Clare

Monday morning I go to school, but I’m only there in body. I’m not listening—I’m not even pretending to listen. What I’m actually doing is reliving Friday night at the bar with Taylor over and over again in my mind. For the first time in my life, I wish I had bio today. Just so we could see each other.

When the classroom goes quiet, I realize our English teacher has stopped lecturing and we’re supposed to be working on our essay outlines. I’ve zoned out Audrey-style. There’s a knock on the door and our teacher goes to answer it and then steps out into the hall for a moment. The class instantly erupts.

Billy turns around in his desk and his mouth pulls into a sneer. I know it’s going to be bad before he even says, “What happened to you?”

Everyone stops talking. They look over at us but pretend to be working. I’ve been one of them. I’ve seen Billy in action from the other side, making fun of the losers, but this is the first time he’s turned on me. I can feel my face heat but I roll my pen along the top of my notebook like I’m cool and casual and ready for anything he throws at me.

I’m wearing another one of Adam’s band hoodies, this one Metallica. Sure, I’ve seen some girls wear them, but they’re the girls people refer to as skids or stoners. Plus it’s the last week of May and sunny and I used to wear skirts and shorts at this time of year. So of course I know what he’s referring to when I ask, “What do you mean?”

“I mean you used to be hot.” His smile widens like he’s giving me a compliment rather than being a complete douche. His friends laugh; so do some of the girls. My stomach drops at the sound, and my hand falters with the pen. If Billy looks down, he’ll be able to see.

He’s waiting, daring me to respond, and I don’t know what to say. Part of me wonders if I should be upset that he no longer thinks I’m attractive. Another part of me wants to prevent the situation from getting worse by pretending he’s giving me friendly advice—maybe if I don’t retaliate, he’ll take pity on me and turn back around. But a third, stronger part, is itching to tell him that the last thing I’m thinking about these days is how to be hot for him.

That part wins.

“It’s not my job to look hot for you, Billy,” I tell him.

He laughs and it sounds like a real laugh, like we’re friends joking around. Then he shrugs, his eyes flicking down to the pen shaking in my hand. I’m so busted.

“I just think it’s a shame, that’s all,” he says in that deceptively casual voice. “You have a nice body, but now you hide it under all those baggy clothes. What a waste.”

More laughter from the guys. I glance over at Sharon, looking for help, but she’s looking back at me like she’s mortified for me. With a bit of I told you so mixed in. My face is hot now, so hot I know they can see I’m embarrassed, and that just makes it worse.

Under my breath I say, “Screw you, Billy.”

He’s still smiling, but I can tell from the slight twitch in his lips that he knows he went too far. He puts his hands up in a just saying gesture and turns back around in his seat. I stare at the notebook, trying to ignore the sensation of my cheeks flaring, Billy’s words running through my mind.

You have a nice body, but now you hide it.

Nice body. My body. So when Billy said that, why did I feel like my body belonged more to Billy than to me?

At noon I go to Sharon’s locker, the place we always meet for lunch, but no one shows. I send a group text asking where they are, but no one responds, so I go back down to the wrestling mats and look at my phone. Between classes I see Sharon in the halls and pull aside to ask her what happened.

“I got caught up in class and you’d already left by the time I got there,” she tells me. Of course this lie doesn’t explain Charlotte’s or Rhiannon’s absence.

“But I texted.”

“We got it too late, sorry.” She flashes an apologetic pout before continuing down the hall.

At the bar with Taylor I felt high, but now I feel like I’m crashing. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel lonely. My friends are making it very clear they’re not interested in the new me—whoever that is. If I continue to try to find out, I know I’m probably going to lose them.

After school I tell Mom I’m still working on a school project, and then I go to the library and find the research station in the farthest corner where there is less chance of someone seeing what I’m doing. I’m too nervous to do this kind of research on my phone, and the library is surprisingly empty after school hours, which is perfect for what I want to do.

After a quick glance over my shoulder, I open Google and type How to tell if “someone” is a girl or a guy because I don’t want to make it about me. Google gives me the following list:

It reminds me of Taylor and my discussion at the bar about how people seem to need to know if someone is a boy or girl, like they can’t stand the idea of not being able to categorize other people.

I close the list and search for LGBTQ forums. I don’t join or make a username on any of them, I just want to lurk and read other people’s experiences. One FTM post has a link to a trans guy’s blog called The Real Sam the Man. Sam created this blog back in 2012, writing his story anonymously. It wasn’t until he was fully out and his blog had blown up with a huge following that he added pictures and videos he’d been recording over the years.

He tells the story of how his family used to be composed of three boys until his mother had the girl of her dreams. Only Sam didn’t feel like a girl—Sam felt like a boy like his brothers. Sam spent his childhood being called a tomboy and felt like a phony when his mother made him wear dresses to special occasions, but he was too scared of disappointing her to tell her how he felt. He also struggled with feelings of guilt when he didn’t want to participate in “feminine” activities, like getting manicures together. The moment that pushed him over the precipice and decide to transition was the moment he realized a simple truth: by keeping his mother’s dream alive, he was destroying his own.

Whoa. I sit back in my chair and wipe my brow with my sleeve. I’m sweaty. I have chills. There are definitely parts of Sam’s story that resonate. Like Sam’s mom, my mom always wanted girls. Would she be disappointed to learn how I feel? When I think about telling the world I’m different, it’s not my friends I’m most afraid of.

It’s my family.

The next morning, I make sure I’m one of the first people to arrive in bio so I can leave a note on Taylor’s chair. So that they won’t knock it onto the floor thinking its garbage, I write a large T on the folded front. At the end of my message, I sign it Clay. Our private joke.

As everyone enters the room, I sit there pretending to read my textbook like a nervous wreck and try not to glance in Taylor’s direction. My breath catches when I see them pick it up out of the corner of my eye.

Class drags and then I have another before lunch. It feels like days have gone by before I can finally make my way to the wrestling mats, where I pace back and forth, obsessing over whether or not Taylor will actually show up. Will they think it’s weird I left them a note instead of just asking them to their face?

“A secret rendezvous. What kind of trouble are we planning here?”

I stop pacing and glance over my shoulder. Taylor is standing halfway down the steps, looking amused. I feel myself blush with embarrassment. “I don’t have your number.”

“Well, I prefer an old-fashioned note anyway.” Taylor swings off the railing and onto the ground like a gymnast. “I like it here. Nice and private.”

“Yeah. That’s what I like about it too.”

They climb onto the pile of mats and sit with their back against the wall, knees bent, cool as ever. I climb up too, and the moment I do, I feel calm. We’re alone here, tucked away in a private alcove under the stairs. No one can see us from the floors above. Adopting the same pose as Taylor, I lean against the opposite wall.

“That was fun the other night,” I say. “We should do it again.”

The side of their mouth lifts. “I’m down for dancing any time.”

“Sweet.” The word comes out a little too high. This is the first time I’ve tried to make a new friend in years.

“So no one comes down here at lunch?” Taylor asks, looking around.

“Only on Fridays for wrestling practice. Otherwise it’s pretty quiet. The only quiet spot in the entire school, I think. I’ve been hanging out here a lot lately.”

They smile knowingly. “I get it. Some days going to school feels like being forced into everything. Forced into spending time with people we don’t want to spend time with and learning about subjects we aren’t interested in. I tell myself it’s only three more years, I can get through it.”

“And then what will you do?”

“Probably dance on a cruise ship.” I laugh and Taylor continues, “No, I want to be a dance therapist. They’re not very common here, but there were a lot of dance therapists back home in London.”

“What does a dance therapist do exactly?”

“They help people like other therapists, but through dance. It’s good for physical health, but also mental and emotional health, because it gives people a way to express themselves. Music is so powerful. When you hear a song, it can bring you back to a certain memory or experience, right?”

“Totally.”

“I dance to have a good time, but I also dance to work through my problems. The moment I heard of dance therapy, I knew that was what I wanted to do. I love to dance and I like to help people. Especially other people like me who have always felt like outsiders.”

“Wow, that’s so cool.” I wrap my arms around my legs, hug them to my chest. “I never think about my life that far in the future. I’m still figuring out who I am and what I want to do, but I think I’m also afraid to assume a future even exists. My brother . . . He died so young.”

“I heard something about your brother. I’m sorry. Adam, right? He passed away recently?”

“Yeah. I miss him. Like, all the time.”

Taylor moves to my side and puts an arm around me. “What was he like?”

“Kind.” That’s the first word that comes to mind when I think of my brother. The second is protective. I think of all the ways he protected Audrey. The ways he protected me. I think of the diner, but not one of our usual Sunday brunches. There was one time when Adam took Audrey and me there, just the three of us.

Adam lied to our parents, saying he was taking us to the park but instead spending a good portion of his first paycheck on getting us all the bad food Mom and Dad never let us order anymore. We were eating in our usual corner booth, the one the restaurant always saved for our family, when Lars and Seamus, two guys in Adam’s grade, walked in with their identical haircuts.

“Look at this,” Lars said. “Adam spending Saturday morning with his baby sisters. How sweet.” He and his friend with an identical haircut knocked fists.

“What do you want, Lars?” Adam sighed.

“We didn’t see you at Stacy’s wicked party last night. Did you spend the night in playing Barbies?”

Laughter followed by another fist bump.

“I already told you, I got a job.”

“He’s working at IKEA!” Audrey said, not looking up from her coloring.

The guys hooted. “Well, that’s embarrassing. What, your parents lose all their money or something?”

“Yeah, Lars, you got me.” Adam winked at me and made a motion that meant, Can you believe this guy? I laughed.

Lars grunted. “I’ve heard your dad is looking around, that he’s not billing enough hours. Too bad. I’m sure it’s affecting your allowance.”

Adam flashed him a smile. “Actually, I’m working so I can take Dahlia out for dinners. We’re doing that tonight, in fact.”

Lars’s smile completely disappeared. That was when I remembered that Lars and Dahlia used to date. Adam told me Dahlia had left Lars for him and now Lars hated him.

As quick as it left, Lars’s smile returned, this time turning salacious as he elbowed Seamus. “One time I took that whore for dinner, and afterward she—”

Adam was up in a second. He reached across the table and grabbed the front of Lars’s shirt, yanked him forward. “Don’t say another word.”

“Whoa, man,” Lars’s buddy said, glancing left and right with his hands up like he wasn’t sure if he should get involved. “This is a family restaurant. Simmer down.”

Adam glanced down at us and then released Lars, shoving him away. “Move on, Lars.”

For a moment I thought Lars was going to retaliate. His face was bright red, his hands were balled into fists, and his chest was heaving up and down. He looked freaky with his military haircut, broad chest, and murderous expression. Unhinged. If he and Adam got into a fight, my bet wouldn’t be on Adam.

But then our server came along and Lars luckily decided against it.

“Have a lame-ass breakfast,” he muttered under his breath before walking away.

Audrey swiveled in her seat and yelled after them: “You’re a lame-ass breakfast!”

We all burst into laughter.

Adam reached forward, patted her affectionately on the head. “I love you, Audrey.”

“Sounds like Adam was a good guy,” Taylor says now. “I wish I could have met him.”

“He was. He was the best big brother in the world. He didn’t care about being cool; he was just a good person.”

“Is Audrey your little sister?”

“No, my twin. Nonidentical.”

“I wasn’t aware you have a twin! Does she go here?”

“Not anymore. She moved to a different school this year. She goes to Peak now.”

“Never heard of it. So do you have one of those telepathic twin bonds?”

“When we were little we used to be able to look at each other and know exactly what the other person was thinking.” I can still read Audrey better than anyone else, but it’s getting harder, as if the distance growing between us has caused an interference in our connection. I tell myself that it doesn’t matter, that I no longer care, but I know that’s a lie. If I didn’t care, my heart wouldn’t have clenched when Taylor asked me that question just now.

“I always wanted a twin,” they continue. “I’m an only child and thought it would be awesome to have someone your exact same age to share things with, like the first day of school. Not having to worry about whether or not the other kids like you because you already have your best friend.”

Taylor’s words strike a chord within me and my eyes suddenly fill with tears. I’m helpless to stop them because I know Audrey felt the same way. She didn’t want to worry about what anyone else thought of her because all that mattered to her was me. I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. “Audrey and I kind of grew apart. Adam’s death cemented it, but it had already started happening before that. Adam was always trying to make us close again. I think he thought I was being mean to her.”

“Why do you think that?”

I struggle to find the words to explain my relationship with Audrey without making me sound like a complete jerk. “I guess it started after I became friends with Sharon. Sharon thought Audrey was weird. She is weird, but Sharon made sure everyone thought that was a bad thing.”

Taylor frowns. “So why be friends with her?”

I shrug helplessly, feeling like I’m talking to Adam again. “I don’t know, because I wanted to be friends with her? I was growing apart from Audrey because she was still playing with toys in her bedroom, and Sharon seemed so grown-up and knew what was cool. It’s hard to believe, but Sharon used to be fun. And I used to care what she thinks.”

“I think you still care what she thinks,” Taylor says softly.

“Sharon is my friend. She just doesn’t want the other kids to make fun of me.”

Taylor cocks an eyebrow. “That sounds a lot like when parents say they hope their child isn’t gay so that they don’t have a tough life, when the toughest life is living a lie. The people who truly love you for you will know that and just want you to be happy.”

I bite my lip and consider this. “I just think maybe it’s important to fit in sometimes so that we’re not alone. I mean, don’t we all have to adjust the things we say and do sometimes to make people around us feel comfortable?”

”Sure, sometimes we need to play the part to fit in, but we’re not talking about swearing in front of Grandma. We’re talking about your identity. And we both know Sharon is plain cruel. It sounds like she’s been cruel to your sister, and she’s been cruel to me ever since I came here.”

“There’s more to the Audrey thing.” I can hear how defensive I sound. I haven’t explained myself well, but I’m too raw to get into the story of how Adam died. “It’s complicated.”

“More complicated than you should have told that twat where to go?”

It’s true, so I don’t bother to argue. I just sit there feeling like the worst twin in the world.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Taylor says eventually. “I don’t know everything.”

“No, it’s true. I should have stuck up for her back then. Adam would have. And now . . . Well, Audrey did something that hurt me. She didn’t mean to, it wasn’t her fault, but it hurt me more than anything has ever hurt me in my life.”

“You don’t have to tell me about it.” Taylor hesitates for a moment and then adds, “Just remember you can still make up with Audrey, if you want. There’s still time.”

I set my jaw before all my mixed emotions surrounding Audrey come bursting forth. Before I tell Taylor that deep down I know I’m being unfair blaming Audrey, but I can’t seem to stop.

Taylor rotates to face me, legs crossed. “I didn’t know Adam, but from what you’ve told me, I think he would have been supportive of what you’re going through. That you’re discovering yourself, I mean. I think he would be proud.”

I’ve never considered that before, but it’s probably true. Just like when I wanted to skateboard, Adam would tell me to go for it. Go all the way and never look back.

“Too bad the rest of my family isn’t like Adam.” Before Taylor can ask me to expand, I toss the question at them. “What are your parents like?”

“My parents were high school sweethearts who considered themselves punks, so I don’t think they ever expected their kid to be like everyone else.” Taylor laughs. “They’re cool parents. They wanted me to experience London life, and, let’s be honest, they didn’t want to miss out on their own lives after having a baby, so they took me to a lot of concerts, festivals, and theater performances. After they had me, we moved to Belsize Park because it’s a short ride from Central London, which they couldn’t bear to leave, but at the same time it’s sort of suburban. It’s calmer and greener. I loved growing up there.” Here Taylor pauses and laughs. “If you haven’t been to London, you probably have no idea what I’m talking about.”

I laugh too. “All I know about London is red double-decker buses and telephone booths, Harry Potter, the Tower, and fish and chips.”

“Oh, we used to get chicken and chips takeaway after school!” Taylor actually licks their lips. “I miss that.”

“Do you miss living in London?” I immediately regret asking the question because now I’m scared to hear the answer. What if Taylor wants to move back? Would their parents do it?

“Sometimes. There’s a lot to do in London, and it’s a central hub so you can quickly travel anywhere from there. But to be honest, there are downsides to living in London too. Everyone is always in a hurry, and they think nothing of commuting for an hour on the tube to get anywhere. I was actually kind of glad when my mum told me she was getting transferred to Canada. Moving to a new country was a chance to transform into the person I wanted to be without all the baggage of my childhood.”

Baggage of their childhood? That sounds completely opposite to the childhood Taylor just described. I want to ask about it, but that feels rude and intrusive, and then the chance is gone as they continue.

“I was a bit nervous about meeting new friends, but it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be because of the gay-straight alliance. Have you heard of that group? I can tell you where the next meeting will be, if you want.”

I just nod because I’m not sure I want to attend. I feel comfortable on the forums, where I can observe other people from the safety of my phone or computer.

Taylor tilts their head to the side. “So what are your parents like?”

“They’re good people; they just really worry about what people think of them. Also what people think about us: Audrey and me.” I pause, realizing this is an epiphany I never would have come to if I weren’t having this exact conversation at this exact moment. “I think that might actually be part of the reason I thought it was so important to fit in. Growing up, my teachers and parents were always so concerned about Audrey being an outsider. Around the time Sharon came to our school, Audrey was starting to get in trouble with the teachers, but Sharon was popular and smart and the teachers loved her.” I can barely get the words out—I’m breathless with awareness. All these things I’m realizing about myself, about Audrey, about the people who helped shape who we are today. “I think I saw the way people treated Audrey and the way people treated Sharon, and I made the decision to be like Sharon.”

Taylor nods. “I can understand that.”

“I’ve watched my parents do everything they can to help Audrey. They so badly want to be able to help her, but they don’t know how. Now they’re starting to worry about me.”

“Your parents love you and Audrey, no matter what.”

“I know that. And I know that my parents only want what’s best for us.” I inhale a deep, ragged breath. “I want the same for them.”

Sam the Man wrote that by keeping his mother’s dream alive, he was destroying his own. And Taylor just told me that the toughest life is living a lie. The problem is, neither of them comes from the same background as me, so I can’t just blindly follow their advice. Neither of their parents were already suffering following the death of a child. Neither of their parents paid to have a child of the gender they wanted. I wish I could explain that to Taylor, but just like I’m not ready to explain Audrey’s accidental role in Adam’s death, I’m not ready to reveal that my mom wanted daughters. That my relationship with her is already strained and I don’t want to make it worse.

I stand up to leave. “You were right about what you said, that we only have three more years of high school. Why make things harder? I can get through three years.”

Taylor looks up at me with wide eyes. “What are you saying, Clare?”

I shrug as if it’s no big deal, as if I actually believe my own words. “I just have to fit in and survive, right? No one likes high school.”

“But Clare . . .” Taylor breaks eye contact and looks away. “Never mind.”

“I’m not ready!” I snap. I’m not mad at Taylor—Taylor is being incredibly supportive—I’m mad at the situation. Mad at the world. Mad at myself.

There are still ten minutes left in the lunch hour, but I claim I don’t want to be late for class and dart back up the stairwell.