by Robin Talley
“They barely do anything for trans people, for that matter,” Andy says.
I expect one or both of the trans outreach cochairs currently sitting at the table to argue with him, but nobody does.
“Well, I’m just going to say, I agree with Tony,” Inez says. “Labels matter more than they probably should. If someone told me they were gender variant all I’d know is that they defined themselves somewhere outside the traditional boundaries. I wouldn’t have any set expectations for their gender identity or expression.”
“See!” I say. “She gets it.”
“By the way, way to work that terminology, my cis-het chica,” Andy says, tipping his hat to Inez.
Derek grins at me. He and I haven’t talked about what Nance said, either. If he thinks I’m a sycophant, he seems okay with that.
I decided to try using gendered pronouns full-time as an experiment. I thought it would be hard to get used to, like saying they and hir was. So far, it’s actually been way easier. I don’t have to stop halfway through a sentence and figure out what word to use. You forget how much simpler life is when you can just talk without thinking about it.
I’m leaving tomorrow for my interview at Oxford, and I’ve decided to spend the whole weekend presenting as male. I’m spelling my name with a y instead of an i. That’s what I asked my friends to do anyway. I haven’t changed my name online or anything extreme like that.
I have a ton of work to finish before the weekend, though. So does everyone. That’s why we’re here. We aren’t actually supposed to be talking. Everyone’s probably annoyed at me for getting us into yet another group debate on labels and queer theory. Pretty much everyone’s smiling, though, so I don’t think they mind too much.
“Hey, you guys,” a familiar female voice says behind us.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn around. It’s Lacey, my teaching fellow.
“Hey, Lacey,” the others chorus. Nance snickers.
“Join us,” Derek says to Lacey. “We can fit one more chair.”
“I will, but only for a second,” she says. “I’m supposed to meet someone.”
Lacey pulls an empty chair into the narrow space between me and Eli. Eli moves over to make room until he’s basically sitting in the aisle. Everyone smiles except Andy, who’s typing furiously on his laptop, muttering, “Hang on, hang on.”
“Hey, Tony,” Lacey says. She’s speaking so low the others wouldn’t be able to hear unless they try hard. Which they all seem to be doing. “I heard about you and your girlfriend. I wanted to say I’m sorry. I know it’s got to be rough.”
“Yeah,” I say.
How could she possibly have heard that?
Well, in any case, I absolutely do not want to talk to her about Gretchen. I start to turn back to my computer.
“Your interview’s this weekend, right?” Lacey asks.
I look back up. “Yeah. I’m flying out tomorrow.”
“Tell Dr. Raavi I said hi, and that he’s going to love you.”
“Could you tell him that second part yourself?” I ask.
Lacey laughs. “I already did. This weekend is mostly a formality. By the way, when he offers you tea, make sure you say yes or he’ll get offended. The man’s obsessed with his tea.”
“Will do,” I say. “Thanks again for setting this up. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“It’s nothing,” she says. “So many people used to help me out when I was an undergrad. It’s nice to be able to do it now myself. Dr. Raavi asked me to pick the best kid in my section and send over the name. So really I’m doing him the favor.”
I bristle at being called kid, but I don’t let Lacey see. “Well, thanks, again.”
“Sure. But there was something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Shoot.”
“I also wanted to say...” Lacey drops her voice lower. No one at the table is typing now, not even Andy. “I thought you might want someone to talk to. I know how hard it is after a breakup. If you wanted to maybe grab some coffee sometime. Next semester, I mean, when I’m not your TF anymore.”
Nance kicks me under the table. Derek makes a high-pitched sound, then covers his grin with his hand.
Once upon a time I might’ve been ever-so-slightly flattered by this turn of events. Not after everything that’s happened, though. So I give Lacey the most polite response I can think of. “Listen, thanks, but I can’t really think about dating anyone right now. My girlfriend and I are still trying to work things out.”
“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry.” Lacey’s eyes flick from side to side. She’s finally noticed the others can hear us. “My mistake. Listen, please don’t think this has anything to do with the internship, or that A on your midterm or anything else. It was a total coincidence.”
“Okay,” I say. I hadn’t thought of that before, but now that she brought it up...
“Good luck with your girlfriend,” Lacey says. “I’m sure she’s great. And have a great trip. Oh, and hey, it’s time for me to meet my friend. See you guys later.”
With that Lacey’s gone, her kitten heels clicking rapidly on the tile floor as she hurries away from us.
As soon as she’s outside, everyone except Derek and me bursts out laughing.
“I can’t believe Lacey’s going after freshmen,” Nance says. “She’s always into the newest transboy on the block.”
“No, she’s not,” Derek says. “Shut up, Nance. Look, T, Lacey’s cool. I’m sure she was telling the truth about it not affecting your grades and stuff.”
“Maybe I should ask her out,” Eli says, scratching his chin. “If she’s into trans guys.”
“Yeah, you should go for it, man,” Nance says. “She’s hot. Plus, you don’t have a whole big pile of baggage like T here, so that’s got to work in your favor.”
“Oh, come on,” I say.
“Ignore Nance,” Derek says. “T, you’re just a freshman. Believe me, you have way less baggage than the rest of us. Nance has no right to talk given that she’s currently sitting with her back to the door just in case one of the three girls she’s got mad at her right now walks in. Anyway, Eli, you should totally ask Lacey out. See if she wants to go to the party the Harvard Texas Society is having on Sunday. You can learn how to line dance and you won’t have to talk that much.”
“I’ll look stupid line dancing,” Eli says.
“Everyone looks stupid line-dancing,” Derek says. “That’s the whole point. It’s an equalizer.”
Eli still looks dubious. Or maybe the testosterone is just making him moody.
“Tony, why did you say Gretchen’s still your girlfriend?” Inez asks. “I thought you were breaking up. Do you really think Lacey’s that hideous?”
Lacey is far from hideous, but I don’t want to go out with her. I don’t want to go out with anyone who isn’t Gretchen.
I want Gretchen to go out with other people, though. To get on with her life without me getting in the way.
Except—well, if I’m being totally honest, I kind of don’t want that, either.
I wonder what Gretchen’s doing now. If she’s okay. It’s so strange not talking to her every day.
“No.” I stand up. “I mean, I wasn’t lying. I don’t know. I have to figure it out. But first I have to pee.”
There are a few chuckles as I make my way past the cash registers toward the bathrooms. I have a moment of panic when I realize I’m about to go into an off-campus bathroom—do I use the men’s or the women’s?—but then I see the unisex symbol on the door. I try to open it, but it’s locked, so I’m standing in the hallway, waiting, when Eli sidles up next to me.
“Someone’s in there,” I say, nodding toward the door.
Eli nods. He doesn’t look at the bathroom or at me. His eyes stay
fixed on the floor.
“I talked to them,” he says, so softly it takes me a second to understand.
“Really?” I ask. He looks up, his eyes meeting mine. “Your parents?”
Eli nods.
“How did it go?”
He shakes his head and drops his eyes. His lower lip quivers.
“Oh, God. I’m sorry, Eli.”
He shakes his head again. “My mom didn’t say very much, but my dad—well, it wasn’t good. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if they’ll let me stay here, and I don’t know if they’ll let me come home.”
I let out a low string of swears. “Have you talked to the others? Derek?”
He shakes his head again. “I’m too embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. They’ll totally understand. They’ll want to help.”
“There’s no way to help.” Eli meets my eyes again. “I don’t want anyone else getting involved. I’m not ready to talk about it with my roommates. I don’t want them looking at me with sad eyes every single minute of my life. Promise you won’t tell anyone?”
I feel completely lost. If I can’t ask Derek how to deal with this, what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to tell him?
“I promise,” I say, since it seems so important to him. “And, look, your parents were probably just shocked. I bet they’ll calm down and start to see things rationally after some time has gone by.”
Eli’s staring at the floor again. “Maybe.”
“Whatever they say, you’re still awesome,” I say. “We know how awesome you are. Who cares what they think?”
A tiny ghost of a smile flickers over Eli’s face. It’s gone again just as fast.
“And I wanted to tell you before, but I think it’s incredibly brave of you to decide to start taking T, especially when you’re living so far from home,” I say. “I don’t know if I’d ever have the nerve.”
“You will,” Eli says. Behind us, the bathroom door opens and a blond girl comes out. I force down the thought of Gretchen. “Trust me. You will.”
I motion for Eli to go into the bathroom ahead of me. I didn’t even need to go in the first place.
But I stay there in that hallway by myself, staring at the blank space on the wall that Eli just left.
My life feels like a giant stack of 5000-piece jigsaw puzzles. I can’t imagine how I’ll ever solve even one, let alone all the others.
Eli’s only two years older than me. He’s already started T and come out to his parents. I can’t imagine doing even one of those. I can’t even imagine how I’m going to make it through one weekend of being a guy.
But I’m desperate to find out.
* * *
I have to sit in the London airport for two hours, waiting for Audrey’s plane to arrive. Something about a suspicious package at Dulles.
I try to study while I wait, but it takes most of my concentration just to stay away from the Starbucks cart. I desperately need caffeine. If I had coffee, though, I’d have to pee, and I can’t go into a public bathroom at the airport. I doubt there are gender-neutral bathrooms here. If I went into the women’s bathroom, I’d look out of place. If I went into the men’s, I’d feel out of place.
Consciously making an effort to present as male is way more work than I expected. I had to examine all my clothes as I packed, making sure my pants (trousers, they call them trousers here) fastened the right way, that nothing had any tiny lace accents or flowers on the hems (I couldn’t believe I hadn’t already expurgated all that stuff from my wardrobe, but I’m bad at throwing things away), and that there are no pleats on the fronts of my button-down shirts. Most of my clothes already look generically male, or at least androgynous, but you have to be extra careful if you really want to pass. I also ordered a couple of new binders two weeks ago from a store Derek told me about. They cost ninety dollars each, but they were worth it, and hey, it was all going on Mom’s credit card.
Audrey’s flight is delayed yet again. I give in and buy a mocha. When I finally meet my sister outside customs, I’m already getting fidgety.
“That took forever!” Audrey says. “The customs dude was flirting with me, which I figure has to be a good thing, right? Except, oh, my God, he made me tell him my whole life story. Anyway, hi! It’s good to see you. Or am I even supposed to see you? Are you like a stealth agent?”
Audrey knows I’m a guy for the weekend. I sent her a long message about it. She replied with one line: S’cool. Laters.
“You can see me,” I tell her. “I’m not invisible.”
“Okay, good. Where’s the bathroom? I have to pee so bad!” Audrey looks around the customs area. “Hey, what about you? Are you going in the men’s bathroom?”
“No,” I whisper, because Audrey’s practically shouting. “I’ll wait and go at the hotel.”
“What, you’re just going to hold it?”
“Yup.” I throw the rest of my mocha into the trash.
“Oh. Okay. So, by the way, am I supposed to act differently with you now? So people don’t find out you’re a girl?”
“Well, not announcing it in the middle of a crowd would be a good start.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Audrey’s irritated me ever since my parents brought her home from the hospital. (I can’t actually remember that, but it’s a safe assumption.) I can never stay mad at her for more than a second or two, though. No one can. There’s something about Audrey that makes you incapable of sustaining negative feelings toward her. She’s a lot like Gretchen that way, actually.
We take out some cash at an ATM, then get tickets to take the train into the city. The train is delayed and I can’t hold it any longer, so I bite the bullet and use the women’s restroom, darting in and out, and keeping my head down, even though no one looks at me twice. Finally we get on the train, make it downtown and get a taxi to our hotel.
Neither of us has been to London since our parents brought us here on a sightseeing trip when I was twelve. All I can remember about that trip is wanting to kill myself from being in such close proximity to my mother for so long. Audrey remembers it well, though. She talked for years afterward about how much she loved the tour guides at the Tower of London. She’s going on the tour again this weekend with one of her online friends while I’m at my interview.
Wow. She, she, she, she, she. Now that I’m used to it, it’s funny how even thinking in gendered pronouns makes life easier.
Dad’s travel agent made all the reservations for us, which means we’re in a nice hotel. It’s late when we get in, so we order room service. Audrey wants to go out, since our jet-lagged brains are wide-awake. I’ve got my interview in the morning, though, and I make her stay in with me. She pouts, but she gets over it fast. We watch old movies until we fall asleep.
The next morning, Audrey goes to meet her friend and I take a train to Oxford. At first I can’t find the building where I’m supposed to meet Dr. Raavi, and I have to ask for directions. The people I ask look at me funny. I can’t tell if it’s because of my accent, or because of how I look in my binder, or because they’re just British and therefore rude. It makes me jittery and self-conscious, but I find the right building with ten minutes to spare.
There’s a little old man sitting at the reception desk. A porter, that’s what they call them.
“I have a meeting with Dr. Raavi,” I tell him.
The porter looks bored. “Your name, please?”
I hesitate. Lacey’s the one who sent my name over. What did she tell them? Will Dr. Raavi be expecting me to walk in looking like someone named Antonia?
The appointment book is open on the desk in front of us. I glance down at it and see an hour blocked off with the words Mr. Tony Fasseau.
Lacey told them I was a guy.
<
br /> Why did she do that? I only told my inner circle I was presenting as male for this trip. Did Lacey just assume? Or did Derek tell her?
I wanted to be in control of how this information gets out. Maybe that isn’t a choice I get to make, though.
“Fasseau,” I tell the porter, who’s looking at me with some suspicion. I can only pray he won’t ask to see ID.
He doesn’t. He simply points me to the third door on the left and goes back to slumping over his desk.
My interview is easy after that. I accept the offer of tea, as Lacey instructed, and I don’t complain when Dr. Raavi pours milk into it, even though milk in tea grosses me out.
“Is Tony short for Anthony or Antonio?” Dr. Raavi asks me after I compliment his disgusting milky tea. I want to hug him for asking, but I suspect that wouldn’t help my chances.
“Antonio.” It’s close enough. If he somehow found out the truth, I could always claim he’d misunderstood me.
“Italian?”
“No, my family’s French, but my mother’s into names from that era.”
“What era would that be? Ancient Greece?”
“No, the, uh, 1920s.”
“Ah,” Dr. Raavi says. It’s clear from the vacant look in his eyes he never cared in the first place. He was only making small talk. Oh.
He changes the subject to political philosophy, and I try to keep up. After forty-five minutes and two more cups of gross tea, Dr. Raavi stands up and shakes my hand.
“Lacey Colfer was one of the best assistants I ever had,” he says. “Her recommendation is worth more than any curriculum vitae. If you’d like to come here and work for me this summer, young man, I’d be pleased to have you.”
My head is spinning from the tea and the job offer and most of all from the “young man.”
“Yes, sir, I’d like that,” I say.
“It’s settled, then. You’ll start the first of June.”
I get back to London, still on my high, hours before I’m supposed to meet up with Audrey and her friend. So I buy lunch at McDonald’s in Covent Garden. Then I walk up and down the street, going into all the clothing stores. I go straight to the men’s sections and browse through shirts and pants (trousers). No one looks at me oddly, although one store employee does try to up-sell me some Burberry stuff.
