The Other Boy

by M. G. Hennessey

  “Yeah. It was just too hard to go back, you know?”

  “I totally know,” I said. The thought of school tomorrow made my stomach cramp painfully.

  “Hey, do you want me to come over?”

  “Here?” I asked, startled.

  “Or somewhere else. I’m starving. Meet me at Oki-Dog?”

  Oki-Dog was a hot dog stand pretty close to where we lived, definitely walking distance. “I don’t know if I can,” I said, checking the clock. It was nearly six, and I hadn’t even thought about homework yet. Although that was pretty much the last thing I was in the mood for. I wasn’t exactly hungry, either.

  “Well, text if you can come, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll try.”

  “Good. And Shane?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t let the haters get you down.”

  She hung up. I checked my phone. There were a couple of texts from Josh, the usual stuff: baseball stats, links to weird things he’d found online. Nothing from Madeline, even though I’d sent a text after lunch asking, Hey, whats up?

  But she’d saved me a seat in homeroom; that meant something, right? Unless she’d changed her mind about me later.

  I pressed the phone to my forehead and squeezed my eyes shut. The urge to run away was stronger than ever. I opened the door to my room and called out, “Hey, Mom? Can I go grab dinner with a friend?”

  NINETEEN

  I got to Oki-Dog about twenty minutes later. It was a tiny place that barely held a few mismatched tables and chairs. You ordered at the counter: hamburger, cheeseburger, or a hot dog with cheese, which was their specialty.

  Aside from Alejandra, there was an older couple at another table. Alejandra jumped up and threw her arms around me, then kissed me on the cheek. “Finally!” she exclaimed. “I’m starving!”

  She was wearing a miniskirt and a jean jacket. Long earrings dangled nearly to her shoulders, and she had on a lot of makeup. I could see the older couple sizing us up, trying to figure out the relationship.

  “Yeah, hey,” I said awkwardly. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “Go order,” she said, waving me toward the counter. “I already did.”

  I ordered an Oki-Dog and a Coke, then went back to the table and sat down.

  Alejandra leaned across and grabbed my hand. “So. You’ve been outed.” Taking in my expression, she added, “Hey, you got the first one out of the way, and that’s always the worst.”

  “How can it happen more than once?” I asked, perplexed.

  Alejandra threw me a wry smile. “Well, it’s not like regular people go around announcing, ‘My name is Bob, and I was born a man,’ when they first meet someone, right?”

  “Right,” I agreed.

  “So you go to college. Maybe you decide to be quiet about it. But sooner or later, people find out.” A shadow passed over her face, and she lowered her voice as she added, “They always do.”

  “So, what? We should tell people straight out? Or do we lie to them?”

  Alejandra’s eyebrows shot up. “Who said anything about lying?”

  “Well, I mean . . . if we don’t tell them, that’s kind of like lying, right?”

  She shook her head, setting her earrings jangling. “Not a lie. I mean, I knew when I was three that I was really a girl, right?”

  I nodded. That was around the age that I’d figured it out, too.

  She leaned in. “Plus, they’ve done brain scans. People like me, our brains match a ‘normal’ girl’s brain more than a boy’s. Same with you. So you are a boy,” she said, pointing to me. “And I am a girl. No lying necessary.”

  “No one else seems to see it that way,” I grumbled, slouching in my chair.

  “Well, they’re idiots,” she said dismissively. “People are afraid of what they don’t understand, and we’re not exactly common.”

  I thought about the way Nico had looked at me, and the disgust in his voice. It seemed more like anger than fear, as if he hated the idea of people like us. I couldn’t really imagine feeling that way about anyone. “Did you have a bully, too? Is that why you left school?”

  Alejandra’s face darkened again, and she looked away. “Basically, yeah. People can get really ugly. My mom agreed to let me transition in fifth grade. So I came back from Christmas break wearing the skirt uniform to school instead of the pants. People I thought were my friends called me names. I got beat up every day, and when I told the teachers, they said that was God’s way of punishing me.”

  “Seriously?” I said, dumbfounded. “How is that legal?”

  She shrugged. “Catholic school. But you said your principal was cool?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. Except he didn’t know what to say, really.”

  She nodded knowingly. “People bend over backward to be nice, acting like you’re all fragile or something. They don’t realize it makes you feel like more of a freak.”

  “Totally,” I said. “You should’ve heard my coach today. He actually compared me to a kangaroo.”

  “What?” Alejandra burst out laughing. “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope.” I shook my head, unable to suppress a grin. “He said he didn’t care if I was a girl, a boy, or a kangaroo.”

  Alejandra leaned in again. “You should show up tomorrow in a kangaroo costume!”

  I laughed. “Yeah, that would be hilarious.”

  Our food arrived. I picked at it. “So why didn’t you just switch to a different school after all that stuff happened?” Her mouth tightened, and I added hurriedly, “I mean, homeschooling sounds great, but . . . I don’t know, maybe you could’ve just gone somewhere no one knows you.”

  Alejandra examined her fingernails; they were painted pink today, so bright they were practically glowing. “The thing is, the way I grew up . . . they expect certain things from boys. My mom cried for months when I told her. She and my grandmother prayed for me, tried to make me wear boy clothes . . . everything. It took so long for them to understand, and then, just when it was getting better . . .” A shadow flitted across her face. “Something really bad happened at school.”

  “What?”

  “Nuh-uh, I don’t talk about that.” She shook her head vigorously. “Anyway, I was sick of fighting, you know? It was making me tired all the time, and angry. I was starting to become someone I didn’t like very much.”

  I tried to imagine feeling this way for months, or years. I could see how it would change you. “You could come to my school,” I offered. “I’ll even lend you a kangaroo suit.”

  Alejandra fell back in her chair, laughing hard. I cracked up, too. The older couple and the guys in the kitchen gave us funny looks, but I didn’t care. Making her laugh felt good.

  As the giggles subsided, the pressure in my chest came back. I sighed and said, “So it doesn’t really get better.”

  She reached for my hand. “Sure it does. The people who care about you, that’s what matters. They’ll come around, just like my family did.”

  “But what if they don’t?” I asked, picturing Josh and Madeline. Dad, too. I knew there would probably always be a part of him that wished I was different.

  Alejandra shrugged again. “Maybe you lose some people. Hopefully not too many.”

  The idea of losing people was awful. I wasn’t sure I could get through this alone. “Am I just supposed to go to school every day knowing that everyone is talking about me? That they all think I’m some kind of mutant?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “That totally sucks,” I muttered.

  Her eyes softened. “I bet for you, it won’t be too bad. People are used to thinking about you as a boy. Pretty soon, they’ll forget there’s any difference. Hey, can I finish yours?”

  I nodded and pushed my hot dog toward her. She polished it off in a few bites, then said, “Anyway, enough with the depressing stuff. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, sipping her Cok
e. “Something normal people talk about. What’s your favorite movie?”

  “Definitely Serenity,” I said.

  “Serenity?” She furrowed her forehead. “What’s that?”

  “It’s about this crew on a spaceship. Kind of a Western sci-fi movie.”

  “Like Star Wars?”

  “Sort of, but better.”

  “Are there Ewoks? I like Ewoks, they’re hella cute.”

  “Ewoks are the worst!” I groaned. “Man, you really are a girl.”

  Alejandra laughed again. “I like you, Shane. You’re funny.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, embarrassed. “I like you, too.”

  “Don’t say that too loud,” she teased. “You know I have a boyfriend, right?”

  “Yeah, well, I have a girlfriend,” I retorted.

  “Really?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, I think I do, at least,” I said, feeling a fresh wave of sadness. “She didn’t text me today.”

  Alejandra’s face got serious again. “If she breaks up with you, she’s so not worth it.”

  “I guess,” I mumbled.

  “Trust me. And if you need to talk, just call. Anytime, day or night. Okay?”

  A rush of gratitude nearly brought tears to my eyes again. Maybe she was right and this wasn’t the end of the world. She’d survived it, which meant I could, too. “Okay,” I said. The tightness in my throat made it hard to talk. “And thanks for . . . well, you know.”

  “Sure.” She winked at me. “The best part is you’ve got me now, okay? And I’m worth two or three friends, easy.” Alejandra pushed back her chair and stood. “Now be a gentleman and walk me to the bus stop.”

  TWENTY

  School the next day was pretty awful, even worse than I’d imagined. Madeline missed homeroom; maybe she was sick, which would at least partly explain why she wasn’t answering my texts. I checked between every class, but nothing.

  The only bright spot was the texts from Alejandra. She sent one an hour, always funny GIFs or links to dumb stuff, like a video of a hedgehog and a dog swimming together. Every time one popped up it felt like she was squeezing my hand again, telling me everything would be okay. I don’t know if I could’ve gotten through the day without them.

  Josh was great, too. He walked me to every class, even the ones we didn’t share. He didn’t say anything about it, and neither did I, but it was like we were creating our own force field. No one came within three feet of us; in class, people shifted their desks away from me. The whispering and staring seemed worse, and it wasn’t just coming from sixth graders anymore. Seventh and eighth graders were doing it, too. At recess, no one joined us on the basketball court. Josh insisted we play a game of horse anyway, but that only made it more embarrassing, since I was so self-conscious, I kept missing the basket.

  We were on our way to last period when Bobby Campbell, an eighth grader I’d never talked to before, blocked our path. Taller than us, with a mop of bleached-blond hair covering one eye, he thrust a flyer at me.

  “What’s that?” Josh asked, leaning in to squint at it.

  “We meet every Thursday in the auditorium, if you’re interested,” he said, only looking at me.

  “Meet about what?” I asked, skimming the flyer. My relief at having another person speak to me quickly dissipated; the flyer had a big rainbow across the top, with Gay-Straight Alliance below it. In smaller words, it read, The McClane Junior High GSA works to build bridges and create a safe school environment for everyone.

  “We don’t have any trans kids, but there are a few who are gender questioning,” Bobby explained.

  Josh ripped the flyer out of my hand and snarled, “He doesn’t need that.”

  The anger in his voice surprised me; Bobby looked taken aback. “Hey, I’m just trying to help. Lots of straight kids come, too. It’s supposed to be an alliance.”

  Josh looked like he was about to explode; there was practically steam coming out of his ears. Before he could open his mouth, I warned, “Hey, be cool.”

  “It’s a good support group.” Bobby looked flustered, and his face had gone red. Gesturing to the packs of kids who were openly staring at us, he added, “It might help you deal with all this.”

  “Thanks,” I said, gingerly taking the flyer from Josh and jamming it in my back pocket; I could practically feel it glowing there.

  “No problem,” Bobby muttered, then walked away without a backward glance.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Josh said.

  I shrugged, thinking about how helpful the PFLAG group had been last weekend. I hadn’t known there was anything like this at school. And really, it wasn’t like I could become more of an outcast. Meeting other people who were dealing with similar stuff actually sounded pretty good. “Maybe we should check it out.”

  Josh glowered at me. “Don’t you get how much worse that’d make things? Go to this group, and you might as well wear a big neon sign saying that Nico was telling the truth. You need to prove he was lying.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Dude, seriously.” He grabbed my arm to stop me from going into the classroom. “Enough of this. You gotta fight back.”

  “Fight back how?” I hadn’t meant to raise my voice, but it came out loud anyway. The kids in the classroom all looked up, regarding us avidly.

  “I don’t know.” Josh ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in tufts. “But I’ll think of something.”

  A couple of boys walked past. One of them said loudly, “Hey, does it make you gay if you like a lesbo?”

  Josh spun on him. “Watch yourself, Lopez.”

  “Or what? You’ll kiss me?” He and his friend high-fived and kept going, laughing all the way down the hall.

  I put an arm out to keep Josh from charging after them. “Leave it.”

  “If they mess with you, they’re messing with me, too,” he said, glaring after them.

  I swallowed hard. The stares and whispers sucked, but Alejandra was right. It was kind of shocking how quickly I’d gotten used to being a pariah.

  But I’d dragged Josh into this situation with me. And the longer it went on, the harder it became to tell him the truth. I was pretty sure that if I came clean now, he’d never forgive me.

  “Thanks, man,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For hanging with me.”

  He gave me a funny look. “What else would I do? You’re my best friend.”

  “Yeah, well—thanks anyway.”

  “Sure. See you at practice.” He jabbed his fist in the air and said, “Team Shosh!” Then he trotted down the hall to his classroom.

  A few people moved to seats farther away when I sat down in English class. I ignored them. We had another two minutes until the bell rang, so I pulled out my sketchbook and started drawing.

  “Freak.”

  My head shot up—I couldn’t tell who’d said it. No one was looking at me. I’d definitely heard it, though. Clearly everyone else had, too; there was a weird tension in the room.

  I bent over the drawing and tried to tune everything else out. Something hit the back of my head, and people in the rows behind me snickered. I touched the spot, and my hand came away gooey with a wad of gum. Tears welled up in my eyes again, but I bit the inside of my cheek hard to keep from crying. Slowly and deliberately I tore a clean sheet of paper, scraped off the gum with it, and balled it up. Then I tossed it over my shoulder like it was nothing.

  “Shane Woods!” Mr. Hufstader boomed from the doorway. “This classroom is not your personal trash can. Pick that up immediately and place it in the proper receptacle.”

  The whole class tittered. Flushing bright red, I got to my feet and scanned for the paper: it had landed in front of Dylan. As I bent to pick it up, I met his eyes; but he looked through me, like I wasn’t even there. When my hand accidentally brushed against his sneaker, he shifted his foot away.

  We’d never really been friends; Dylan hated being my backup pitcher,
and he was tight with Nico. But we’d been teammates for three years. You’d think that would count for something.

  Completely humiliated, I shuffled to the front of the room and threw the paper in the trash can.

  “Thank you, Shane,” Mr. Hufstader said icily. “Now, if we’re done behaving like animals, why don’t we open to page seventy-two.”

  As I sat back down at my desk, a voice behind me hissed, “Tranny.” This time, I was sure it was Dylan.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Being despised is exhausting. It made English class seem ten times longer than normal. When the last bell rang, I dragged myself to my feet.

  I was nearly at the door when someone shoved me from behind, sending me crashing into a group of girls. They squealed, then flipped around and glared at me.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. I could hear Dylan cracking up behind me, the slap of high fives being exchanged. I hurried into the hall.

  Josh was leaning against a locker, already holding his duffel for practice. Seeing my face, he asked, “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Josh waited while I grabbed stuff from my locker. “What’s in your hair?”

  “Gum,” I mumbled.

  Josh’s eyebrows shot up. “How’d you get gum in your hair?”

  “Dylan threw it at me.”

  Josh’s nostrils flared. “That’s it. He’s done.”

  “Let it go,” I said, instantly sorry I’d told him.

  “No way. We’re supposed to be a team. Coach will totally lose it when he hears about—”

  “We’re not going to tell him,” I said forcefully.

  “But—”

  “No,” I snapped. “Just forget it.”

  Josh leaned against the locker next to mine and grumbled, “This sucks.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I was slamming my locker shut when someone said, “Hey, Shane. Can I talk to you?”

  I spun around at the sound of Madeline’s voice. She looked nervous, playing with the straps on her backpack.

  “Yeah, sure,” I said.

  Josh threw me a look. I gave a slight nod, and he said, “Okay. See you down there.”