“Besides,” Sarah added, “I’ve been baking too much, and Christmas cookies lose their fun when Christmas has passed. So we bring them.”
Julian slumped back in his seat, allowing the conversation to die out. Damien drove in relative silence until they reached the school parking lot, which looked barren of cars. Only seven were there, and most were hidden behind large snowbanks from the storm they had gotten just after Christmas. Salt was scattered unevenly on the asphalt, melting only some of the ice and leaving other patches intact and shiny under the bright sun. Julian squinted when he stepped out of the van. When the wind hit him, he pulled his coat tighter. The walk from the lot to the school doors seemed longer without any cars or people around.
“Busy place,” Damien commented.
Sarah laughed politely—which made Julian realize how nervous they really were. He wanted to tell them that this was Mr. Fisher of all people, a ridiculous man they shouldn’t take seriously. But they’re not nervous for Mr. Fisher. They’re nervous for me. Julian tried to walk faster after the realization, hoping to make the meeting happen as quickly as possible.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gibson,” Mr. Fisher greeted when they reached the front foyer. In spite of the school not being in session, he still wore his suit. “Welcome back. And Julian too.”
“Oh. Hi,” Julian said, shocked to hear his name come out of Mr. Fisher’s mouth.
“Thank you for having us,” Damien said, his voice neutral. Sarah took a step forward and extended her gift.
“I have cookies.”
“You shouldn’t have, but thank you. Come—let’s sit down and discuss the matter at hand.”
Mr. Fisher extended his large arms into his office space, where all three of them took seats in front of his desk. When he plopped himself into his desk chair, Julian watched as he eyed the plate of cookies, clearly tempted. Maybe this was a good idea after all.
“So, Julian,” Mr. Fisher began. “I see that things have changed for you since we last spoke.”
“Yes, my parents know everything now. Most people do.”
“Great. That makes my job a lot easier. We don’t like to punish students, you know. And we need consistency across the board, so I hope you can understand why we had to treat things the way we have.”
“The board does need to be updated,” Damien said. “That’s my next project in between council meetings—the school board and transgender care.”
Mr. Fisher seemed slightly flustered by this but nodded along with Damien. For a moment, Julian lost the thread of the conversation as they discussed policy and the renovations, but he came back into the conversation when the new gender-neutral bathroom was mentioned.
“Where is it?”
“On the second floor. Just by the stairwell,” Mr. Fisher said, beaming. Julian wanted to complain that having one bathroom he could use—and really, that all the transgender students could use—on the second floor in a three-story school wasn’t the greatest innovation. He stayed quiet only because he saw his mother’s worried expression and knew they both wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.
“What happens to Julian?” Sarah asked when some time had passed. “In regards to his discipline?”
“We have gotten rid of that from his records.”
“Is that all?”
“We will work on changing them to reflect Julian’s correct name as soon as possible.”
Again, Julian didn’t like the tone in Mr. Fisher’s voice. It felt too distant, cold. Sarah shot Damien a look, and Julian knew she had the same issues. Damien launched into another discussion about protocols for private forms, and Julian lost the thread of the conversation again. In a way, it was freeing. He didn’t have to pay attention to everything being said because he was protected. When he leaned forward and snatched a cookie for himself, no one even stopped him. After eating it and then grabbing another, Mr. Fisher’s voice caught him off guard.
“You’re a brave young man, Julian.”
Julian paused, glancing at both of his parents to be sure he heard that correctly. He wanted to ask For stealing a cookie? Then he realized that Mr. Fisher meant being brave for being transgender.
“Not a lot of students would risk what you’ve just done. You put your safety on the line because of what you believe and stood out as being yourself.”
Julian furrowed his brows. He wasn’t saving people from a house on fire and he didn’t cure cancer, so therefore he wasn’t brave. If anything, it felt as if he was being selfish asking for so many things.
“He wouldn’t have to be brave if the school was a good environment,” Damien added. “No one would have to be brave to be themselves. And no one really gets to be themselves one hundred percent of the time. But we still survive, and the fact is, this school needs to change with the times as well.”
“Yes,” Mr. Fisher said, tenting his fingers. “Of course.”
“Can I be excused?” Julian asked a moment later. He kicked his feet in the chair, then glanced at his parents. “You know, to use the new washroom? See what it’s like?”
“Oh.” Damien looked toward Mr. Fisher. “Does that sound like an okay idea?”
“Sure. Of course. It’s what it’s there for.”
“Great,” Damien said, placing a hand on Julian’s back. “We’ll just finish up here and meet you outside again, okay? We have your next appointment in an hour or so.”
Julian nodded and was relieved when Mr. Fisher didn’t ask about that. Maybe they’ll talk when I’m out of the room, Julian considered. Either way, as soon as he wasn’t inside the stuffy office, he felt better. No longer like a sideshow ready to be studied, but like just a kid again.
He found the bathroom easily enough. Right next to the stairwell was the elevator, and next to that, the single-stalled bathroom that had originally been labeled only as a handicap stall. Now it had an inclusive gender marker on the top and was declared unisex. Julian also noted a small rainbow in the corner, making yet another appeal to inclusivity. He stared at the door for a long time before he went inside.
Well, it’s definitely cleaner than the boys’ bathroom. After Julian washed his hands, he took out his phone and texted Maria some updates. He sent a selfie to her—along with Josie—of himself in the bathroom mirror and got a couple of nice replies back and forth. He wondered if he could stay in the bathroom the entire time he was here, but eventually he unlocked the stall door and left.
Outside, he almost expected the world to be different, but it wasn’t. The school was still school, very eerie and empty over Christmas break. The sudden thrill he had felt to be inside its doors after such a long suspension wore away quickly. In less than a week, these hallways were going to be crammed full again. Julian shuddered. Then he strained his ears to listen. Over the echo of the hallways and the creaking of the school, Julian was sure he heard music.
Queen? he wondered. No, not Queen. He walked down the hallway, following the sound. He realized it was the Smashing Pumpkins as soon as he realized what room it was coming from.
“Mr. Singer?” Julian said, knocking on the open office doorway.
Mr. Singer jumped slightly, not used to being surprised. But his smile replaced whatever small agitation he had previously felt as he noticed Julian in the doorway. He turned down the music on his laptop before shutting it entirely. His red hair was tousled, as if he had rolled out of bed and come here, and he wore jeans and a hoodie that displayed his old university name across the chest. Papers were scattered on his desk, but it was clear he had been browsing online while listening to music for at least the past fifteen minutes.
“Hi, J,” he said with a laugh. “You gave me quite a start.”
“Sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to be here, since I have a meeting with Mr. Fisher, and then I heard music, and then….”
“You’re here,” Mr. Singer completed for him. “You have a meeting with Mr. Fisher? Should you be down there, then?”
“No, my parents have him now. I ne
eded a break.”
Mr. Singer made an understanding noise. He gestured to one of the open desks in front of him. “Take a seat if you want.”
Julian surprised himself by walking forward and taking the seat directly in front of Mr. Singer, though it was usually reserved for someone named Mollie.
“So how are you doing?” Mr. Singer asked. “The last time you were here, there was a bit of an issue. I take it that’s being cleared up?”
“Yep. Definitely.”
“Good. You should have never been suspended in the first place.”
Julian shrugged. “It was good to have more time off.”
Mr. Singer nodded. “Have you given a thought to your essay you need to write?”
Julian closed his eyes. Crap. That was the one piece of homework he had not touched in all the time he had been gone. “No. Not yet. But I have until the term starts, yeah?”
“Yes. Six days. I’ve written more in less time. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“If you’d like,” Mr. Singer said when Julian had been quiet for a while, “I can give you a small—only small—extension. Make it a solid seven days you have to work on it.”
“You’d do that?”
“Yeah. Why not? I’d rather have you take your time and do a good job. There have been some extenuating circumstances, after all. And you’ve more than made up for it with your recent charity work.”
“Charity work?” Julian repeated, then realized Mr. Singer must have seen the news clip of Julian at the ceremony yesterday. “I… I didn’t think anyone watched the local news station. Why bother when there’s stuff like Fox, right?”
Mr. Singer winced. “I hope that’s a joke. But yes, cable access doesn’t always have the appeal it used to. But I got stuck in an emergency room late last night, and that was all they had on the TV. So I saw you. Very nice.”
“Are you okay?” Julian asked.
“Yes, don’t worry. I was there in the ER for my newborn. She spiked a fever. She’s fine.”
“Oh. Okay.” Julian stammered. He hadn’t realized that Mr. Singer had a life until that moment. Sure, he mentioned his partner every so often, but not the newborn. The image Julian had of this teacher—this pseudo Dead Poets Society and Perks of Being a Wallflower caregiver—smashed in that moment. He had a life outside the classroom, just like Julian did, that he wanted to keep private. Sometimes they intersected, like with weird cable-access shows or both liking the Smashing Pumpkins, but that was it. Suddenly Julian realized just how much he was going to miss Mr. Singer next year, when he’d have to move on to a different English class, one that would probably be boring and not challenging in any way.
“So I should be calling you Julian now?” Mr. Singer asked. “That’s what TV said, but I’ve always stated that you should question whatever you see.”
“Um,” Julian said, coming back into the conversation. “Yeah. Julian’s good. I’m gonna get the paperwork done for it soon, so the attendance form will change.”
“That’s fine. I don’t need to wait for that. I’ll start using your name. What about pronouns? Am I using he/him? And do you want the class to know?”
“Yes and yes.”
Mr. Singer nodded, making a note. “Good. If there are questions as to why there is a switch, should I answer them or would you prefer?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s okay. But we should pick an answer that works for both of us.”
“I know. But… I’m sick of explaining myself.”
“I understand,” Mr. Singer said. He didn’t offer a trade of stories to explain how he could sympathize. He folded his hands and took a deep breath. “I think you should consider writing something down, though. If not for the class, then for yourself.”
“You mean for my essay again?” Julian asked, rolling his eyes. “What good would it do? I don’t want to live my life in stories—and now I don’t have to. I’m making the changes real. For good. Finally. So why is it my responsibility to say who I am all the time?”
“We all do it, Julian,” Mr. Singer responded calmly. “In small ways, we always have to correct someone about who we are.”
“But I don’t think you get suspended for using the bathroom you deserve. And then have to act oh-so-humble when Mr. Fisher thinks he’s giving me a gift, when it’s a basic decency.”
“That’s true. But you don’t—at least not yet—have to take a baby to the ER, almost get kicked out for not being her birth father, and then have to come to work the next day.”
“This isn’t the Oppression Olympics,” Julian said, though he felt so, so much sympathy for Mr. Singer in that moment.
“No, of course not. That’s not my point—it’s that everyone has their thing. We all have something that’s difficult and makes our life really crappy sometimes. But the only way we know about what another person goes through is if they tell us. So we have to talk to one another.”
“I just… I just want to be quiet for a while. Is that so bad?” The events of the past month weighed down on Julian. The confessions, revisiting of memories, old and new people, kissing and touching, old wounds and new places he had not thought of before. If Julian didn’t know any better, he would have sworn he was naked in that very moment, since it always felt that way when he walked outside. With Maria, it was different. He had a pact with her almost that he could remain clothed—both literally and figuratively—and they could be together and be happy. But he did want to take off his clothing with her, and that was so, so hard when he already felt like he was wearing nothing to begin with. He wanted to care about all these people, but sometimes his vision got blurry and his hands shook—like they were right now.
“No, Julian. No, that’s not bad at all.”
Mr. Singer waited for a long, long time before Julian felt like he had righted himself. He didn’t cry—no, he could control that—but his breath came out in small gasps that made him sound like he was jogging when he really sat quite still.
“This is why I’m an English teacher, you know.”
“So you can stare at kids while they have panic attacks?”
“No,” he said, laughing lightly. “Because we need stories and language to get ourselves out of that panic.”
“Is this like that note you sent me?”
“You got it! Good. And yes, it kind of is. We have language so we can talk to someone, so we can communicate and get to know people. But language isn’t needed when we’re alone. We do not think of ourselves by names, or genders for that matter either. But when we go outside, we need to qualify things. Quantify them. This language isn’t a lie, but it’s very, very needed to tell a story that may be a myth or a hoax. We need language in order to tell people who we are.”
“What if there are just two people around?” Julian asked, thinking of himself and Aiden, then himself and Maria.
“Then they can relate to one another, and words may not be needed if you know someone well enough. But that kind of connection doesn’t happen often. If it does, you’re lucky, and you should keep it as long as you can.”
Julian smiled. When Mr. Singer smiled too, he had a feeling they were both thinking about their partners. Julian wanted to text Maria so much in that moment, but he tried to stay focused on what was happening in the room.
“Do you want me to write a paper about being transgender?”
“No,” Mr. Singer said. “Our essays are on whatever you want—but most kids write about what they did over winter vacation.”
“Being trans is kind of what I did do on my winter vacation,” Julian said, laughing.
“I know. So it may be boring to you. So I’m telling you to write something that you find interesting. That will challenge you—and maybe even challenge the reader.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Maybe. But you’d be surprised. The smallest story can make a world of difference to someone. It can help to structure our thoughts in be
tter ways. And if all else fails, Julian, there is kindness. The world should use that resource before anything else. So you can write me a paper about being kind.”
Julian nodded, considering all of this. “What happens after I hand in the paper? Is everything changed?”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I do know we’ll start up the winter term again. You’ll come to class. We’ll read different books. You’ll go on to your other ones. Life goes on, basically.”
“Oh, what books are we reading? Something good?”
“Obviously,” Mr. Singer said, then grew serious again. “But you’ll see when you get to it.”
Julian sighed. When his phone went off a moment later, he realized his parents were probably done with the meeting and needed to get him to his next appointment. Therapy—blah, blah, blah, he thought. Needed but boring.
“Can I write a paper about my friends?” Julian asked.
“Sure. That sounds good. Make sure it has some kind of cohesive thesis or plot, but then you’re good. Is that all, Julian?”
“Yeah, thank you. Merry Christmas—belated, but hey. Merry Christmas.”
“Thanks, Julian. You too.”
As Julian left the English room, the low hum of “Cherub Rock” started up again. And he had a pretty good idea of what he was going to write about next.
Epilogue
“’BOUT TIME you finally showed up.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Julian said, walking through Maria’s front hallway and straight to the closet. He shucked off his coat, unwound his scarf, and then kicked off his snow-covered boots. “The doctor ran late. Then we got stuck in traffic, and the snow.”
“Hey, hey. I was teasing. It’s okay,” Maria said, smiling and sliding over to Julian. She placed a hand on his waist, her perfume already permeating his nostrils. “How was the appointment? This was the big one, right?”
“Right.” Julian nodded. His thigh still smarted from the prick of the testosterone shot, but he had yet to feel anything else. “I’m excited—but I think that’s just me.”
The Santa Hoax Page 26
