Chapter 2 - Code Ermergerd

My afternoon classes passed with, thankfully,y little incident. The pace at which we return to the semester keeps most people focused on their work and not on each other. I’ve been surprisingly lucky so far, and the real challenge will kick in after school ends for the day, girls. Private schools generally come in two flavors, and we are what is called a day school. It means you go home each day, and nobody stays there like a boarding school. It’s really simple, but you’d be surprised how many people think all private schools are boarding. Anyway, while my dad might let me drive to school, I have to make my way home, and that is by public bus. The school has a fleet for most routes, but those of us who live a bit further away take public transit. It’s not that awful, and it's more relaxed than the school buses. The local service stops just outside the school grounds, twenty minutes after class gets out, and I share it with quite a lot of students from both divisions on our campus. While I narrowly dodged the girls earlier this morning in the common room, I will be stuck with them for an hour now, and so far, women have scored higher when it comes to smelling a rat. Gulp. I reach the stop about five minutes after the final bell as I’ve little reason to stick around and chat with anyone. It isn’t long before Gary arrives along with a knot of other students. “We made it through the first day, huh?” he sighs, looking like his brain has been exhausted of every neuron, all three of them. I nod and lean back against a tree with my hands in my pockets. I’m trying to look casual like I haven’t spent most of the day on a razor’s edge. “Yeah, just a bunch more to go.” Gary grins and bobs his head. “Yeah, I just hope they ease off the pace or I might have to study this year.” “You’re never going to study, don’t lie, slug,” Megan calls out as the sisters arrive with other members of the Girls' Division. “I might!” Gary manages to look hurt. His sister’s expression explains quite clearly how little she believes that statement. The bus arrives before long, and the crowd mounts up. There are about twenty-five of us boarding, and it’s pretty full,,l but Gary and I manage to grab a seat while the sisters take the row in front of us. “One less day of school till Christmas time!” Megan smiles happily as she spins around to kneel backward on the seat so she’s facing us. “You’re already focused on that? We’ve still got Homecoming, Halloween, and Thanksgiving before we get to that,” Gary pokes his sister. I’ve always been rather jealous of the Byrne family. They might all be insane, but they have a closeness that I truly long for. My family is far from terrible; my parents love us and my siblings aren’t utter assholes. The problem is that Rob is a year older thanIe and a senior. He and I are pretty good, but I’m not the brother he thinks I am. I think that forms a bit of a disconnect between the two of us, and it makes me quite sad. My older sister Christine and I used to be super close growing up. She’s away this year in Chicago for her first year of college. We drifted apart as we became teenagers because boys and girls aren’t supposed to be that close. I miss her, I miss her. “You guys know who you’re going to ask yet?” Kara asks, turning around more delicately in her seat. “It’s only a month or so away. I’ve already been asked by Kyle Martins.” “Kyle?” Gary seems taken aback. “You said yes to Kyle?” Kara rolls her eyes and gives him that ‘you’re so stupid’ look that sisters nail every damn time. “Of course not, I just said he asked me.” “What about you, Alex? Any ideas about whom you might ask?” Megan asks, eying me carefully. “Any girl or boy catch your eye?” She’s been needling me about that for a long time. Megan has had it in her mind that I’m secretly gay and she’s the only one who’s noticed. I ron’t have the heart to tell her that I’ve been called fag, sissy and queer since my Freshman year. “Nope, probably not going again.” “You’ve got to go,” Kara protests with a dramatic pout. “It’s a major life event, and everyone goes. You don’t even have to go with someone, plenty go by themselves or with friends!” “It’s just a stupid school dance and a popularity contest. I don’t like or play football, and I don’t want people to think I’m cool, so why bother?” I shrug. “Anyway, you three will all have dates, so which friends am I meant to go with exactly?” Megan looks a little dejected at my flat refusal to entertain their stupid dance. She’s always fancied herself as the facto matchmaker of the group. “I know you said you didn’t find anyone interesting, but that’s got to change eventually, right? You can’t go through life not liking anyone.” I cross my arms, “I just don’t, ok? It’s not like I can force myself to be into people. I’m very happy on my own.” I attempt to keep my tone level and sincere. See, this has been my message for years because it used to be the truth. Before I started on estrogen, I wasn’t even remotely interested in anyone, male, female, or cheesecake. The idea of romance and sex just didn’t enter my little squirrel brain. Technically, you would call it Acearo: Asexual and Aromantic. Honestly, I had zero interest at all. The truth is, I think those people mentally acknowledge they have no interest. I honestly just didn’t notice. I think a large portion of that was that I genuinely was so wrapped up in my identity and my gender that sex didn’t even get any time left. This would be likely my continuous state of being for the duration of high school if female hormones hadn’t had an unfortunate side effect: They had woken up my sexuality, and unfortunately for me, it turns out I’m incredibly straight, as a girl. How did I discover this life-changing fact, you ask? I was away with family on vacation, and a group of boys at one of the villas near ours were regular surfers. It turns out that the sight of teen boys, soaking wet in nothing but boardshorts, is a violent awakening for the latent sexuality of a developing girl. It honestly scared me. Naturally, in my current situation, I can’t even consider acting on my feelings. To the world, I’m a boy, and they would see me as gay. There’s nothing wrong with that, obviously, but I have no interest in a boy who would be attracted to me as another boy, even as a feminine one. The only boy I could even consider would be one who saw me as a girl and nothing else. Chances of that happening in an all-boys school? Zero. Stop hoping for a whirlwind, steamy romance with an enlightened boy who is both hot and willing to suspend his sense of disbelief. It’s not gonna happen. “Leave him alone, Meg,” Kara interjects kindly. “Alex is who he is, and he’s our friend. We’d just enjoy his company there as friends. If he doesn’t want to go, then that’s his choice.” I groan loudly now, oh, I’m caught in the sister trap. “See Me, can I turn down because she’s easy to ignore., You, Kara, I can’t because you make me feel guilty,” I muttered glumly. Kara smiles broadly and puffs out her chest. “Mom does say that guilt is my superpower,” she agrees proudly. “I can get anyone to feel awful about anything with very little effort.” “It’s the cute little sister thing, nothing more,” Gary mu, rolling his eyes. “Everyone just likes you because you’re the baby.” “That one doesn’t work for me.” I offer. “I’m the baby too in my family, and they just ignore me.” “That’s because you’re so mopey and depressing,” Megan pouts, poking me in the chest with an accusatory finger. Of course, this is that moment where the unknowing friend nails me right in the boob. Not just anywhere, but dead center, nipple shot with an extended finger. The pain that courses through me is like a bolt of lightning, It’s all I can do not to yelp audibly. Megan gives me a weird look, and I brush it off by slapping away her arm and giving her the finger. “I’m not depressing!” I hiss through gritted teeth. Keeping my voice even is not easy. I’ve only ever hit myself in the boob once before. It was a month ago, and I walked into a doorframe. I was on my knees for ten minutes. Right now, I cannot afford to explain to them why my chest hurts. Some careful breathing, and the throbbing pain is under control. For those of you that have never been poked in the boob, I can only compare it to a boy getting kicked in the junk. It hurts. “I mean, with his hair and looks, he should win baby of the family points, but I think she’s right,” Gary grins. “You’re too emo and everyone just feels bad for you.” “Can we manage a conversation where I’m not the center of attention, perhaps?” I grumble, still feeling extremely sore from Megan’s prod. “What’s your common room like?” I ask the girls. They’re both in our year, and I know the Girls Division has its equivalent. It’s just far less likely for the boys to visit there, and somewhat discouraged. “It’s pretty good,” Kara enthuses. “It’s not got the snack bar yours but it's super comfy and it’s got a bunch of work areas too for us to study if we want to.” The topic is successfully changed, and the debate moves on to the difference between our two divisions of the school. I’m able to blend into the background, finally, where I can avoid people asking me probing questions like ‘How are you?’. I’ll admit, this is where I’m most comfortable; just out of the spotlight. I like being part of things, but not the focus. When I’m the focus, people notice me. Noticing me is bad, as you can appreciate. It’s honestly a pretty awful way to live, but it’s what I have to do to one day have the freedom I dream of. It sounds awful, but I can manage. Thirty minutes later, the bus drops us at the edge of our neighbors, and we disembark for the brief walk home. We’re some of the last kids on the bus as we live the furthest from school in this direction. It means it’s pretty quiet by the time we get off, and it’s just the four of us walking. I’ve always enjoyed the trip home, it’s given me time to think, listen to music, and unwind. Gary and Kara are walking ahead of me, talking about some anime, when I feel Megan slide up alongside me as we walk. “What?” I ask, giving her a healthy dose of side-eye. “Nothing.” She replies casually, shrugging without actually looking at me. “How’s your chest?” Le gulp. “It’s fine, why do you ask?” I can see a half-grin on her lips. This bitch knows something and has the balls (Irony) to play coy here. “Why’d it hurt like that?” “Because you poked me, why else? So?” “I bet that’s why you wear hoodies too, right?” she said, and my heart went cold. “I… don’t know what you mean?” This was most no bueno. If she was onto me, this could rattle everything. “Gynocomastia duh.” She gives me a sympathetic look and smiles. This is not what I was expecting at all, and I’m utterly speechless. “Don’t tell anyone, but Gary had it for a while. They got him on some stuff, and it went away. I can tell from how you flipped out when I poked you; sorry by the way.” Somehow, she’s managed to grasp the wrong end of an entirely different stick. She’s noticed exactly what I was trying to hide, de but her brain has somehow processed it as something entirely different… yet the same. This is an outcome I had not foreseen or considered, but it does give me a plausible camouflage going forward should I get the right situation. “Um, yeah, then, I guess,” I mumble, trying to sound embarrassed for that totally boy reason. “It’s kinda humiliating, I didn’t want to tell anyone.” Megan scoffed and patted me on the back, “Sheesh, don’t worry about it, it's ok? You can get it fixed, no problem. Gary’s doctor said it’s normal for boys your It can happen to anyone.” I looked at my feet as we walked and nodded along to what she had said. “I guess I’ll speak to my mom and see if we can see the doctor.” “Ah, you spoiled it.” Megan groaned, slapping her leg in mock frustration. “If only you’d seemed reluctant to tell your mom.” Kara and Gary were already walking up their driveway, lost in their world talking about whatever weeb crap they were currently watching and totally ignoring the scene Megan was creating out here on the sidewalk. I stopped and stared at her. “What the hell are you talking about?” Megan shook her head and gestured up to the house. “Come on up, and we’re going to have a chat, Alex. I’m pretty sure you’re going to need it.”Goose officially cooked: please send help and a fork. Let me paint this picture for you because this is one of those pivotal moment type of deals. I’m sitting in Megan’s bedroom waiting for her to get back. She’s downstairs talking to her mom and grabbing drinks for our ‘study’ time as she’s spinning it. Her room is the typical teen girl paradise of dusty pastels and white furniture that I honestly expected it to be. It’s certainly not one I’ve been in before besides my own sister’s at home, but she moved on from pastels at age thirteen. The bed isn’t a cano, py as thankfully she’s not that far gone to girlyness, it’s big and fluffy and honestly looks kind of amazing. I’m perched on her desk chair awaiting sentencing. I have a deep sinking feeling that Megan has cracked my subterfuge wide open and her gynecomastia angle was some ruthlessly cunning bullshit. This chick goes up three notches on my threat board going forward. Where do we stand? I’m pretty convinced she knows I have boobs and I’m pretty convinced she knows that they’re not an accident either. How much more is entirely up for pl, ay, but my cards are now a lot closer to my chest, which might be part of the problem. The door opens as Megan returns with a pair of tall glasses of Coke in her hands. Kicking it closed with a foot, she offers one to me and places hers on the nightstand. I figure I can attempt to bluff her out and hope she keeps quiet, et or wait and see what cards she’s going to play. “Isn’t your mom going to be worried you closed the door with a boy up here?” I ask, hoping for some reprieve from her private torture chamber. Megan grins and shrugs nonchalantly, “She didn’t mention it.” I know her inference. I’m pretty sure a lot of people think I’m gay or otherwise inclined. I accepted that possibility a long time ago because I didn’t care. It’s hard to be offended for being called something you aren’t when it doesn’t offend your sensibility of what you are. Being seen as gay is fine; I’ve no male ego to be offended. The simple fact is that I don’t have it in me to play both a macho girl hunter and a boy. I’m not into them at all that way. “So,” She announces, dropping onto her bed and fixing me with a grin. “Where shall we start? Hmm, are you maybe a little warm?” “Huh, no?” The truth is that I am too damn warm; I’m boiling. I suspect that this skank turned the heat up when she was downstairs because September should not feel like June. If this is her opening salvo, touché, Megan, because I can feel a bead of sweat dripping down my spine. “You sure?” She grins broadly. She reminds me of a Great White Shark circling her prey. “I know you have boobs Alex so why pretend otherwise?” Take your jacket and hoodie off, it’s just us in here.” The problem is that I know she’s right and she knows that I know that she knows that I know… God, even I’m lost. So far, her opening salvo is exposure; I can pretend to be fine and suffer, which leaves her assumptions without much evidence other than her inference. Alternatively, I can comply and leave myself at her mercy and see what happens. I can’t lie; the idea of someone knowing about me is quite tempting. My desire to share this part of me is so overwhelming that I’ve fought it for so long. I let my shoulders sag, ditch the suit jacket, and unzip my hoodie. I give her an awry look and shrug it off my shoulders. I feel far cooler straight away, and I know she’s won. Megan doesn’t say anything at first, but I know she’s looking at me more closely, trying to see the extent of my chest. Fuck it, I’ve hidden long enough. I sit upright, pulling myself out of my perpetual hunch, and for once, don’t hide myself. “It’s not gynecomastia.” Megan smiles gently, “I know.” I adjust my posture and how I’m sitting to be more comfortable, le more me. If I’m going to tell someone, I’m damn well going to be me when I do so. My slump and slouch might be part of my camouflage, but it won’t get in the way now. Pulling my legs together and sitting up straight, I know my chest is far more visible now, I can see that from the look in her eyes. Why are words hard? You have this image in your mind of the perfect reveal, the perfect statement to declare to the world who and what you are but you just stumble like a moron because your heart is in your mouth and you’re shaking like a leaf. “I’m trans…um, I’m a transgender, um, girl? I’m a girl.” I stumble and trip over the words I’ve been desperate to say for so long and make an utter ass of it. In levels of coming out, it’s about there with tripping over my bra, if I had one. I can’t look up, not at Megan. I just sit here staring at my hands in my lap, feeling a hotness that isn’t part of her torture plan burning up my face as I await her response. I’m not expecting the hug that wraps around me. “I had some idea, you know, but I wasn’t certain, sweetie,” Megan whispers as she envelops me in a hug. “It’s ok, you’re safe here.” So, yeah, as you expect,, ed this is the part where I bawl my guts out and break down now the emotional Rubicon has been crossed. It’s not pretty at all, honestly; pretty crying is reserved for when you’re faking it. Real crying, the real emotional outpouring, is ugly as hell. Snot, tears, nose blowing, and strange faces are all part of the deal. After an unknown amount of time, I managed to pull myself together. I must look like a total sight to Megan, but she doesn’t seem to care. I tuck my hair back behind my ears and try and pull myself together. We’ve ended up sitting on her bed together, and now that the storm has passed, I can honestly say that a significant weight has been lifted from me. “So you don’t hate me then?” I ask sheepishly, hoping that the stubborn snot bubble has finally disappeared. Megan smiles and shakes her head. “No, of course not, sweetie, but… wow, this is big.” “Yeah, kinda.” I chuckle darkly. “Life ending big.” “Your parents don’t know?” She asks gently, her expression shifting to one of surprise when I shake my head. “Wait, so… all of this.” She gestures at me. “They have no idea? How?” “You get rood to hiding who you are over time,” I reply. “Having to hide everything about my personality and my feelings meant that my appearance was just another level of disguise.” “So you’re not seeing a doctor?” “No,” I admit slowly. “Now I know you’re going to say it’s dangerous and stupid to take things without supervision, but I did my research and I had no choice. There’s too much at risk; I couldn’t spend years being psychoanalyzed and told to wait for some far-off specific date or age. I couldn’t let myself…” I take a deep breath and try and fight back the tears I know are close. “I couldn’t become a man.” Megan shakes her head and runs a finger along my cheek. “You know, now that I can see it, I don’t even know how anyone sees you as a boy.” I laugh for the first time in our conversation. “Most people don’t, but people who know me all have this preconceived idea of what I am, so they just ignore the other signs. Plus, I dress and behave to hide it all… kinda.” “I’m so sorry for poking you,” Megan grins slyly. “I know how much that hurts.” “Asshole,” I grumble not entirely still mad at her for it while I rub my chest. “That does hurt. I’ve only banged them twice so far, and it’s been a shock.” “How long?” she asks. “Six months nearly,” I admit, grinning sheepishly. “It’s becoming a bit much to hide now.” “You’re afraid to tell your parents, aren’t you? Do you think they’ll get mad?” I nod, it’s been my fear the whole time. I’m pretty convinced it won’t fit with their plans for my life, and if they don’t toss me out on my backside entirely, I’ll be sent off for correction lest the neighbors find out. “I’m afraid they’ll ship me off to military school or a therapist or something,” I murmur. I didn’t think I had a choice.” “Oh, baby.” Megan sighs, wrapping her arms around me. “I’m the first person you’ve told, aren’t I?” I nod into her shoulder, not able to form words at that moment, and she hugs me tighter. “I’m sorry for forcing it out of you, the n” she mumbles into my shoulder. “I’ll help you, ok? With whatever you need.” “You don’t need to do that, I’ve managed this long on my own.” Megan shakes her head. “With girl stuff or with hiding girl stuff, you’ve got me in your corner, ok? No expectations, no requirements., I’m just here for you, ok? I don’t know how I’d cope with bottling so much up and keeping it from literally everyone. Do you ever actually relax?” I smirk at the very idea of relaxing, “When I’m asleep, maybe.” Megan looks me over critically and raises an eyebrow. “So let’s see what we’re working within either direction then… girl up or boy up, let’s see… Wait, no, ok, you’re wearing underwear, right?” She jumps up and runs over to her door and ensures it’s shut. “Off with everything.” “Everything?” I balk, “No way!” Megan rolls her eyes. “Keep your underwear on but everything else… off,” she demands. “Look, you’re a girl, right? So am I, it’s fine. Now stop stalling and strip, I want to see what we’re working with if we’re going to try and hide this.” Reluctantly, I unfasten my belt, which is mostly all that is holding up my pants, and let them drop to the floor. Stepping out, I begin to unbutton my shirt. “This feels super creepy with you watching me, you know,” I grumble at her. “Can you make me feel less like a cheap hooker?” Megan crosses her arms and taps her foot impatiently,tly and simply raises an eyebrow. With a sigh, I slip my shirt from my shoulders and stand there in a tee and my way-too-tight boxer shorts. I can barely bring myself to look at her as I remove my clothes. I don’t know what she’s going to think of my strangeness. I turn around and pull the shirt off and cover my chest with my hands before turning back to face her. The look on her face is exactly what I was expecting: total shock. “Dude, you’re a girl,” Megan splutters. The look on her face is genuinely one of those I wish I had a camera ready for. I don’t think I’ve seen a human being look so confused before as she stands there in front of me.. “How the hell did I not see any of this?” she murmurs, walking around me. You know, because I didn’t feel like enough meat without her doing a three hundred and sixty degree assessment. “I guess I dress to hide it.” I shrug. “Can I put my clothes back on?” “Nah,” she replies nonchalantly as she tosses me her dressing gown. “Put this on.” “I’m not wearing your clothes or dressing up for you.” I assert, hoping this isn’t the plot to some bad trans-fiction adventure where I get dolled up in her frillies and her mom thinks I’m some random girlfriend. “No, don’t be daft, we don’t have enough time for that,” she offers dismissively. “You’re right, though, that’s going to be hard to conceal. What are you doing for gym class?” I tie the sash on her terry cloth dressing gown and sit back on the bed. “I have no idea.” I sigh with resignation. It’s Wednesday and I have no freaking clue what I’m going to do.” I will admit that sitting here in her dressing gown, not having to hunch or compress my posture, is monumentally liberating. There’s nothing boyish or girlish, it just feels gloriously comfortable. “There is no way you can change in there with the boys or go out there in gym clothes.” Megan points out, looking almost horrified. “Your secret will be exposed the second you take off your shirt, fake an illness?” “Maybe for one, but it won’t help with the next week onward,” I admit reluctantly. “I’ll think about it and find you something to do,” she waves the topic away. “But your appearance is going to be tough even in school. I knew something was off this morning, but after this…” She gestures at my body. “I honestly can’t unsee it.” “That ugly, huh?” Megan sits down beside me and shakes her head, “No, not ugly, honey. You’re average, for a girl your age.” I let out a breath, I think that I’ve been holding for six months. “What the hell can I do?” Megan seems to ponder the idea for a moment. “Short of cutting your hair off and growing a beard, not much we can do. We need to flatten those things out.” She gestures at my left boob. “That’s the big problem, pardon the pun.” “I’m considering using sports bandages, Rob has a bunch from football.” Megan nods along with my idea. “That or a sports bra.” “Someone touches my back and feels a strap, and I’m dead, a bandage I can explain as an injury.” I counter. “How big are you?” She asks, tilting her head to one side like a curious puppy. “Like, A, B?” My expression conveys my lack of remote knowledge of the subject. That and I haven’t dared measure and make things real. I figured I’d ignore it all and hope I’d make it to college first. Megan rolls her eyes and pulls me to my feet and ruffles the lapels of the dressing gown. “Off with this, I want to measure you.” “Do you have to?” I moa, clutching my lapels and my dignity like a fifties housewife. Megan ignores me and pulls the tie open and forces the gown off my shoulders. “Stop being such a prude, this is normal, now stand still and let me get one of my bras.” “I am not dressing up, Megan.” I insist as firmly as I can while covering my chest. This is one of those firsts in life and a valuable lesson for anyone else out there in my position. I, like you, am having a conversation with my breasts in my hands; you don’t have as much authority as you might expect. “I just want to compare sizes, you’re a similar size to me in the torso, so we should get a good idea of cup size at least. If we know that going forward, do we know what we have to work with?”Sounds like a trap? Absolutely, but at the time, I had no idea why. What turned out to be far more amusing was that neither did she. Begrudgingly and not without a little huffing, I allowed Megan to strap me into one of her bras. I will admit it was quite amusing when she had to tighten the straps and use the tightest hooks to get it to fit my slightly smaller torso than her own. The cups were far emptier than hers, as we both expected, but in a feeling I can only describe as both joyful and terrifying, they were far from empty. What surprised me most was the feeling of security and support it gave me; it managed to make me feel a way I’ve never felt before. Did I put the cart before the horse with this transition crap? Absolutely. I’m doing all of this ass-backward, but standing here with my breasts in a bra felt utterly out of this world, correct?. “I??don’t know how I feel about this,” I admit, jiggling my chest in the bra as I stare down at my honest to god boobage. “This is crazy.” Megan scratches her head and grins sheepishly. “No kidding.” The mirror in front of me is complicated. I see a teenage girl in a boy's boxer shorts and a bra, but I also see myself. I see flaws, and I see what I consider my male features. It’s a confusing image, but one that I accept looks more female than male currently. A small part of my brain wants to see what I look like in girl clothes, but the self-preserving part tells me how terrible an idea that is. You think my brain is messed up? Imagine you’re taking active steps to transition and live your true life, but at the same time have to hide it. Can you fathom how much shame and mental trauma that generates? Answer? Quite a lot. The very fact that I made it this far in one piece was a true shock to me in hindsight. It would take me a lot of years and a huge therapist's bill to unfuck the mess that was my self-esteem at this point. Honestly, I had more therapy for that than I did for being transgender. That shit was obvious. “I don’t know how you manage,” Megan says softly, snapping me from my reverie. I wrap my arm around myself, under my breasts, for the first time not attempting to hide them or worried that they’ll show. “I have to,” I admit sadly. “One day this will all be worth it.” Megan smiles kindly, We’re sharing a moment. It’s cool because it’s my first moment like this… girl to girl. We know what we each mean, and we don’t need to say it, and that feels unusual but correct. The problem is that the first cherished moment of shared bonding is ruined when the bedroom door slams open and Kara piles into the room at full speed. “Me,g I….” Kara slides to a halt in the middle of the floor. I’m standing there in one of Megan’s bras with my hair loose, and she’s speechless. Neither of us is moving or speaking, but we’re both staring at Kara. “Uh, Alex?” She asks slowly, very uncertainly, as though she’s suffering a sudden onset of brain damage. Megan snaps out of her stupor and rushes past her sister to slam the door closed. “What the fuck Kar? Since when do you barge in here when my door is closed?” “Uh, all the time, I thought you were alone?” She fires back, totally forgetting me, until my reaching for the dressing gown catches her attention. “Waitagoddamnminutewhatthefuckisthis?” I have no way to reply to this, I’m frozen in panic. I’m standing here in one of my female bedrooms in her bra and my underwear, my hair is down, and my body is on full display. The cat that had been in the bag is now enjoying a comfortable career as a writer for the Times after publishing its best-selling autobiography, ‘How I Got out of the Bag’. I have just enough mental fortitude to grab the gown and tie it tightly around my waist. I know how I probably look, but that’s the furthest from my mind currently. I’m on the edge of hyperventilating, and I’m looking back and forth between Meg and Ka,,ra uncertain as to what’s going to occur next. “Kara, you can’t say a word about this,” Megan answers sternly, fixing her sister with a glare. “You cannot tell anyone about Alex.” Kara turns to stare at me properly, her eyes wandering the length of my body and face. I know what she’s seeing; it’s the closest to the real me that anyone has ever seen so far. My hair is loose, and I’m wearing Megan’s pastel green robe. My legs are exposed, and my chest and waist are quite visible in the thin garment. I look female yet knows me, Alex, her male friend. I’m well aware of what I look like this way, and it makes me feel conflicted. I’m both overjoyed to be seen by other people and terrified of the potential this causes. “We can explain,” Megan insists, eying her sister carefully. “You can’t tell Mom and Dad, ok?” Kara looks dumbfounded; she’s struggling to associate what she sees with what she knows, and it’s breaking her brain. If this were a cartoon, steam would be pouring out of her ears. “Alex?” she asks dumbly, “I don’t understand what’s going on.” My heart rate is slowing, and I’m able to find my voice finally. “Kara, this is kinda complicated, well,” I pause and mentally shrug. “It’s not; I’m trans.” “You are?”Shehe blinks, “How do you look like a girl? I came in here and you had boobs, and hips and…” she trails off looking vaguely confused. I went through the entire explanation again. It’s a lot easier now that I’ve told Megan. She helps me with her sister, and together we fill in my sordid antics up until her shenanigans with a bra, a bra that I’m still wearing. That and I’m sitting here in a short green robe… with girls, as a girl. Holy shit this is happening. Megan smirks and shakes her head as I finish my retelling of the story. “You know, this entire time I’ve not seen a single male mannerism from you, it’s uncanny.” “I mean, he was never that manly before,” Kara points out before she shivers visibly. “Oh gosh, Alex, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” “It’s fine,” I shrug, feeling my boobs jiggle in the bra. That’s a weird as-heck experience. “I mean that’s kinda a compliment.” “It is?” Kara blinks. I nod, “Sure, it is; It would be weird if I were a girl.” I shrug sheepishly. Kara seems to get it. I think somehow she thinks this is happening against my desires. Like some genetic spaghetti that I can’t control despite my explaining quite clearly otherwise. “This is so weird,” she breathes, shaking her head. “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” I ask nervously. Honestly, I’m not sure what she’s going to do. Megan is one thing I hadn’t budgeted for, but Kara is truly breaking the bank. “Will you be going to our school?” Her question is innocent, but I know no way is happening. This is where we diverge from the typical fiction fodder, sorry. “What, and do a quick change in a phone booth each day? No way, Kara. All I want to do is hide it till I get to college.” “Hang on, your parents don’t know about… all of thisSheee gestures in my general direction. “It turns out people don’t pay that much attention when you’re a depressed loner,” I admit with a sardonic smile. I want this to be abundantly clear: my parents don’t mistreat me or neglect me in any way at all. They were great parents in most respects. We never wanted for anything when it came to school or our health, but we were actively encouraged to work to earn our own money. If I weren’t transgender and felt like my siblings,, would have had the happiest childhood imaginable. The difference in my case is my whole not being their son deal. It’s gotten in the way for a long time, and it’s driven a wedge between us that I hope to one day repair. I also realized that if I withdrew from my family, they wouldn’t notice my true nature. Originally, this was just about my behavior, but it came in handy when I took matters into my own hands. This is why I can exist in a world where my mom doesn’t quite notice how feminine I’m getting or how her son has what we’ve established to be a full A cup’s worth of boobs. “How the hell are you planning to hide all of this?” Kara asks when I’m done explaining everything, including my hare-brained scheme to stay in the boys' school. “Do you even realize how crazy this sounds?” “Not like I have a ton of choice, is it?” I mutter sourly. “If I come out, I run the risk of getting sent off to be ‘fixed’ or straight up disowned. My only other option was to suffer and wait, meaning that I would slowly turn into my brother; neither outcome is a success. My only choice was to do something to stop this nightmare and hope I can hang on long enough to be the real me, somewhere safe that I control.” “I don’t think you’re going to survive until Thanksgiving like this,” Meg jokes softly. I know she means well, and I know deep down that’s great, but it’s also terrifying. I know that as much as I joke and make light, this is serious business. “I’ve got to try.” We continued to talk while I got myself dressed again. I’m sure you want me to say something like ‘It’s all girls here, tee hee’, but it was simpler to say that I had nothing left to hide, aside from one thing nobody in that room wanted to see, including me. Kara shook her head when I was fully dressed again in the clothes I’d arrived in. “Honestly, I can’t see you as male anymore, babe. I know you look the same as this morning, but it’s like… we opened the box on Schrödinger’s experiment.” “So I’m a poisoned cat?” I frown, recalling the whole cat in a box with poison experiment we’d been covering in Physics. I adjust the tie around my neck, and it does rather feel more like a noose after this afternoon’s shenanigans. “No you’re not a cat dumbass,” Kara grins, “I just… I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.” “I didn’t exactly want you to, that was the point.” I roll my eyes. Megan elbows her sister and tosses me my bag. “We’re going to play dumb with Gary and everyone else, got it?” We’re going to keep Alex’s cover, as long as… I see her freeze over the pronoun like it’s a landmine. I know she wants to say she, but she’s resisting the urge for my sake. “he needs us to.” I gave her a grateful smile in return and heaved the bag over my shoulder, and made my exit. I jogged down the stairs and was almost at the door when I heard my name called from the family room. “Alex, that you? What are you doing here?” Gary wandered into the hallway in dirty sweatpants with a bag of chips in his hand and his Xbox headset over his ears, the classiest example of manhood. “I was hanging with Meg, why?” Gary gave me a funny look, “You never hang out with my sister, bro, what’s up?” “They’re ahead of us in physics, I wanted her not,e s is all.” Gary seems to accept my academic ploy without question. The idea of schoolwork to him at this time of day is difficult to stomach, so he reverts to disinterest. “Right, ok, well, see you tomorrow, I guess.” I wave and beat a retreat before he can question why, in the first week of school, the girls are somehow ahead of us academically. My friend is wonderful, but he’s not the brightest sometimes. Ga,ry if you ever read this… surprise, I guess? I make it home a little after five and head straight up to my bedroom almost immediately. Mom is home and making dinner, and my sibling creature Rob is somewhere in his cave, judging by the awful music I can hear through the walls. Ditched my school clothes quickly behind the locked door of my room. Somehow, my chest feels naked now without Megan’s bra. I can’t think about such things; going down that road will get me caught. I climb into my customary oversized hoodie and baggy jeans. They are as much a practical disguise as they are a comfort to me. It used to be that I wore clothes like this to hide my shitty body; it let me pretend I didn’t look like a boy. It’s ironic that the same clothes now mask my burgeoning womanhood. I could make a long and complicated analogy about how one prison can serve two purposes, but that would take effort, and I’m a teenager, ok? I have a couple of hours before dinner, so I settle down and get to work on my assignments. First day, you say? Yeah, we d.. Welcome to the private school. “How was school, boys?” My brother Rob shrugs at our father’s question and stuffs more potatoes into his gaping maw. “Ok, I guess,” he mumbles, barely managing to avoid spraying the table. “Robert, don’t talk with your mouth full!” my mother chides from across the table. “What about you, Alex dear?” I shrug and swallow my food like a human being with decent table manners.“It was okay, I suppose. Not much to tell, ifI’mm being honest; it was only the first day after all.” “Why can’t you answer normally like your brother?” Mom returns her attention to my more unevolved sibling. “He took the time to swallow his food before speaking in full sentences.” Rob rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He’s heard this story a million times. Mom has always resorted to playing us against each other. This is one of those parental guilt tactics that moms are so amazingly good at. Somehow, one of us will have screwed up and the other will be a paragon of perfection, this will be pointed out to us ad nauseum. At the time I h, hated it, but what teen didn’t? Many years later, the game would respect the game. “You trying out for football this year?” Dad asks me casually, glancing in my direction. He has done this every year since I started middle school, and he’s convinced that I’ll turn into Rob with just a little socially acceptable violence in padding. By golly,y it made him the man he is today, ay apparent,tly and he’s desperate to turn his youngest into a chip off the old block. There was once a time when I would placate him and offer excuses. If I make the right noises, I’ll get him off my back, but these days I just tell him the truth. No, Dad,” I sigh. “I’m still not even slightly interested.” “I don’t see why not,” he counters undaunted. “It did great things for your brother.” “And my brother has the IQ of a gas station corndog, what’s your point?” Rob flicks a slice of carrot at me from across the table and sneers. “At least I’m not a scrawny little dweeb that needs his ass saving every day.” Mom’s glare halts Big Brother in his tracks. This is pretty typical of u, honestly, and I don’t hate it. Our family is as dysfunctional as any, but we still love each other. Rob has defended me at school, and I’ve been to his games to watch him play. I may only be his brother, but I do love him, even if I enjoy pressing his buttons. We finish dinner and go our separate ways for the evening. Mom and Dad settle in front of the TV, and make the bed speedily for my room; my loner disguise is pretty effective these days in distracting from the truth of the matter. I can tell Mom is worried at times, but there’s not much I can do. We’re a traditional family, and my parents have good, serious careers. We’re loosely Methodist and only tend to do church on major holidays or events. Thank god we’re not some of those loopy wackjobs that are starting to spread across the country. I’m pretty sure I’d be dead already if we had one of those fire-and-brimstone pastors. Between our general ‘Christian moral values’ as a family and the company my parents keep, I’m well aware that my coming out would be a problem. Whatever their personal feelings about trans people or me in particular, I know the truth coming out would affect their lives and people’s views of them. Dad and his job, Rob and his classmates… Mom would probably be cast out by her friends. I shouldn’t be putting everyone else before me, but I can’t help it; it’s always the way I’ve been. The evening is quiet and thankfully free from new drama. It’s only the first day of school, and everything’s already fallen apart. People have noticed some changes, though thankfully not what those changes mean. Two whole people, two human beings, know my secret. I’m not sure how to mentally unpack that one, but considering they’re cool about it, I guess that’s… good? I guess we shall see what the future holds, but for now, bring on the black oblivion of sleep. Something tells me this isn’t going to get any easier with time.