We were practically shoulder to shoulder, only the flimsy bamboo between us.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
Silence.
I pressed my hand against the bamboo.
After another beat of silence, I felt pressure against my palm, then, slowly, heat spread through the thin screen. He was pressing his hand against mine.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
He’d ignored my question, but that was OK. Some questions were too hard to answer.
I chewed on my lip but didn’t want to keep him waiting too long. Even though I hardly knew him, the urge not to disappoint this boy was strong.
“Mena,” I said. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t tell him my full name. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it, but I was more myself with him than I’d ever been with a new person. The only people I could remotely consider friends called me Mena, and they were the only ones I could truly be myself with. I wanted to be myself with him.
“Mena,” he repeated.
“What’s yours?”
He didn’t hesitate for a second. “Turner.”
I opened my mouth to tell him we weren’t strangers anymore, but the sound of his sliding door cut me off.
His hand disappeared, and I curled mine into a loose fist, as if trying to hold on to the warmth.
“Turner?” an older, gruffer voice said. “Who are you talking to?”
“No one.” He shuffled away.
I tried not to feel hurt.
“I heard something,” the older man—probably his dad—said.
“Maybe it was the neighbors.”
The door opened, then closed, and he was gone.
I wrapped my arms around my legs and leaned my head back against the wall. Goose bumps rose on my arms in the chilly night air, but I couldn’t seem to make myself move.
My feet sped up, trying to match the hammering rhythm of my heart. I had to take a deep breath and force myself to slow down. It was only a fifteen-minute walk to school, but at the rate I was going, I’d make it there in five. I wanted to spend less time there, not more. But my legs hadn’t gotten the memo and kept trying to break into a sprint.
I didn’t want to feel like this.
I growled and made myself stop, closed my eyes tight, and forced a long breath in through my nose and out through my mouth, gripping the straps of my backpack until my knuckles were as white as the stars swimming in my vision. After a few moments, I steeled my resolve and moved forward at a steady pace, trying to distract myself by counting the steps in my head.
The tail end of summer meant another perfectly sunny California morning, but I wished it was cloudy and cold so I could have an excuse to hide inside a hoodie all day. I hoped I would go unnoticed regardless, that it would be the silent treatment. Being ignored was much better than how the first day of junior year had gone down.
I tried to push the memory away, but it forced its way into my mind, as insistent as the hot sun on the back of my head.
First day of school had been hot last year as well. I’d fought to slow my steps then too, but there had been a hint of excitement, a tiny sliver of hope, driving the nervous energy that day.
I’d spent all summer—every moment I wasn’t working or hanging out with the girls—learning how to do makeup. I’d watched countless hours of YouTube videos and spent half my pay on new products, brushes, pallets, and all kinds of things I hoped would make me more normal in the eyes of my peers. By the end of the summer, I’d gotten pretty good at it, even practicing on Donna, Harlow, and Amaya.
That day, I’d applied an understated look. My birthmark was covered, my lashes accentuated, my lips natural. I thought I looked pretty good.
I was a fool.
I should’ve known—in high school, the only thing worse than being different is making an active effort to change the thing that makes you different.
I’d walked into school with my head up, smiled, made eye contact; I even gave Jessica Miller a little wave as I stopped at my locker. Most people shot me surprised looks, not really knowing what to make of the new me. A few even reflexively smiled back.
By lunch, word had spread. No one had said anything to me, of course, but they’d all been talking behind my back. Oblivious, I went into the girls’ bathroom off the science wing corridor.
I came out of the stall to find four girls leaning against walls and sinks, watching me with amused smiles. Madison and her friends.
I froze, like a gazelle that had just wandered into a circle of leopards.
“Been holding that all morning?” Steph chuckled, tilting her head. “Sounded like an elephant pissing in there.”
“Or a man,” Bonnie added, crossing her arms and leaning against the tiles next to the mirror. “Do you pee standing up like a man?”
“Her name is Phil.” Steph giggled. It would’ve been a cute sound if they all weren’t looking at me with promise in their gazes.
No, no, no, please no. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This year was supposed to be different.
I dropped my gaze to the stained beige tiles and walked to the sink, drawing my shoulders forward to make myself as small as possible. All I could do now was be quiet and hope I could get out of there fast.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Steph giggled again. “We’ve been calling you Phil this whole time, but you really are a man, aren’t you?”
“Those tits must’ve cost a fucking fortune, then.” Kelsey spoke for the first time, her tone bored, her eyes on her phone. I was dying on the inside, and she was double tapping pics on Insta. Bitch. Her comment probably came from jealousy. She was super-model thin but flat chested, and I was comfortably filling out a D cup. Not that I’d ever say that to her out loud. It was easier to silently wait it out. They’d get bored eventually.
“Oh my god.” Bonnie giggled, and the others all laughed with her. “Did you—”
“No,” Madison cut her off. The laughter died. No one dared interrupt Madison. “She’s not a man.”
I shut the water off. Steph was blocking my access to the hand drier. I decided to just leave with my hands wet.
Each girl took a step closer to me, as if they’d practiced it, as if they instinctively knew I was about to bolt.
I froze again, tried to calm my breathing so my boobs would stop heaving. I didn’t want any more attention on them.
Madison kept speaking. “Can’t you see Philomena’s turned into a woman? Look how beautifully she’s done her makeup.”
Her voice was so steady, earnest even, that my eyes snapped up in surprise. She gave me a warm smile, her own makeup impeccable. Her linen shorts and V-neck hung on her perfect frame as though they’d been made for her. She tilted her head slightly and took a strand of my hair, gently twirling it between her fingers. I’d gotten up half an hour early to put a slight wave in my usually dead-straight hair.
I cleared my throat. This had never happened before. I had no idea what to do. My instincts were screaming to get the fuck away from these monsters, but Madison was saying nice things with a perfectly straight face.
“Your hair is so soft,” she whispered, twirling more of it around her manicured finger.
After an extended silence, I cleared my throat again and managed to croak, “Thanks?” It came out sounding like a question.