.
“Oh, my parents are great,” Madeline said. “Even though they don’t totally get me, they’re always on my side.” She laughed and added, “You should see my mom’s face when we go shopping. She hates all the clothes I like. But she never says anything.”
“Cool,” I said again, thinking about my dad. Even though he’d agreed to the testosterone, it was pretty obvious he still hoped that one day I’d wake up and want to be a girl. Most people weren’t lucky enough to have both parents on their side all the time. It explained why Madeline never seemed to care what people thought about her. I wished I could feel that way.
Halfway through the movie, there was a knock at the door. Madeline’s dad stuck his head in and said, “Shane’s mom is here.”
In the hallway, I made a point of shaking both their hands and thanking them for having me over. Her parents seemed a lot more relaxed. I said, “Bye, Madeline. See you.”
“Bye.” Her cheeks were flushed again, and she looked happy; she bounced a little on the balls of her feet and waved as we drove away.
FIFTEEN
“I was thinking we could check out the PFLAG meeting this afternoon,” Mom said over lunch the next day.
I stopped chewing and stared at her. “Why?”
“Because of everything that’s going on,” Mom said. “I bet some of the kids there have dealt with the same thing.”
I grunted and took another bite. PFLAG had a local support group for families with transgender kids. We used to go a lot, back when we first moved here. They split you into groups: the parents met in one room, teens in another, and everyone else basically just played in the courtyard. “I’m still in the elementary group,” I said. “What am I supposed to do, hang out with a bunch of six-year-olds?”
“Actually, since you’ve started hormone therapy, they said you can join the teens. There are other kids your age in there.” She leaned in. “Listen, it’s fine if you don’t want to go, but I’d like to check in with the other parents.”
She sounded tired. There were dark circles under her eyes, and they probably weren’t just from staying up late to deliver babies. I wasn’t sure what they talked about in the parent group, but based on the boxes of tissues, it must get pretty intense in there.
I could tell Mom would be disappointed if she had to go alone, so I said, “Sure. No practice this weekend anyway.”
“Great.” Mom sounded relieved as she sat back. “Be ready around two thirty.”
We arrived right before the meetings started. Mom handed me a name tag after adjusting her own. “Do you want me to walk you in?”
I threw her a death glare.
“I’ll take that as a no,” she said. “Okay, see you after.”
“Yeah, see you.”
I hesitated on the threshold. There were more people inside than I’d been expecting, at least three dozen. A couple looked to be around my age, but there were older kids, too, including a few boys with beards and mustaches. I scanned the room, trying to find a familiar face. But we hadn’t been here in over a year, and I didn’t recognize anyone.
“Shane! Hey, Shane!” A girl across the room was waving at me.
She was really pretty, with long black hair and dark eyes. I slouched across the room; up close, she looked familiar.
She crossed her arms and said indignantly, “You don’t remember me?”
“Um . . . ,” I hedged.
She burst out laughing and patted an empty seat. “Siéntate, Shane. I am so offended, though! I mean, hello, you’re the first boy I ever kissed!”
Suddenly, it clicked. “Alejandra?”
Her smile broadened. “Yup.”
Alejandra was a couple of years older. She’d been a regular back when Mom and I came every month. Our group played tag the whole time, and one day she cornered me by the slide and kissed me hard on the lips. The rest of the kids teased me about it relentlessly.
“You look . . . different.”
She lit up. “You think?”
“Definitely.” Alejandra was a few inches taller than me now. Her hair was longer, and her face had thinned out. She was also more . . . developed.
Catching me looking at her chest, she laughed and said, “Yup, these are new too. Thanks, estrogen!”
“Um . . . congratulations?” I muttered, slumping down in the chair and secretly wishing the floor would swallow me up. I felt a sudden pang for the elementary group. Playing tag and swinging across monkey bars sounded pretty good right about now.
“Thanks.” Alejandra laughed again, but not unkindly. Sizing me up, she asked, “So which grade are you in now?”
“Sixth.”
“Yeah? Are you on the T yet?”
“Just started,” I confessed.
She nodded her head approvingly. “You’ll see. Big changes coming soon.”
“I hope so,” I muttered.
Alejandra’s laughter was cut short by the facilitator, a guy in his early twenties who introduced himself as Terrence. He explained that he was a social worker who specialized in working with teens. “This is a safe space,” he said. “Nothing you say in here will be shared with anyone, including your parents. Now, who wants to start?”
I slouched lower in my chair. I was expecting it to be like school, where no one wanted to talk in class. But to my surprise, Alejandra jumped right in. “I’m dating this new guy, and I’m wondering when to tell him.”
One at a time, other people talked about their dating experiences. Most said they’d waited until they’d been with someone for a long time, until they knew they could trust them.
“Allan couldn’t handle it, though,” said a girl whose name tag read Emma. Tears coursed down her face, and her voice cracked as she went on. “He broke up with me, like, right away. Then he told everyone. Now I have to homeschool.”
A couple of other people murmured in agreement, including Alejandra, and suddenly I understood why there were boxes of tissues in this room, too. The dating thing turned into a discussion of how many kids were getting taught by their parents because they’d been bullied at school.
When one of the guys mentioned the football team confronting him in the locker room before practice, I decided to speak up. “Um, something like that happened to me, too. But . . . I think I covered. I mean, I don’t think anyone could tell I wasn’t . . . well, you know.”
The whole group was regarding me with sympathy. “So do you feel safe going back there?” Terrence asked.
“Yeah. I mean, I think so.” I shrugged. “There’s one guy who’s probably going to keep being a jerk, but the rest are still my friends. At least, so far.”
“You’re lucky,” Alejandra muttered.
Terrenc
e went on about the importance of staying safe, and ways to protect ourselves. But I was only half listening, because while I’d been talking, Alejandra had reached out and taken my hand. She had really incredible nails: they were long and painted with this elaborate pattern. I couldn’t stop wondering how long that had taken, and if she’d done it herself or had someone do it for her.
The rest of the hour flew by, and before I knew it Terrence was leading everyone in a final affirmation. It seemed a little goofy, but I said the words along with everyone else. Alejandra finally released my hand. As she bent over to retrieve her purse, I grabbed my backpack and got up. “See you,” I said.
She smiled at me. “I’m really glad you’re back, Shane. And I’m sorry about the locker room. That sucks.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, feeling a pang. I was still really nervous about going back there on Monday.
“Do you have a buddy yet?” she said.
“A what?” I asked, confused.
“Most of the kids buddy up with someone,” Terrence explained, coming over to us. “Sometimes just having a person to call who understands can make a big difference.”
“Oh,” I said, shuffling my feet. “Yeah, I guess that would be cool.”
Alejandra held up a bright pink cell phone. “Obviously I’m the perfect choice, since we already know each other so well.” She winked, and I managed a small laugh. “So give me your number.”
“Sure.” I watched as she typed it into her phone with those amazing nails. A couple of other kids were exchanging numbers, too. But it felt nice that Alejandra had volunteered to be my buddy.
“Okay, I’m sending you a text,” she announced, pressing the button with a flourish. Getting to her feet and straightening her skirt, she added, “If that kid gives you any more trouble, call me, okay? And don’t you dare blow me off. I text, you text me back. Got it?”
“Got it,” I said, which earned me another smile.
Alejandra bent quickly and brushed her lips across my cheek. “Ciao, guapo,” she said, flicking her fingers in a wave.
I sat there for another minute after the room cleared. Mom had been right; coming here was a good idea. The past couple of years, with everyone just treating me as a boy, sometimes I’d almost forgotten about being transgender. And when I did remember, I mainly felt ashamed of it. Dylan and Nico had brought all those bad feelings rushing back.
But one of the kids had talked about feeling lucky to have been born this way, because it made us unique and special. He said he wouldn’t change it if he could.
I kind of doubted I’d ever feel like that. But it was nice to know it was possible.
SIXTEEN
“Dude, check it out. Fat Spider-Man,” Josh said through a mouthful of pizza.
I followed his gaze: an enormous guy was squeezed into a red-and-blue Lycra suit, tufts of beard sticking out from beneath his Spidey mask. His arms were draped around a couple of Japanese girls, who smiled stiffly as their friend snapped a picture. “Wonder if they know he’s gonna charge them for that.”
“They should call fat Superman for help,” Josh said, jerking his head toward an equally heavy guy in a Superman costume. It was late Sunday afternoon, and we were sitting in front of a pizza place at Hollywood & Highland. The shopping center next to the Walk of Fame wasn’t a great mall, but thanks to all the people in terrible costumes, it was entertaining. Today there were two SpongeBobs, a Hulk, a Pirate Jack Sparrow, and a ragged-looking Elmo. The tourists seemed happy to hand over five bucks for a photo with them, which I always thought was weird.
“Hey, you know what would be awesome?” I said. “A superhero comic where they were all totally out of shape.”
“Yeah,” Josh agreed. “The Legion of Horrible. And the villains could be just as bad. Like instead of Magneto, it would be Repulso.”
“Nico would make a good Repulso,” I said, remembering his sneer. Just thinking about him made my stomach twist, and I put down my slice. “His superpower would be how bad his breath smells.”
Josh laughed. “Totally, dude. And Dylan’s his sidekick, Snot.”
I cracked up. Picturing the two of them in capes and masks actually made them a little less scary.
“What would your superpower be, if you could have one?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. It was actually something I’d known for a long time. I hesitated, then said, “Maybe the power to change into anything I wanted.”
“Yeah, that would be cool.” Josh nodded. “Not as cool as flying, though.”
“Flying would be awesome,” I agreed. Josh probably thought I meant changing into a wall of ice, or a cheetah. I wondered what he’d say if I told him the truth. Lately, I’d had so many opportunities, but every time I chickened out. Even though he was my best friend, I had no clue how he’d react, and that was terrifying. But it was getting harder and harder. If you never got to share the most important part of yourself with the people you were closest to, wasn’t that basically the same as lying? Should I just tell him?
I drew a deep breath, but before I could say anything, he asked, “So how was dinner with Madeline?”
I hesitated, then said, “Fine, I guess.”
Loudly slurping the last of his soda, he asked, “Did you kiss her?”
I gave him a look. “Dude, her parents were right there.”
“So you just held her hand?” he ventured.
“No.” I shifted in my seat.
“Man.” Josh shook his head and sighed. “Guess I won’t be coming to you for advice.”
I flicked a straw at him. “Shut up.”
Batting it away, he continued, “I’d probably be better off asking my dad.”
“Probably,” I agreed gravely. He laughed.
It was starting to get late, so we paid the bill, then worked our way through the crowd. We both lived two subway stops away; Mom didn’t love me taking the subway, but as long as it was before six o’clock and Josh was with me, she’d given permission.
We swept our passes through the turnstile, then ran to catch a train that had just pulled into the station. We settled into seats across from each other in the nearly empty subway car. “So Madeline’s friends with Naomi, right?” he said after a minute.
“Yeah, I think so. Why?” Naomi was another girl in our class.
“Just wondering.” After a garbled voice announced the next stop, he continued, “Has she ever said anything about me?”
“Who, Madeline?” I asked, perplexed.
Josh made an aggravated noise. “No, Naomi.”
My eyes widened; he was trying way too hard to sound nonchalant. “You like her or something?”
He shrugged, playing it cool, but his cheeks were bright red. “She’s okay.”
“Dude!” I laughed. “You like her!”
“Shut up,” he muttered, flushing even redder.
I was tempted to make fun of him, but he’d actually been pretty great about Madeline. “Naomi’s nice.”
“Yeah, she is.” He avoided my eyes. “Maybe you could find out what she thinks of me without, you know, asking.”
“Sure, that sounds easy,” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes.
“Forget it,” he grumbled.
“I’m just kidding, dude.”
“No, I mean it. Forget I said anything.”
He barely looked at me as we got off the train at our stop. As we climbed the stairs to street level, I said, “We’re cool, right?”
“Yeah, sure.” But he was still avoiding my eyes.
“Hey.” I grabbed his arm, stopping him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Josh muttered. “It’s just . . . you’ve got a girlfriend now, and you’re having dinner with her folks and stuff, and . . . I don’t know. I guess I feel left out.”
The streetlamps clicked on even though it was still light outside. “I’m not leaving you out.”
“Yeah, right.” He started walking.
My house was in the other direction, but I fol
lowed him. “Hang on, dude. Seriously, you’re my best friend. That’s not gonna change.”
He stopped and stared at me. “Yeah, it will. You guys will be together all the time, and I’ll hardly see you, and that just sucks.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I said forcefully. “Team Shosh. Right?” I held out my fist for him to bump it.
He stared at it for a second, then grudgingly tapped it with his own. “Team Shosh.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. See you.”
When I got home, Mom was sitting in her reading chair in the living room, staring off into space, a book open in her lap.
“Hi, Mom.”
She started, then said, “Oh, hi, honey.”
She looked worn out. I went over and gave her a hug. “I love you.”
She squeezed me back and said, “Love you more.”
As she ruffled my hair, her phone buzzed. I glanced over at it, then asked, “Who’s Chris?”
Mom got the sad look again. “Oh, just some guy.”
“Some guy you’re dating?” I pressed.
Mom forced a smile. “Well, he’s a guy I was dating, briefly. But it didn’t work out.”
“He’s still texting, though.” I nodded at her phone.
“Yes.” She frowned at it.
“So why didn’t it work out?”
“Lots of reasons,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s just say that love is a lot more complicated when you get older.”
“It seems pretty complicated already,” I said, thinking of Josh.
Mom laughed. “You know what? You’re right. It’s always complicated.”
“So what’s the problem, then? Don’t you like him?”
She bit her lip, then said, “He’s great.”
“So call him,” I said. Dad definitely seemed a lot happier now that he had Summer. My mom deserved that, too.
“Is that an order?” she asked jokingly.
“Yup.” I kissed the top of her head. “Night, Mom.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
I hovered outside the door until I heard her say something into the phone, then laugh. I smiled to myself and went to my room.
The Other Boy Page 8
