My alarm goes off, signaling to my still asleep brain that it was finally the first day of school, an occasion I have been waiting for since the last day of 8th grade. I slide out of bed, slipping on my glasses, and walk over to the mirror, gazing at my newly created pixie cut with a smile. I wanted to dye it purple, but my parents shut it down, so I’m stuck with my light brown hair.
I head over to my bathroom and wash up, putting my contacts in before going back to my room to change out of my pajamas. As quietly as I can, and in semi-darkness so as not to wake up Bree, I pick out my outfit, a pair of loose black jeans with a belt, the binder I hide in my closet so my mom doesn’t find it when she's putting clothes away,  and the “My Gender is No” shirt with a grey hoodie covering it. Just as I get the hoodie over my head, mom pokes her head into the room.
“Almost ready Callie? It’s almost 7:30,” she whispers, with a glance towards Bree, “And why is she still asleep, doesn’t she have softball practice at nine? I swear, she’ll be late to her own funeral.” I nod dismissively, and she sighs, but walks out of the room. Figuring Bree will either get up on her own, or just have to rush when I do wake her up, I continue getting ready for school. Looking into my closet, I stare at my shoes debatably. The white flats my mom bought me, saying “Aren’t these just precious!” followed by throwing them into the wagon without asking me, sit there taunting me. I know that if I don’t wear them, she’ll be disappointed, but they are just not my thing, so, with a sigh I pick up my more comfortable black converse sneakers that I’ve owned since 7th grade.
As I’m tying the laces, my phone goes off loudly, causing Bree to wake up with a start. “What the hell!” she shouts. “It’s the middle of the night!”
I stride over to the window and pull the string, causing the blinds to fly up, and the light comes flooding in. “No it’s not, idiot, it’s almost 7:30, and you have to leave for softball in an hour,” I scold her. Contrary to how it may sound, me and Bree are actually very close, just in a rude way. “Now if you’re actually going to wake up, I have to go get breakfast or I’ll be late for school.”
Before I walk out of the room, Bree yells “Wait, Sammy, come here!” I shoot her a warning glance, motioning downstairs in the direction of our parents, but go to her anyway. Once I’m by her bedside, she asks, “What shirt are you wearing?” In reference to the dozen or so LGBT themed shirts I designed in 7th grade when I came fully to term with my identity. I’ve never worn them to school since I wasn’t out yet, but since I came out near the end of the school year, I can wear whatever I want. I grin, glance back to the doorway to make sure neither of our parents are coming, and lift up the hoodie. She smiles, and we both break into hysterics.
“I love those shirts, especially the ace one you made me,” she giggles. I few days after I came out to her, she surprised me by saying she was panromantic asexual; so for her birthday I gave her a shirt saying “I have an ace up my sleeve” with little ace playing cards on the sleeve.
“Can you imagine what mom and dad would say if they found out they had two queer kids,” I said jokingly, even though I was half serious. Not telling our parents who we were sucks for me and Bree, and it’s a large part of why we decided to share a room even though we have enough space for both of us to have our own. We both agree I have it worse, since gender is harder to hide than sexuality, but we definitely both have it rough. 
“I know right!? Mom would flip,” she smirks, “and dad would probably have a heart attack.”
“Sucks for them; one day they’ll face reality, or else it’ll smack ‘em in the face,” I respond, laughing. “Now come on, school’s starting soon and I actually have to go.” She makes a face at me and climbs out of  bed. Bree doesn’t start school until next week, since she’s still in middle school, which for some reason starts later than high school. I wait for her to get her softball uniform on and we head downstairs, where mom’s finished her breakfast already, and left some for us.
We sit down, and start eating the blueberry pancakes, a first day of school tradition that we get to enjoy twice this year since we have two first day of schools. As I’m eating, mom comes back downstairs ready to go to work. “Bye honey, have a good first day,” she bends down to kiss me goodbye, then goes “What shirt are you even wearing, you always have on that plain hoodie,” and reaches to pull up my sweatshirt. I widen my eyes at Bree in panic, and she catches on immediately.
“Hey mom!” She yells, distracting her, “Um... I... uh... can I have some more milk?” Mom looks at her, letting go of my hoodie, and then looks down at Bree’s full glass of milk.
She sighs, “Bree, what are you talking about - you still have plenty.” Bree nods, at a loss for words. “Oh my god! I’m going to be late!” Mom shouts, after looking at her watch. “Bye, girls, see you later. Bree, don’t be late for softball,” she says as she rushes out of the house.
After she closes the door, I look at Bree. “More milk, seriously?” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t exactly have time to think of something. Just be glad I saved your butt,” she says defensively.
“Yeah yeah, whatever, I’m going to go brush my teeth,” I concede. I put my plate in the sink, then go upstairs to brush. Then, getting my backpack, I go back downstairs, hug Bree goodbye, and go outside.
From our house, it’s about a fifteen minute bike ride to school, and I still have 45 minutes until school starts, so I go down the street to my friend Chloe’s house. I knew she wouldn’t have left yet, since she has a habit of being late for pretty much everything. Last year she was famous for being able to walk into class a second before the bell rings, every time.
As I bike I see kids from my school or who are friends with Bree walking and playing outside, and they wave to me. One boy smiles and yells “Hey Sammy, what's up!?” which made me happy, not everyone remembers to call me Sammy, or I didn’t tell them to because they’re around my parents too much. I ride over to him and recognize him as Ethan, a boy in the grade above me at school. We haven’t talked much since he moved to high school, but now we could probably be friends since I’m at the same school now.
“Hey Ethan. I’m good, you?” I ask politely.
“Cool, just dreading going back. I’m already sick of getting up early, and it's only the first day,” he says, kicking up his skateboard into his arms. “You heading to school? I could ride over with you, if you want.”
I consider it, momentarily forgetting about Chloe. I mean, it’s not like she would know, I didn’t tell her I was coming over. “Actually, I was going over to Chloe’s house. You know, make sure she’s on time and all. You could come if you want,” I suggest.
He nods, “Sure, let’s go,” I get back on my bike, and we ride over, talking about school. He asks me what my schedule is, and he tells me which teachers are good and which will drive me up the wall. When I get to Mrs. Reed, he stops me. “Woah wait, you have her?”
“Yeah, second period,” I confirm, “Why?
He looks seriously concerned,. “You have to be careful around her. She is majorly homophobic and just generally anti-LGBT. Don’t tell her you go by Sammy, or that you’re agender. She’ll call your parents to ‘make sure they know what’s going on’” he tells me, making hand quotes around that part.
“Thanks,” I say, “I’ll be careful.” We ride for about another minute in silence, then we’re at Chloe’s house. “ You wait here, I’ll go inside,” I tell him. Chloe’s parents aren’t fond of people they don’t know coming to their house, for obvious reasons, so it’s best for me to go alone.
I ring the doorbell, and her dogs, Kitty and Sunny, immediately start barking their heads off. She opens the door, pushing them behind her legs. “Sa- I mean, Callie. Omg! I’ve missed you!” she squeals, as if we didn't go skating together two weeks ago, and haven’t been texting daily.
“ Callie, dear, how are you? Have you had a nice summer?” Chloe’s mom asks, walking over to the door. We decided not to tell Chloe's mom anything about my gender, since we weren’t sure how she’d respond, and even if she was ok with it, we figured she’d end up slipping up around my parents, since they’re basically best friends.
“I’m good, Mrs. K, excited for school,” I respond politely. Chloe smirks, then pulls me up to her room.
“Excited for school? Seriously?” She questions, raising an eyebrow. If you couldn’t tell, Chloe isn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, and doesn’t enjoy school quite as much as I do. She does however appreciate being with people, something her summer lacks slightly, so she doesn’t really hate school as much as she pretends.
“What? I really am. You know how my parents are. My summertime is filled with ‘Callie’ and ‘My beautiful little girl’ and back-to-school shopping. I spent almost an hour at Ross trying to convince my mom there was no way I was buying a dress, and I definitely did not like the waterpark trip where my mom surprised me by buying a bikini for me to wear,” I ranted. It might seem excessive, but the little things that everybody else brushes off just tick me off the most. Besides, I think a lot of girls would be opposed to the tiny suit she bought me. In my opinion, some things should be left to the imagination, not showed broadly to everyone, and that includes my stomach. Plus, I can’t wear my binder in a bikini, so that day caused some dysphoria. Normally I just wear a swim shirt and dance shorts. Still not the ideal outfit, but it's the best I can do under the situation.
She nods. “Ok, fair enough. You ready?” she concedes, picking up her sparkly purple backpack. “By the way, sorry about having to call you Callie down there, I know how much you hate it.”
“Oh, it’s fine, I totally get that we can’t tell your mom yet. FYI, I brought Ethan along, he’s waiting outside,” I tell her as we walk downstairs.
She raises an eyebrow, “Ooh, Ethan Bernard? He’s cute, anything going on there?” She says mischievously. Knowing Chloe, I should have expected this, she is totally a gossiper, and a flirt like no other. It gets annoying, especially since she loves the idea of anybody dating, and I’m a good target, considering I would date someone of any gender. She’s taken to shipping me with anyone and everyone.
“Definitely not. First of all, he’s totally straight. Second, I have a girlfriend, remember? The girl on my summer basketball team. Tiana.” I remind her.
“Oh yeah, forgot about her. Well, that's fine. Ethan's all mine then.” she says happily. I laugh, and we join Ethan outside.
“Hey King, what’s up?” Ethan ask Chloe. She responds flirtily, and I tune out. We ride along next to each other; me on bike with my headphones in, listening to music, Chloe and Ethan skateboarding next to each other, probably making plans for Saturday.
By the time we get to the school, they’re holding hands, and Ethan’s grinning like an idiot. I don’t have the heart to tell him she’s going to break his heart.
“Hey, Sammy! How’s it going?” I hear from behind me.
“Hey Zack!” I say. “I’m good, how was your summer? You were in Germany, right?” Zack's family is pretty much rich, and they go to a different country every summer, he speaks a bunch of languages because of it.
“Ja, ganze Sommer,” he responds in German. I know enough German to get that he said ‘Yes, entire summer’.
“That’s so cool, I wish my family did that,” I tell him. “But, seriously, I am so glad to be back. Oh, hey, check out this shirt,” I say, slipping off my hoodie. “I made them back in seventh grade, I just haven’t worn them to school.” I was a bit nervous about wearing them to school since I wasn’t actually out to everybody, and not everyone I was out to was completely ok with it, or even slightly ok with it.
“Ok, that shirt is fabulous, how many do you have?” He praises me.
“I don’t remember exactly. About a dozen, I think.,” I tell him. He nods, and I go quiet for a minute, thinking about how terrifyingly incredible it was to make those shirts. I had been sketching out different designs for months, my sketchbook was (and still is) under strict lock and key. Literally. I bought one of those sketchbook/journal things that came with a lock and hid the key under my mattress. Not to mention how long it took to save up the money to make them. All in all, the cost of buying the plain shirts, then getting the designs printed onto them totalled to about $200.
“I spent weeks after making them terrified that my mom would find them while she was doing laundry, so eventually I just asked her if I could do it myself,” I laugh, “In fact, I still get 10 bucks a week for doing the laundry, she just thinks I'm doing it to be helpful.”
“Nice!” he shouts, high fiving me,  “ I don’t get any allowance. My parents say ‘Don’t worry, if there's anything you want we’ll just buy it for you’. That’s just code for ‘You don’t get money, you can’t buy anything we don’t want you to.” He pauses, shaking his head. “Anyway, I’ve got to get going, I promised some friends I’d meet them before class. See ya.”
I wave, then walk off to explore the school. On registration day, I decided I would be fine without finding each of my classes before school, which I seriously regret now, I have no idea where I’m going.
First things first, I think, I need to go to my locker.  My mom insisted that I bring a binder for every class, so my backpack weighs about ten pounds, and I haven’t even gotten my textbook yet!
I pull out my schedule and look at the little locker number at the top of the page. 248, it says. As I walk through the hallway, I look around, marveling at the murals on the walls. I go to this high school because it was the closest to my old middle school, and my house, but it also happens to be famous for the arts. Half the school is covered in murals and painting, and there’s a huge performing arts center off the main building, dedicated solely to music and theatre of all types.
My locker group is placed outside building four, near the commons luckily, and it’s placed right next to a mural of a group of kids holding hands. It’s pretty clearly a diversity poster, there’s a kid of every race, and there’s even a kid with short hair wearing a pink dress, and a kid with long blond hair wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt. At the top of the picture it says, ‘Coexist’ with each letter representing a different religion. I laugh softly, “How fitting” I whisper. My locker being right next to an acceptance mural.
After taking a picture of the artwork (I figured Bree would find it amusing) I open my locker. I take out all my binders except for first and second period, so I don’t have to come back to my locker at every period.  As I take out my Algebra binder (4th period), it slips out of my hands. “Damn it!” I whisper-shout, as the paper fall out of the binder. 
“Excuse me young lady, I will not tolerate that kind of my language in my school,” I hear as I’m putting my papers back in the notebook. As soon as it registers, I cringe at the term “young lady”. I know it is to be expected, but I’m fairly used to most people (my parents excluded, obviously) avoiding using any form of gendered greetings, especially when they don’t know me, since my appearance is so androgynous. Brushing it off, I glance up, and see a very uptight looking lady glaring down at me.
I straighten up, trying to look apologetic. “I’m sorry m’am, I was just frustrated, it won’t happen again,” I say in my sweetest voice. Over the years, I have long managed how to convince a teacher I did nothing wrong, and I learned the perfect voice that usually makes them forget about anything that happened. However, this strategy doesn’t seem to be work with Ms. Uptight.
She glares down at me, and makes a small tsking noise, “Mhm, I’m sure it won’t. What is your name?” She asks me, still sounding angry.
“I’m Callie,” I respond, wincing slightly as I say it. I would love to tell her my name is Sammy, not Callie, but I restrain, just in case she decides to write me up, or I’m in one of her classes where she finds out what my birth name is.
“Hello Callie, I’m Mrs. Reed. Just this once I’m going to let you off the hook, because it's the first day. But I better not hear any more of that type of language from you, it's not befitting of a young lady.” I cringe, my stomach sinking when I hear her name. ‘Mrs. Reed’ This is the teacher Ethan warned me about. I hastily cover my shirt with my books, hoping she hadn’t read  it already. Luckily, she just gives me a strange look and walks away.
I sigh in relief, and finish putting everything into my locker. When I finally walk away my backpack feels ten pounds lighter, which it probably is. I wander around, gazing in awe at the murals, when suddenly I hear a yell, followed by somebody jumping on my back. “SAMMY!!!” She shouts, then turns me around and kisses me.
“Omg Tiana! I thought you went to that private school over on Crystal?” I ask in disbelief, after I pull away. Tiana and I have been dating for about two months. At first at basketball, we just played together really well and somehow became best friends. I began to develop a huge crush on her, but figured she was straight and wouldn’t be interested, but then one day she asked me out! It was strange, because at the time, she hadn’t known I was NB, but when I finally told her, she said she didn’t care. Apparently she is polysexual, meaning she’s attracted to more than two genders, but not all.
“I did, but I asked my parents to transfer! Did I surprise you?” She explains, giggling.
“Oh my god, of course you did! This is so great! What’s your schedule?” She reaches around into her backpack, which is pink and sparkly. I would expect nothing less of her, because even though she’s a major athlete, when she not on the court or the field, she’s wearing  dresses, skirts, and high heels. It’s another thing I love about her.
“Let’s see; I have science first; language arts second; French third; algebra fourth; gym fifth; American Government sixth; and chorus seventh. Oh, and I have second lunch. What do you have?” She recites.
“Um… we have 1st, 2nd, 3rd,  5th,  and 7th together. Plus we have the same lunch. Almost all the classes! This is amazing!” I squeal excitedly. My voice tends to go very high-pitched when I get excited, which I’m kind of embarrassed by. I put my hand to my throat and blush. “Sorry, I was just happy,” I mutter.
She stares and me, looking confused. “What’d you do?” She tilts her head, giving me a concerned look.
“Oh, it’s nothing, I just don’t like sounding so girly. You know, high-pitched and all,” I respond, trying to brush it off. Dysphoria is something not many people understand, and it's not really something I like to talk about, so when people notice something, I usually try to sound nonchalant, and they drop it.
She reaches to put her arm around me. It’s pretty clear she was going to try to comfort me, but I wasn’t in the mood. I put my arm over her shoulder and interrupt her as she opens her mouth to speak.
“ Really, it’s nothing, I promise. I’m fine. Why don’t we walk around the school. I’ll give you a tour.” By tour I mean we’ll wander around together while I pretend to know what I’m doing.
She agrees, and we leave the crowd of students at the surrounding lockers.
We walk around the school quietly, occasionally pointing out classes we have together, or murals we like. Considering all we were doing was walking, it was surprising fun, although we did elicit a few stares from people while we were holding hands. It was clear that they were trying to figure out whether I was a girl or not. It was almost comical, the way heads turned when we walked by. Occasionally, they looked seriously confused, and I could hear them muttering to their friends. It may have bothered anyone else, but it was nothing different than I usually get. At least they weren’t bothering me about it.
“Oh, hey,” Tiana exclaims, “It’s almost 8:40, we should head to class.” I glance at my phone, seeing that it's 8:38.
“Crap,” I mutter, “We’re on the other side of the school from science. We need to hurry”
She gives me a strange look. “Chill.  What's the rush? The bell doesn’t ring for seven minutes. We don’t HAVE to be in class until 8:45.”
In my experience, for the first day at least, it’s a good idea to be there early so you don’t get stuck next to someone you can’t stand. Or worse, someone who can’t stand you. Of course, this strategy doesn’t work with teachers who assign seats from the first day, but usually first period teachers don’t do that, because there's nothing worse than a bunch of sleep-deprived teenagers who have barely woken up to be sitting next to their enemy.,
I explain this to Tiana, and she shrugs. “Whatever girl, lets just get to class.” I glare at her as we walk, both in response to the flippant reply and the use of the word “girl” although I was mainly upset about the latter. I see her mentally go over what she said, and can tell when it clicks, but she just says, “Oh don’t worry so much, it’s just a saying. I’ve called my dad ‘girl’ before. As soon as you come up with a better word, I’ll stop saying girl.” It's clear she means it, so let it go, but take the challenge anyway. I stay silent for a minute, trying to think of a word. Finally I think back to a word a read for nonbinary partners.
“You could just call me Your Highness,” I joke. “Or, you know, Your Majesty works too.”
She laughs, “Oh be quiet boo, if anything you’re a peasant.” I glare at her, and she puts her arm around me. “Love you!” She says in a sing-song voice. I shrug her off and put on a pouty face.
“No you don’t,” I say, pretending to be sad. She kisses me, then pulls back smiling.
“How ‘bout now?”
“Maybe.”
“Ugh, you’re impossible”
“Fine, love you too” I finally say with a sheepish grin, giving in.
“Good girl, now hurry up, we really are going to be late,” she says, poking my stomach.. I groan, putting my arm around my middle, then straighten up and roll my eyes. Sure, now she cares. She glances at me and sees me roll my eyes, and I can see the mischievousness in her eyes. “No rolling your eyes at me,” she teases. “You have to pay for that.” My eyes widen and she sweeps me up into her arms (Did I ever mention I’m only five feet tall? Well, I am.) and starts tickling me crazily.
I am extremely ticklish, so I start screaming and laughing loudly. The halls are almost clear by now, there’s only about a minute before the final bell will ring. She keeps walking towards our class, still tickling me, and I lash out at her multiple times, trying to get her to put me down, but she’s very strong. Finally I hit her elbow, and she lets go of me. It’s now I realize it wasn’t the best plan, because I land painfully.
“Ow,” I pout, rubbing my hip in mock annoyance. It wasn’t a lie my hip hurt, but I’m tough enough I wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.
“Oh, you’ll be fine; I’ve seen you take worse hits at basketball games,” she retorts indignantly, “And that was fun - you know it.”
She’s right, it was pretty fun, but I still hate being tickled. “Yeah, whatever. Anyway, isn’t that something a boyfriend does to his girlfriend, not girlfriend to, uh,” I pause, “did we ever think of a name for me?” Tiana and I have discussed my gender many times, but never did a name for her to call me come up.
“I don't know, usually I just say datemate. It’s cute and it rhymes.” She responds casually.  I nod, agreeing with her; it is a cute name. “Also, anyone can do it to anyone, I don’t have to be a boy and you don’t have to be a girl. What happened to being anti-heteronormativity?” She scolds, but not in a mean way.
“Yeah whatever,” I agree reluctantly. “Oh hey, this is our class,” I point out. She nods then, with an evil grin, opens the door and shoves me through. At that exact second, the final bell rings, and the entire class, including the very pissed off teacher, looks over at us falling into the classroom. I regain my balance and grin sheepishly.
“Sorry, I tripped,” I say, glaring back at Tiana, who in response looks around the classroom innocently.  So much for a good first impression, I think.
The teacher stares at me and tsks. “Yes, I’m sure. Now take your seats please,” she says dismissively, but with a clear warning in her voice. “And please refrain from disrupting the class again,” she adds.
I nod apologetically, and sneak a glance at Tiana. She laughs silently, and I can’t help but smile. It might not have been an ideal first impression, but we made it on time, didn’t get yelled at in the hallways, and had fun, so all in all, it was a pretty fun beginning to high school.
Tiana and I take our seats, two chairs right next to each other in the second to last row. Tiana high-fives me, and whispers how I shouldn’t have worried so much, since we still got good seats. The teacher, Mrs. Trace, walks to the front of the classroom and announces that she's going to call role. I groan, trying to decide whether or not telling her I’m agender would be a good idea or not. I decide the best thing to do is ask Ethan, so I pull out my phone and, hiding it beneath the desk, send him a text.
‘Hey, do you know how Mrs. Trace would respond if I asked her to call me Sammy?’ I send. Luckily, my last name starts with an T, Tylevy, so I have a while before she gets to me. Surprisingly, he responds fairly quickly. I read it over in a hurry, she’s already at P’s. ‘Mrs. Trace? She’s totally cool - her son is transgender, so she’s 100% ok with it. In fact, she’s probably one of the safest teachers for you at this school. Just be careful with the class.’
‘Thnx’  I send back to him. ‘That’s cool’ It’s always nice hearing about allies, and other members of the LGBT community. We might be small, but we exist. I hastily put my phone away before anyone notices. A few seconds later she calls out my name.
“Callie Ti...levee?” she says, stumbling over my last name. She’s one of the first teachers to ever get it right on the first try.
I hesitate, biting my lip nervously, then raise my hand. “Um, I’m here. But I, uh, I go by Sammy, not Callie,” I stutter. A couple of kids laugh, mostly kids who I didn’t know last year. Pretty much everyone looks like they either don’t care, or are fine whatever I want to be called. The kids from my old school nod sympathetically, they all know why.
“That’s perfectly fine dear, but may I ask why?” She asks kindly. Ethan was right, she seems very sweet now that she's over the whole bursting into her classroom loudly. 
I nod, still biting my lip. Glancing around the classroom, I see a few more curious faces, but a lot of them still aren’t looking up, either because they already know, or just still don’t care. “Oh, uh, yeah. I’m agender, so I’m just really not comfortable with my birth name. Also, my pronouns are they/them, not she/her,” I inform her, somehow growing more confident as I speak.
“That’s very interesting, I’ll make sure to keep it in mind for the future. I’ve actually heard of that before; my son is transgender, so he talks about these kinds of things quite a lot. Let me know if you ever need anything,” she responds politely. I nod again, realizing that most of the class is looking up by now. I can feel my face going red, so I stammer out a thank you, then sit down, still embarrassed. She continues on with role, and the class slowly looks away, distracted by who knows what.
The rest of class passes by fairly uneventfully. I see a few people glance over at me curiously, but no one says anything, so I pay them no mind. Mrs. Trace goes over everything that's going to happen in class this year and hands out the syllabus. At one point she does a “get to know each other” thing where you stand up and tell three things about yourself, but the bell rings halfway through it, so luckily it never gets to me.
The second the bell rings we all hurry to pack up our stuff and get to the next class. I walk over to Tiana’s desk and wait for her to stand up. As we head out Mrs. Trace calls out. “Sammy, could you hang back for a moment?  I want to talk with you,” she asks.
“Uh, sure,” I respond uncertainly. Tiana and I glance at each other, and she shrugs. Good luck, she mouths. “You can go to language arts if you want, I can meet you there,” I tell her.
“I’m going to wait outside, I’ll probably get lost if I go by myself,” she jokes. I nod, and she squeezes my hand before walking out.
I go to Mrs. Trace’s desk and stand in silence until she says something. “Now Sammy, I know I said this in class, but I just wanted you to know this really is a safe classroom for you. I know how crappy kids, and adults for that matter, can be when it comes to the LGBT community, and I know this area isn’t the most accepting. So as long as you’re here you can know my door is open. Let me know if anyone gives you trouble, and I’ll take care of it.” she tells me.
“Thanks Mrs.Trace, it means a lot. So far I haven’t encountered too much negativity, I can usually tell who it's safe to come out to. Plus, I have Ethan, he looks out for me.” I say graciously. It's always awkward when somebody talks to me like that, but still welcome.
“No problem Sammy. Now you should probably head to class. On second thought, “ she says, glancing at the clock, “ let me write you a pass so you’re next teacher doesn’t get mad. I’ll write one for your girlfriend there too,” she adds, as Tiana glances through the window. She smiles, then asks, “Who do you have next?”
“ Mrs. Reed,” I tell her, then motion for Tiana to come in. She does, and comes over to pick up her note.
“Mrs. Reed, you say? If you have Ethan Sorrento as a friend I’m sure you heard all about her. You’d better cover up that shirt,” she says, handing us our passes. “You two be careful with her. Don’t tell anyone I said this, but that lady’s a real pain. You should’ve seen the hard time she gave my son. I was this close to getting her fired, to tell you the truth. Now go, got a class coming in.”
“Thank you again,” I  tell her. As we walk out, the next period’s students come flooding in. They seemed relieved, like they weren’t sure whether or not they should come in while we were there. I could relate; I was relieved for that conversation to finally be over.

Mrs. Trace’s warning brings back all the nerves I had gotten from Ethan’s earlier information. I hurriedly put my hoodie back on, ignoring Tiana’s concerned looks. Despite knowing my parents stances on who I am, I've never actually faced blatant homophobia and transphobia, so having to go into Mrs. Reed’s classroom and pretend to be something I’m not is definitely not something I’m looking forward to. 
The bell rings on our way to class, breaking the tension between us. I can tell Tiana’s noticed something's wrong, but I was attempting to not acknowledge it, but it's clear she had enough. “Ok, whats going on with you? You haven’t said anything since we left? What did Mrs. Trace say?” she finally bursts out.
“It’s nothing, she was great, just telling me her classroom was a safe spot. It’s not that.” I pause, trying to figure out how to phrase my next line. Tiana gives me an expectant stare, so I tell her. “It’s just, earlier my friend Ethan warned me that Mrs. Reed, our next teacher, is extremely anti-LGBT, and while I believed him then, it didn’t really worry me because I figured she only talked bad. Then, when Mrs. Trace found out I that have Mrs. Reed next period, she warned me to be careful because she gave her son a really hard time last year.” My voice cracks a little as I keep talking, and I can feel my eyes tearing up slightly. “Tiana, Ethan said she’ll tell my parents!” I feel my grip on reality slipping away, and it becomes hard to breathe. 
I see Tiana’s face melt as I tell my story, then shifting to concern when my breathing become ragged. “Oh honey, it's ok,” she reassures me, and pulls me in for a hug. “She won’t find out, I promise.” Her voice is soothing and it brings me back to reality. My vision clears and my heart rate slows. She just holds me for a minute, then pushes me to arms length. “Are you ok? That seemed rough,” she asks carefully.
“I take a deep breath, trying to further steady my breathing. “I’m ok, I think it was a panic attack.  I’ve had a few recently, but it's fine - never anything serious.” I try to brush it off, I haven’t told anybody I’ve been having panic attacks, not even Bree, because I was too worried she’d tell our parents. Even though she’s good at keeping secrets, this was something she wouldn’t be able to relate to, and I think she’d feel like I would need to go to a doctor, and then I’d have to make up an excuse for why I’ve been so anxious I would have a panic attack.
“OMG! A panic attack? You need to tell someone; you can take medicine for that you know, right?” she freaks. I knew she would have this response, I can’t really blame her though, I know it's serious.
“I would love to tell my parents, Tiana, I really would, but what would I say when they ask what's been causing them? It’s too risky; I can just endure. Don’t worry,” I say, trying to pacify her.
“Alright for now, but this isn’t over, I’m going to think of something.” she agrees. “Are you good to go to class, because we’re here,” she says, pointing to the classroom.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine, let's go,” I say shakily. She nods, and we  let go of each other's hands and go inside.
The classroom looked normal, if a little dull. Unlike most language arts classes, there wasn’t any pictures students drew or any “prized essays” my past English teachers have had. Other than that though, the room was nothing special. I know it's to be expected that it doesn’t look very different than any other class, but after all this time I’ve spent dreading her class, I imagined something scary. Stupid, probably.
We apologize for being late and hand her the note Mrs. Trace gave us, and she glares, but accepts it and tells us to take our seats. There is no seating chart, which kind of surprised me, but I was glad too. I glanced around and saw that Chloe was sitting near the back right, with two empty seats behind her; I motion for Tiana to follow me to the desks, and we quietly sit down and take out our binders.
A minute or two later, Chloe taps my desk gently with her elbow, and I see her hand reaching under my desk with a note. I stare straight ahead, pretending to be paying rapt attention to her lecture “ blah blah blah, syllabus this, grading that, blah blah blah” nothing I haven’t heard every year since middle school. I reach under my desk discreetly, and clasp my hand around Chloe’s note.
“How was science? Why were you late? Did you have to come out? Are you going to say anything to Mrs. Reed? I wouldn’t; she seems mean,” The note says. I smile a little. Even in writing Chloe babbles. I turn over the paper, and write in response to her many questions; “Science was great, Mrs. Trace is really nice, you’ll like her. Yes, I came out, and everyone was cool with it, as far as I know. We were late because Mrs. Trace wanted me to know that her room was a safe space and I didn’t have to worry about anything there. No, I’m definitely not going to say anything to Mrs. Reed, I’ve been warned about her being homophobic twice already. PS. Why didn’t you just text me?”
I hand the note back and go back to paying a little attention to the lecture, but I get bored immediately, so I look around the classroom instead. There’s nothing of interest on the wall, but there are some new faces. I know, and am pretty good friends with about six kids in the class, including Tiana and Chloe, and I sort of recognize a few kids as people from my middle school, but the rest are totally unfamiliar.
The class is broken down into the basic sections, you know, the stereotypical high school groupings. We have the jocks/jokesters sitting the very back left, a group of pretty clearly popular girls placed in the middle, the smart kids who care spread out in the front, and my group of three in the back right. There are also a few other kids sitting spread out across the room. One girl (I think I heard someone call her Melissa, is sitting a few seats away from, looking like she genuinely doesn’t want to be here. She’s pretty goth looking, probably dyed straight black hair, dark make-up, and a nose piercing; plus, she’s staring down at her phone scrolling through Tumblr. Despite the ‘don’t care’ attitude, she looks nice. She doesn’t having the typical b**** face most goth girls wear.
I get rudely knocked out of my thoughts by Tiana. She kicks my chair twice before I look over. ‘What’  I mouth, and she points under her desk to the front.
“She’s taking attendance, what are you going to say?” she whispers softly. She looks concerned, and I smile reassuringly, trying to pretend I don’t care about what I say next.
“What can I say?” I shrug, “ I’ll just say here when she calls ‘Callie’. It’s fine, really. Now shh, we’re going to get in trouble, and I’d rather not draw attention,” I tell her. Good timing too, because Mrs. Reed gets to my name next.
“Callie TI levy,” she calls, pronouncing it wrong. She looks around the room, waiting for a response, as I build up the nerve.
“Here,” I say casually, as a war rages in my mind. I know it doesn’t seem like much, and honestly? It’s probably stupid that I have so much trouble identifying myself with a name I hear everyday, but to me it’s hard. I haven’t had to introduce myself as Callie in months. Everybody either already knew me or I said my name was Sammy.
I breathe a sigh of relief when she nods and moves on to the next kid. A few kids glance over at me, confused; they’ve probably heard me called Sammy and weren’t aware of my real name, or they didn’t get why I didn’t tell her I’m agender. Chloe shoots me a sympathetic look, but I shrug and smile. ‘I’m fine’ I mouth, and she nods. ‘Good’ she responds, then looks back at the front.
I follow her lead and watch Mrs. Reed talk, but I still don’t pay attention. I watch her without the words being processed, and study her features instead. She looks to be 50 something, probably mid-fifties, but her hair is pretty clearly dyed dark brown. If you look carefully, you can see she has some gray roots. Her shoulder length hair is down, not in a bun or ponytail that I’m used to seeing in teachers. Her outfit is simple, black pants and a light purple blouse, with black flats. When she isn’t talking, her lips are always pursed, as if she’s constantly looking at something she doesn’t like. 
Eventually I tune back into her lecture, and notice she’s moved on from the syllabus to plans for the year, and she says something that catches my attention.
“We will be doing a debate every month, and the topics were chosen by last year’s students, so they are already decided. Any questions?” she asks, but it seems more like a challenge. I’m  not sure what it’s a challenge about exactly, maybe she expects somebody to complain about not having a choice in the topics.
Sure enough, somebody has a question. Unfortunately, it's one of the jokester boys who sit in the back of the class. I groan inwardly, expecting a sarcastic remark that will get them a detention or something. I’m surprised however, when it's actually a serious question.
“What's the first debate going to be?” he asks, receiving a few confused looks from his friends. Evidently they were expecting sarcasm too. He looks offended, “What, I like debates?!” he exclaims defensively. They just shrug, and mutter “nothing” while giving him a ‘Who, me?’ look.
Mrs. Reed pauses, waiting for them to finish their argument, then tells us. “Our first debate was thought up by one of the ‘feminists’ in my class...” she coughs a little when she says the word feminist, and makes hand quotes when she says it. I prepare for the worst, but what she’s says is worse than I expected. “We will be discussing whether or not there are more than two genders, and if the so called “nonbinary genders” are valid.”
I freeze in shock and terror, as the class erupts into the discussion. Tiana and Chloe, along with other kids who I’m out to give me a look of utmost pity but I don’t process them, or anything the rest of the class is arguing about. I can’t even put the feeling into words, I just know I can’t handle a debate where my classmates about argue whether or not I’m valid. I can feel my grip slipping away again, and my breath becomes ragged.
Tiana must have noticed my eyes glaze over, because she thinks quickly and slides her finger across her paper, causing it to bleed. I can semi-hear the exchange between her and Mrs. Reed.
“Mrs. Reed, my finger! It’s bleeding really bad!” She shouts, holding up her bloody hand in a fake panic. The teacher stares at her, surprised, but Tiana continues before she can say anything. “I have to go to the nurse,” she says, leaping out of her seat. “I don’t know where it is, can I take Callie with me? Thank you.”
She grabs my shirt sleeve and runs out of the room, and I blindly follow her, stumbling over backpacks, struggling to keep my breathing under control. Mrs. Reed continues to stare after us, and I think she nods in agreement, but I’m not sure. The second we’re out of the room and around the next corner, away from all eyes, Tiana grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eye.
“Breathe,” she says reassuringly, “Everything's ok, you’re ok, just breathe.” I tried to listen to her, I really did, but my mind just kept going back to the debate and it overpowered me. I could feel my face turning red, and I couldn’t get enough air.
Tiana was quickly becoming panicked to, but she did her best to hide it. “Come on Sammy, look at me, look into my eyes. Focus on me. Please,” she begged, attempting to keep her voice steady.  I look at her, focusing on her face, studying every inch of her worried expression.
I can’t do this to her, I need to regain control. I take deep breath, slowly taking in more oxygen; focusing on that word, ‘Sammy.’ I may not have my parents, or even most of the world on my side, but I do have Tiana, and for now, that's enough. She keeps talking, reassuring me everything's ok, telling me to focus on blocking out the world, just look at her; and eventually I do.
“I’m ok,” I gasp finally, after about ten minutes.
“Thank god,” she says, exhaling in relief. “I don’t know what I would have done next.”
We sit down; I feel drained of all energy, like I can barely move. This was the worst attack I’ve had yet, and I doubt it will be the last. Even so, I put on a brave face, not wanting to give Tiana more reason to worry or want to tell someone.
“I’m ok, I just need to get my energy back. Can you get me some water?” I ask. She nods and walks to the vending machine around the corner.
By the time she gets back, I’m on my feet and ready to go back to class, as little as I want to; but Tiana shakes her head. “No way, you’re staying here, I am not letting you go back so soon,” she commands.
“Tiana, of course I don’t want to go back, but I have to, she’s still my teacher, and that’s still a class I need to pass if I ever want to get out from under my parents roof. I can’t just ditch a class every day because I don’t like it. That’s not how the world works and you know it,” I tell her, half trying to convince her and half trying to convince myself.
“No Sammy, that's not how the world works. When you have something that triggers you, you don’t keep going back to that thing again and again. You can’t face it everyday. What are you going to do next time she says something homophobic, or transphobic. I can’t keep making excuses, she’ll know something's up eventually. It’s only the first day of school, and she already gave you a freaking panic attack for god's sake. I mean, c’mon, you can’t return to that.”  she pleads.
I see her point, and I wish there was another way, but there isn’t, and she needs to understand that. “You’re right, what am I going to do? What am I going to do when I hold your hand on the street and some old man calls me a fag. What am I going to do when I tell my friend I’m agender and she tells me she can’t be my friend anymore. What am I going to do when I apply for a job, and the interviewer asks me if I’m a girl or a boy, and when I say neither, they decide not to hire me?” I pause, taking a breath and letting her absorb what I said. “The world doesn’t cater to people like me, and I can’t expect it to, I just need to learn to take it. It may take some time, but I’ll manage.”
She looks stunned, obviously not expecting such an outburst, but it needed to be said.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “You’re right, but can’t I worry about you?”
“Of course you can, I would expect no less,” I concede, joking a little. “Now come here.” I put my arms out, and she hugs me. We sit like that for a minute or two, thoughts racing through both of our heads as we lean against the wall.
“I think we have to go back. Oh, wait, I have a bandaid in my backpack, you should put it on your finger.” I state. She looks at me, confused, and I explain more.” We’ve been gone for over fifteen minutes, you have to at least look like you were in the nurse's office.”
I see it click, “Oh, right!” she exclaims. “Yeah, hand me it.”
I dig through my backpack until I find it, and wrap it around her finger for her. She giggles a little as I kiss it. “There, all better. Would you like a lollipop for being a good little girl?” I joke, and we laugh together.
We walk back to the classroom and take our seats quietly, as if nothing ever happened. They’ve moved on completely from the topic of debate, and she’s now going over the percentage each type of work is worth, and I happily tune out.
                                                             .  .  .
Soon after, the bell rings, and we walk silently to third period, which goes much better than second. I ask Ethan again about this teacher, and he says he’s not 100% sure, but he thinks it’s safe. So when we do role, I tell him my name is Sammy, and my pronouns are they/them, but don’t mention being agender. He seems a bit confused, but quickly moves on without make a scene.
We play a game in third, the teacher (Mr. Canvey) says we all should know some French, and he wants to see how much we already know. I actually manage to excel, remembering some from a camp I went to a few years back, and Mr. Canvey praises me, saying “Tres bien, Sammy” and I get a jolt of happiness.
Too soon the period is over, and it's time for lunch. My stomach grumbles, and I realize I’m actually starving; I hope I brought a decent lunch. With everything going on, I don’t even remember what I packed. I shrug to myself. Whatever, as long as its food.
Tiana walks over to me, and I grab her hand and pull her through the crowd of kids, walking slightly quickly than normal. I stop at my locker, and she walks over to hers. We both are already used to our locks, so we have our lunch and are walking to the lunchroom in no time.
I glance around the cafeteria, looking for Chloe. Instead I see Ethan waving me over, with Chloe at his side. She smiles, and I see her mouth ‘success!’, as she wraps her hand around his. I giggle, and walk over to their seats. We sit down across from them, and are quickly deep in conversation about the first classes of the day. I dig into my lunch (Pizza!) and listen to his questions.
“Who's your favorite teacher so far?” Ethan asked eagerly.
I hold up a finger, pointing to my mouth, which is currently full of pizza. Once I swallow, I respond. “I dunno. Either Mr. Canvey or Mrs. Trace, they were both really great.”
He gasps, feigning surprise, “You mean you didn’t love Mrs. Reed? I can’t believe it, she was my favorite teacher.”
“Shut up,” I laugh, slapping his arm lightly.
“Anyways, I agree, I don’t think I could have chosen between them either. Although, Mr. Canvey did play a game every Friday reviewing what we learned, so he probably has Mrs. Trace beat.” he says. I nod, agreeing. Its really nice being friends with a tenth grader, you get all the inside information. Speaking of tenth grade…
“Hey Ethan, how are you sitting with us? I though the cafeterias were for 9th and 12th graders, how come you’re allowed in here?”
He smiles mischievously. “I’m not, but see, Ms. Newbie over there wasn’t a teacher here last year, so she has no memory of me. Apparently I pass for a ninth grader.” he pauses, gesturing to the teacher standing by the door. “Although I am kind of offended she hasn’t heard of me, I thought all the teachers know who I am.”
I tilt my head, puzzled. “Why would they all know who you are?”
He grins again. “Last year, I was famous for being the smartest kid who always managed to get in trouble. I was kind of like the Hermione Granger of this school,” he boasts.
I laugh. “Hermione Granger, really?” I joke judgemently.
“Hey, she was a heroine, don’t scoff,” he responds defensively. “Anyways, I had straight A’s - over a hundred in each class I might add - but I got in trouble at least once a week. I was the king of detention,” he explains proudly.
“You seem very proud of that. What’d you do?” I ask curiously. I can’t imagine getting detention every week, I work to hard to stay under the radar. I stand out enough being the only genderqueer kid in the grade, I don’t need them to remember me as a troublemaker, especially if it gives them a reason to call my parents. I suppose Ethan has the luxury of being able to do whatever he wants though, his parents aren’t really interested in what he does so long as he gets good grades.
“Everything,” he responds dramatically. I narrow my eyes at him, and he continues. “Alright, alright, hold up, let me think. Let's see, there was the main issue of talking back to teachers, although in my opinion, I was just giving some constructive criticism. This school has a few awful teachers. Then of course, there was the pranks. Oh, and that one fight.”
He laughs, reminiscing. I groan, “Oh god, Ethan, pranks? And who in the world did you fight?”  To be honest, I don’t know why I’m so surprised, Ethan always been the one joking around, and he has pranked everyone at least once, but I figured he’d draw the line at teachers.
“Chill, I only pranked people who deserved it; and the kid I fought had it coming. He was such a bully, someone had to take him down. I had ignored him for months, but he came after Jessica, flirting with her and trying to make a move on her. When she brushed him off, he started calling her names and saying how she’d never get anybody with that attitude.  I called him out for being a sexist pig, and he threw the first punch,” he explains.
I really can’t fault him for that, after all, the boy did swing first. Plus, Jessica is a best friend to all of us, Ethan especially. The two of them practically grew up together, since their parents are such good friends.
“Alright, fair enough, now what about the pranks?” I inquire.
“The pranks are a whole other story.” He goes on to describe each and every one of his pranks from ninth grade in great detail, making Chloe, Tiana, and I laugh and laugh. By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, my stomach hurt from laughing so much. As much as I don’t approve of him getting in trouble so much, I have to hand it to him, they were really great pranks.
“Well, this is to be continued tomorrow, I think,”  Ethan suggests, and I nod, still trying to stop laughing. I take deep breaths, and I see Tiana glance over at me, concerned, and I laugh again.
“Don’t worry, this time deep breath is just to stop laughing, not to calm down,” I whisper to her, and she smiles, reassured.
“Bye Ethan, bye Chloe, it was nice meeting you,” Tiana says politely. They wave, each mumbling different versions of the same niceties. It seems strange, because they get along so well, and it's clear they’re going to be good friends, but none of them can figure out a casual way to say goodbye.
I pull her away, saying we’re going to be late. Although we don’t have fourth period together, our classrooms are in the same building, so we can walk together.  We break apart for a moment, me going to my locker, and her going to hers. There’s a bunch of kids surrounding my locker, so I have to push past them to get to it. Two of the boys recognize me, and say hello. I think one of them is from first period, and I know the other is from second.
“Hi Sammy,” says one of them (David?), at the same time as the other boy (Cameron?) says, “Hi Callie.” My eyes widen, and I quickly grab my book and shut my locker.
“Hi guys,” I say, rushing away quickly. I run over to Tiana’s locker, then glance back at David and Cameron (?). They look at each other strangely, before David laughs and explains to Cameron.
I giggle, and Tiana looks at me, puzzled. I tell her what happened, and we set off to fourth period laughing.

 We walk through the hallways quietly, our hands interlaced. We walk by Mrs. Reed’s classroom, and I don’t even notice. Despite plainly showing affection for Tiana, and having my hoodie off, boldly showing the shirt I’ve made, I completely forget to be scared of Mrs. Reed. Really, there's no reason for me to be worried, there are plenty of other students in the hallway, and Tiana and I aren’t doing anything to draw attention to us.
That is, until Ethan comes jogging around the corner. “Sammy!” he calls out. I turn towards him, not even paying a touch of attention to Mrs. Reed, who also turns to the boy yelling. I stop, and Tiana follows my lead,
“You forgot your phone at lunch,” he says, pulling my phone out of his back pocket. I take it, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Oh my god, thank you,” I respond graciously. “My parents would’ve flipped if I lost it.” I slide the phone into my pocket, when suddenly I hear Ethan breathe sharply.
“Oh no,” he whispers in terror. “Sammy, I’m so sorry.”
I tilt my head, confused. “Wha-” I begin to say, turning my head in the direction of his terrified gaze. “Oh.” It's all I can muster as I try to process what's about to happen.
Walking our direction is Mrs. Reed, staring intently at Tiana and mines clasped hands. We look at each other, and quickly drop our hands. I then see her gaze shift to my shirt, and the defense goes out of me. It’s too late to cover the words, and she knows it means something, she did see me cover it as best I could earlier today.
“Now, young lady,” she begins, putting emphasis on lady. “What did he just call you?” We look at Ethan, who looks as miserable as I’ve ever seen him. Despite getting in trouble countless times, nothing could’ve prepared him for this.
I think it over, trying to think of an excuse, but nothing comes to me, any half-witted lie I could come up with in three seconds would be seen through easily. I decide I have no choice but to tell the truth.
“He called me Sammy, m’am. That’s my name.” As much as I’m dreading what comes next, part of me accepts it. Maybe nothing bad will happen; and even if it does, at least I won’t be living in fear anymore.
“Sammy, huh? Well I distinctly remember you from second period. Your name is Callie, not Sammy.”
“Well, I’ve asked people to call me that,” I respond, hoping she won’t take it as sass.
“And why would you do that?” she asks.
I think carefully about my response, and figure I’m already in a boatload of trouble, why not add sarcasm to the list. “No offense ma'am, but I don’t have to defend my name to you. I think the name Sammy fits me better, so I’ve asked people to call me it.” I’m quite proud of myself for that response, to be totally honest.
She’s pretty clearly taken aback, I can see her recoil, but she recovers quickly. “Now, would that have anything to do with the tee-shirt you’re wearing?” she asks
“Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t,” I tell her, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Tiana giving me a warning glare, trying to get me to shut up, but I’m past the point of caring. Whatever happens is going to happen, either today or another. Eventually the truth will come out, why not make it now? Ethan’s also moved on from the apologetic face to the “What the hell are you doing” face. I suppose some small part of me is asking myself the same question, but that is not the part that's winning.
Mrs. Reed is pretty clearly getting pissed. “Well! Maybe it will matter to your parents when I call them! All three of you in my classroom now!” she says, her voice slightly louder than normal. By now we’ve gathered a crowd, so everybody knows whats happening.
As we walk back to her room, I begin questioning my confidence. While I don’t regret be rude, I doubt I can keep it up, I’m too scared. Figuring it's too late to hide the fact I’m dating Tiana (she did see us holding hands, after all), I grab her hand again. We don’t look at each other, instead staring intently at the ground, but she giving me a reassuring squeeze. I smile, glad to know she’s still with me.
Kids have begun to gather outside her door, probably in her next class, but they part to let us in. A couple of kids who know me give me a pitying look. I just smile at them, pretending to be alright.
Once we get inside, she sits down at her desk and begins typing at her computer. After a moment or two, she looks up at me. “I believe this is a conversation you should have with your parents.”
I panic slightly, trying to think of anything I could say to change her mind. With a glance to Ethan, I see him shake his head slightly. I nod back, understanding what he means. I look back at her.
“Ok, call them,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. She seems surprised, but nods anyways, and begins typing numbers into the phone.
“Young man, I think it's time for you to go to your next class, Tiana, you too. This has nothing to do with you,” she says, addressing my friends.
They look shocked, even repulsed by the idea. “No way,” Ethan says. “I’m not leaving them.”
“Yeah,” Tiana agreeing. “If they’re in it, we’re in.” I smile, loving them even more. Mrs. Reed shrugs.
“Alright, stay, I suppose,” she pauses, “Wait, did you say ‘they’?” she asks, sounding genuinely curious for the first time.
I think. Should I tell her? I stay silent for a moment, and she watches me expectantly. I turn towards Tiana and Ethan, and they both nod.
“Too late now,” Ethan says.
“Yeah, you’re already being outed,” Tiana agrees. “At least make it correct.”
“Alright,” I say, turning back to Mrs. Reed. “I’m agender. That's what my shirt means, it's why I have short hair, and it's why I cringe every time you call me young lady. Since I’m neither girl nor boy, I don’t use the pronouns ‘he’ or ‘she’, which is why they both used the term they; and before you say anything, yes ‘they’ can be singular, look it up.”
She’s getting mad, I can tell. “Well, young lady, I don’t know where you got the idea that you could be neither a girl nor a boy, that's just scientifically incorrect. Do you parents know about your belief?” She responds, her voice rising.
“No, they don’t, I figured they’d have the same point of view as you, so I didn’t tell them. Obviously I’m going to have to now,” I tell her, not bothering to get into the issue of “beliefs” as she so kindly put it. I truly don’t know where my confidence is coming from, when I imagined this situation, I figured it would be accompanied by a panic attack.
“You’re quite right you will,” she says testily. She’s mad now. If it weren’t for the situation I probably would laugh.
“Mrs. Reed, may I talk to Sammy for a moment?” Ethan asks suddenly. I stare at him, surprised at both the request and the polite tone of voice. I see him grimace slightly, and know he’s just pretending.
She doesn’t respond immediately, considering the request. “Well she’s not on trial now is she?” she answers finally.
“No, they aren’t,” Ethan says angrily, and pulls me to the back of the room. Tiana follows, clearly not knowing what Ethan is planning, but she’s going to be a part of it anyway.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ethan whispers. “You can’t actually tell your parents, they’ll kill you.”
“Yeah,” Tiana adds. “This could ruin your life.” I can tell she hates saying it, she would never do anything to hurt me like this.
I glance at them both, my resolve to stay strong nearly breaking; but I take a deep breath, and regain control.
“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I know my life will never be the same after this? Don’t you know I don’t want to do this? For god's sake, I don’t want to be in this, I don’t even want to be agender! My life would be so much easier if I could just be a girl! But that’s not going to happen, just like I’m not going to get out of this unscathed. I’m in this mess, and my parents were bound to find out sooner or later. At least now I won’t have to lie anymore!”
I look down, unable to bear their reactions to my words. I’ve never in my life said I wanted to be a girl. I didn’t even know I felt that way until I said it. I have always been proud of who I am, but I suppose, deep down, I wish I could have just been cisgender like most of society.
Tiana gasps at my words, and pulls me into a hug. She doesn’t say anything, and we stand there, hugging for a moment, until I push her back.
“I need to do this,” I say with such finality that they both nod.
“Alright,” Ethan says. “We’ll both be beside you while you do.” He smiles at me, and then he hugs me too. It’s much quicker than Tiana, just a second, but it means a lot nonetheless.
“Let’s do this,” Tiana agrees, wiping away a tear.
Mrs. Reed’s voice cuts through the classroom as we’re walking up to her desk. “Hello Mrs. Tylevy, I have your daughter in the class, and I’ve just discovered and interesting belief of hers I think you’d like to know.” She says it with such a sickening sweetness I want to punch her. She’s about to ruin my life and she’s still acting like it’s nothing, just a normal call home when a student’s done something wrong.
She holds the phone out in my direction, and I take it, putting it to my ear. “Hi, mom.”
“Callie! What is this about? What’s she talking about?” she asks me in a rush, sounding kind of scared. “Are you in trouble?”
“No, I’m not in trouble with the school. Mrs. Reed has just found out something about me, something I’ve been keeping from you.” I pause, trying to steady my voice, and Tiana takes my hand, giving it a light squeeze. “There’s two things actually. I’m agender. That means I don’t have a gender. It’s why I never wear dresses, and why I hated that bikini you bought me over the summer. Its why all my friends call me Sammy when you aren’t around. Also, I have a girlfriend. She’s standing right next to me holding my hand.” I finish, letting out a breath of air. Tiana giggles a little, and I chuckle too.
There’s silence on the other end for a moment. I can faintly hear her breathing, so I know she’s still there, taking it all in. Finally she speaks. “We’ll talk about this when you get home.” That’s it, no questions, no exclamations of disbelief, nothing. If I didn’t know better, I would think she’s not even mad. Then the phone clicks, signaling that she’s hung up, confirming my suspicions.

By this time, class should have started five minutes ago, and the kids outside are looking concerned. At first I thought they were just worried I was in trouble, but after watching them whisper to each other and stare at me with their pitying gazes, I realize they figured out what was going on. It made me all the more nervous to walk out of the classroom.
“You may leave now. Get to class quickly,” Mrs. Reed tells us harshly. Tiana opens her mouth as if to protest, but I grab her arm and pull her away. I’m not in the mood to talk to the teacher anymore, and I want to leave before I start crying.
“C’mon, let’s just go, she has a class to teach,” I tell them. They nod, still looking upset, and we walk out the door into the sea of students.
They gather around us, wanting information. “Sammy, what happened, are you ok?” asks one student.
“Did she call your parents?” asks another. After that I lose track of the voices, they all start talking at once.
“If you need anything, my family will help.”
“I can’t believe Mrs. Reed did that!”
“How did she find out?”
“Enough!” Ethan's voice breaks through the chatter. “Can’t you see they’re upset, leave them alone!” he shouts. My eyes have begun to fill up, and I wipe away a tear.
“Thank you, Ethan, but it’s alright, they’re just curious. I would be too.” I tell him, resting a hand on his shoulder. Then, turning back to the group, I address them. “Guys, I really appreciate the concern, but I can’t talk about it right now. Long story short, she outed me to my parents.”
At that moment the door opens, eliminating the chance of providing any more details. “I apologize for the wait, I had something to deal with,” she says, as if ruining my life was just a minor inconvenience.
“Yeah, you had something to deal with. Outing an innocent kid!” shouts one boy. I smile, glad people are standing up to her. Although I don’t want anyone else getting in trouble, seeing kids fight back to people like her always makes me happy.
She barely reacts, her face only faltering for a moment before returning to its calm facade. “That’s quite enough, all of you take your seats.”
There’s a bit more grumbling, people whispering to each other and complaining, but soon enough they’re all seated, still not looking happy. I’ve never had so many people support me like this before, and it makes me feel a little better.
That euphoria is quickly dampened slightly by one girl who shoots me a nasty look, then turns to Mrs. Reed and says… “Well, in my opinion Mrs. Reed, you made a very good choice,” in the haughtiest way possible.  I wilt a little, my good mood brought down by this uneducated girl, but someone immediately contradicts her.
“Violet, what the hell? How could you possibly support a decision like that. She just outed Sammy to their parents and any of us that didn’t know. That’s the rudest and most intrusive thing I’ve ever seen someone do.” This is said by Tommy, a kid in my first period.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Violet responds vehemently. “It’s not my fault she’s here making up genders and you all believe her.” I’m not sure how she actually found out I’m agender, considering I barely knew her and we have no classes together. She must have heard it from somebody.
“I can’t believe you would-”
“Tommy, it's ok. I don’t need some ignorant person to believe who I am to feel validated. I’m just going to go to my next class, and I’d appreciate it if you’d all forget about this, or at least don’t tell everyone about it.” I interrupt him. He nods, subdued, and the rest of the class follows suit, except for Violet, who continues to glare at me.
Mrs. Reed watches the exchange with a stone-cold face, but once I walk away, she goes back to smiling brightly, and begins to teach the class. Ethan and Tiana follow me out the building in the direction of fourth period, but Ethan grabs my arm, forcing me to stop, once we get outside.
“We have to talk about this, I can’t just let you go to fourth period without saying anything,” he pauses for a moment, and I think I see his eyes tear up slightly. “I am so sorry I put you in that situation. This is all my fault.”
I put my hand on his shoulder, looking up a little to stare him in the eye. “Listen Ethan, what just happened was in no way your fault. I took a risk coming out to so many people and teachers, it would have reached her somehow eventually. Besides, all you did was say my name, I can’t blame you for that. It was the shirt that really made her assume.”
He sighs, “I guess you’re right, but I still feel bad.”
“Don’t.”
“Whatever,” Tiana interrupts. “What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know. Go home and face whatever happens, I guess.” I respond  resignedly. I wish I could give her a better idea, but I don’t have any.
“You can NOT do that!” she yells, sounding more scared than mad.
“I don’t know T, what else can they do? It’s not like they have a lot of options,” Ethan tells her quietly. It’s clear he didn’t want a fight,  but he got one anyway.
“What are you talking about?! There has to be something else!” Tiana says, pleading rather than stating. She begins to cry, and I hug her.
“Hey, it's ok. I’ll be ok, don’t worry about me, I’ll be ok.” She keeps sobbing, but begins to take deep breaths and calm down. I take her by the shoulders, “Look at me.” She does, tears still running down her face. “I’m tough, I can handle this,” I say, attempting to convince myself as well as her.
She wipes her eyes. “You’re right, you can, I just feel so bad. Like, I don’t know, I could have done something to stop her from calling.”
Though I wouldn’t say it, I’m wish we had stopped it too. Logically, I know there was nothing I could have done, once she made her decision, nobody would have been able to stop her. But I keep imagining that we had yanked the plug on the phone, or even made-up some type of cover story. It seems crazy, thinking back on it. Why hadn’t I just lied to her, told her something, anything? Instead I had to tell the truth, arguably the worst decision I’ve ever made.
At the same time though, that’s not true either. Telling the truth may have changed my life significantly, it may even have made it a lot harder, but it was kind of liberating. Since I was a little kid I’ve felt different, out of place amongst the girls I hung out with, yet also not quite right with the boys. When I finally came to terms with my identity, I felt free; that is of course, until I remember my parents. Now though, I don’t have to pretend anymore. I don’t have to wear pink dresses or tiny bikinis. All I have to do is survive tonight and my secret will be out, for better or for worse, and no matter what, they can’t force me to do anything.
Instead of explaining all this to her, I simply say, “Me too, but it's too late now. Can we please just go back to our lives. You two especially, you may have witnessed it, but you don’t need to be a part of it. Please let me deal with this on my own.”
Both Ethan and Tiana look appalled at my plead. They both begin talking at once…
“What the hell!? No way” Ethan begins.
“How could you even think-” Tiana starts, but I interrupt them both.
“I know, I know. I’m not saying I won’t tell you everything, or that I don’t want you to be there for me, but right now, today, I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll face it when I get home, and if something bad happens, you two will be the first to know. Ok?” I state this all matter-of-factly, trying not to get emotional, because I know that would just make them more determined to stick with me.
Tiana sits down, putting her head in her hands. Her blond hair falls around her face, but she doesn’t bother to fix it. I motion to comfort her, but she swats my hand away. I sigh, but turn to Ethan instead.
“Are you ok with that?”
He laughs. “Not in the slightest. But I know you. This is something you need to do on your own. It’ll be easiest that way. Just keep in mind, I only live a few house away from you, so one text and I’ll be there in two minutes. Whatever you’re parents say, don’t convince yourself you're alone or wrong. Stand up for yourself.”
I gasp, my hand covering my mouth. Ethan starts, “What's wrong?” Tiana even glances up for a moment. They both stare at me with concerned gazes, even though they’re clearly confused.
I pull my hand away from my face. “Bree,” I whisper. “What is she going to do?” They both give a sigh of relief, but I don’t understand why. “Why are you relieved? This is my sister!” I exclaim, becoming more panicked by the second.
“Well, it’s just… what about Bree?” Tiana asks, still confused. “I mean sure, it’ll be hard for her, seeing you get yelled at or whatever’s going to happen, but-”
“No, you don’t understand. Bree isn’t straight, she panromantic asexual. When our parents find out about me, she’ll essentially be seeing what might happen to her one day. Or worse, what if she decides to tell them about her, so I don’t have to be alone?”
They nod, comprehending my words, and my panic. “I guess you’ll just have to cross that bridge when you get to it. I mean, I’m not trying to be insensitive, but right now you need to worry about yourself,” Ethan says gently.
“Ethan’s right, Sammy. Bree’s smart, she’ll do what’s right in the end,” Tiana reassures me.
I nod, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. She’ll be fine.” I shake my head a little, trying to clear my thoughts. “Alright, situation aside. What time is it?”
Tiana laughs a little at my sudden change of subject. “12:37, there about ten minutes left in the period.”
“Wow,” I say. “That whole thing’s only taken a little over half an hour.” I laugh, in a way, it’s funny. In half an hour, a secret I’ve been hiding since I was little came out, and I’ve already come to terms with it.
“Yeah,” Tiana says, giggling slightly. She sombers, “You ok?”
I hesitate, but quickly respond. “Yeah, I actually am.” My voice is quiet, but sincere. I mean it, and I hope she gets that.
“Good,” she says, putting her arm around my shoulder.
“Yeah, fantastic,” Ethan exclaims. “Now I don’t mean to be rude, but the bell’s going to ring any minute, and if we’re standing in the outside when it rings, it’s going to raise some eyebrows. Let’s get near a bathroom or something, we can at least pretend to have an excuse.” He stands up, hoisting his backpack over one arm.
I think for a moment. “We should be fine, the front office is close by,  no one would question us walking away from there. If they do, just say we were in the nurse’s office.” I suggest.
“Fine by me,” he agrees, pulling out his phone. “Who wants to listen to some music until the bell rings?”
“Sure,” Tiana and I agree simultaneously. He turns on Spotify, and we listen to Twenty-one Pilots until the bell..
.  .  .
The rest of the day passes by quicker than I had expected (or hoped, it would’ve been nice if it lasted longer), and before I knew it, the bell was ringing, signaling the end of the day.
Time to go home.
I go to my locker, purposefully taking longer than normal - delaying the inevitable, I suppose. A few kids stop and chat with me, but I’m not really taking in anything they’re saying. I think one or two of them were part of Mrs. Reed's fourth period, because I heard them say “good luck.”
If it was up to me I would have spent another fifteen minutes standing at my locker, but the teachers patrolling the hallways begin to rush us out. So reluctantly I walk out to my bike and begin pedaling home.  The ride is quick, barely fifteen minutes, so I hardly have time to think about what I’m going to say before I arrive.
I put my bike in the garage, and unlock the front door. “I’m home!” I yell, trying to pretend everything's normal. I start to run up the stairs, planning to lock myself in my room, but mom comes out of the kitchen before I can,.
“Not so fast,” she says, holding up her pointer finger. “We need to talk.”
My eyes widen innocently. “What about?” I ask, playing dumb. It probably wasn’t the best route I could have taken, but what can I say, I panicked.
“You know what about. That ridiculous story you told me on the phone earlier. What on Earth was that about?” She asks. It may not seem like much, but when she talks like that, you know you’re in trouble.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I drop the act, my eyes narrowing. “I think what I said was quite self-explanatory.”
She almost looks offended. Under other circumstances, it would’ve been comical; now however, I couldn’t even muster a smile. “You actually believe that crap you told me?” She asks. “You actually believe you’re ‘agender’?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh c’mon mom. You can’t pretend I don’t act like it. I mean, have I ever acted like a typical girl?” I question, trying to make her understand. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work.
“So you’re a tomboy. That doesn’t mean you’re a whole other gender.” She sounds almost desperate, like she’d give anything for me not to be like this.
“You’re right, the way I act isn’t what makes me agender. But that doesn’t mean anything. I am agender, I am pansexual, that’s just how it is.”
“NO! It isn’t. That’s not natural, and I won’t stand for it in my house! Go to your room! I have to talk to your father,” she shouts, on the brink of tears. She storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her. I quietly walk to my room, setting my backpack on the floor. Bree’s not here, maybe at her friend's house. I’m glad, I don’t want her here when dad comes home.

I walk to my mirror and stand in front of it. Scanning my eyes over my body, I don’t quite understand how it’s such a shock to my parents to learn I’m trans. Sure, I get the agender part being a bit surprising, but I didn’t exactly pretend to be a girl well. From begging for short hair, to the fact my chest magically became flatter one day, to the androgynous outfits I wear, it seems clear to me.
I lay down on my bed with a huff, pretty much mad at everyone; all day I had been calm, trying not to lose my cool and scream at someone, and it was getting to be a lot. I put my headphones in, turn the music up loud, and lay down, crying a little.

I don’t know how much later, somewhere around two hours probably, I hear a shout interrupting the stream of music. “Callie!! Get down here!” It’s my dad; he must be home. I groan before getting up out of my bed.
Rolling out of bed, I open the door. “I told you! It’s Sammy!” I shout as I walk down the stairs. I think I fell asleep at some point, because I feel sort of groggy, and my hair’s a mess. I run my hand through it, mostly fixing the bedhead, and shake my head a little, trying to wake up. It almost works, but I still feel tired. I jog the rest of the way down, and jump over the last step. The impact of hitting the ground jostles me fully awake.
My parents obviously didn’t like my retort, because they’re both frowning when I make my way into the kitchen. “Now Callie,” my mom says condescendingly, “We’ve been over this, your name is not Sammy, it's Callie. You are not agender, or whatever it is you’re claiming, you are a girl, that’s how you’re born.”
I roll my eyes, “What did you expect? A thirty second talk saying ‘You’re not who you think you are, you’re who I want you to be’ is going to change what I’ve known since I was little? Not going to happen.”
She looks offended. “I am your mother, you are who I say you are! And I say you are my daughter!” She shouts. I don’t know what she’s getting at, I’ve never been the ‘perfect daughter’; does she expect me to become one now?
My dad turns to my mom, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Now, honey, calm down. I’m sure this is just a phase.” I know he’s trying to be reassuring, or on my side, or whatever, but I’m not having it.
“No! It’s not ‘just a phase’! How you you even say that! I haven’t changed since I was a toddler! I always hated doing girly things, and you know it!” I take a deep breath, lowering my voice enough to be reasonable. “Listen, I know it seems like I’ve just started acting this way now, but think about it. I may have only cut my hair a month ago, but I’ve been begging to cut it since I was seven. I may have just started dressing androgynously this year, but I’ve been trying to wear boys clothes since I was little. Remember that time I wore a button up with leggings because I hated the dress you picked out?” By this time I’m crying, just trying my hardest to make them understand. By the looks on their faces, it’s not working. There are tears streaming down my mom’s face, but she still has a stone-cold expression. As for my dad, his kind eyes have turned into a glare, the reassuring gaze he had moments before is gone. They both look like they’re the ones who should be mad.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” dad says, not looking sorry in the slightest. “Sit down, I have to talk to your mother now.” He begins to walk out of the room, expecting mom to follow him. She starts to, turning in his direction, before stopping and turning back to me, face red with anger. She looks like she’s totally lost it.
“You know what? No, I will not have this! I refuse to live with someone like you! Not only are are you confused, you’re dating a girl! I will not have a gay daughter! I want you out of this house now!” She screams. She’s shaking now, either with anger or nerves I can’t really tell. I stand there, stunned; I knew they would have a bad reaction, and I suppose a part of me expected this, but it’s a whole other thing actually facing it.
Surprisingly, dad has almost the same reaction as I do. He looks appalled the she could have said something so drastic. I didn’t expect him to, I thought he would want me out more than mom, but apparently even he didn’t expect it to come to this.
“Honey, are you sure? I mean, as awful as what she’s doing is, she is still our daughter, we can get her help,” he says, sounding strongly conflicted between siding with his wife and beliefs and not losing a child. It’s painful, seeing him actually debate whether or not he wants me anymore.
“Yes!” she yells, crying harder now. “You heard her, she’s not our daughter, I don’t even know what she is!”
I hate everything she’s saying, and I can barely stand listening to her. I wish there was a way to make her understand. It’s so hard hearing my family reject me like this. Despite knowing they wouldn’t accept me, I still can’t comprehend how you can be so passionately homophobic and transphobic that you can’t even live with your own child. It’s awful.
“If that's what you want, I’ll stand by you,” dad tells her, resting his hand on her shoulder. “You heard your mother, pack your stuff.”
“I want you out of this house in half an hour,” mom hisses. “I can’t even look at you. I don’t believe I didn’t figure out something was wrong with you years ago, just look at you.”
At that, I run upstairs. I’ve heard too much, anymore and I would have had a full breakdown if I had to look at them anymore. I slam my door shut, wanting nothing more than to lay down and cry. I begin to sit down, about to do exactly that, but I know I can’t; I get up, wiping my eyes and taking a deep breath. I’m determined not to leave this house in tears.
Steeling my resolve, I grab a duffel bag and begin taking clothes out of my closet. I have to fold them in order to fit everything I need. I take a few of the shirts I made, hiding the rest under my mattress, and put a couple pairs of jeans in there too. Luckily I’m already wearing my binder and hoodie, and I really only need the pair of shoes I’m wearing now. I toss in my deodorant and perfume also, along with my hairbrush and comb, then run into the bathroom as quickly as I could to get my toothbrush and toothpaste.
I carefully put my contact case, solution, and glasses into the side of the duffel, hoping they don’t break. Sprinting back to by room as quickly as possible, I close the door behind me silently, not wanting to draw attention. I gaze around my room trying to remember if I’d forgotten anything important. I pick up my school backpack, sliding a few more of my favorite books, not wanting to leave them all behind. Nodding, I begin to walk out, grabbing my charger and headphones as I leave.
Trying to get out of the house without causing another scene, I attempt not to make a sound. Unfortunately, I think my parents were listening in from the kitchen, because they walk out as I’m opening the door.
I think I see a hint of sympathy in my dad's eyes, but when we make eye contact, that disappears. His eyes harden, but he still doesn’t say anything. Mom however, look likes she’s bursting to yell at me again. She begins to open her mouth, but I interrupt her.
“Please, mom. Let me just go.” I say it quietly, not trying to sound angry. It sounds almost resigned to my ears, and even a little desperate, which I suppose I am.
She seems confused for a moment, like she had expected me to argue. I don’t know why, I was never one to fight back; the passion of my argument earlier was a rarity. However, after a moment of silence, she says in a quieter voice, “I was just going to say I don’t want you talking to your sister, she doesn’t need to be mixed up in any of this.”
   I bite my lip, stifling a laugh. I contemplate saying something sarcastic, like, ‘trust me, I don’t have to,’ but I refrain, because she’s right. Despite her already being partially in it, I don’t want her to face the same thing as me, it's better for her to just stay in this house for as long as possible, especially since she’s only thirteen.
“I won’t,” I sigh. “Where is she?” I have my head down, not looking her in the eye, trying to sound as small as possible so as not to face another bout of screaming.
She doesn’t respond immediately, as if she doesn’t want me to know, but she eventually tells me, her voice back to ice. “She went to Riley’s house after practice, she’ll be home by nightfall. Now get out, I don’t want to look at you anymore.” I wince slightly at the hurtful words, but brush it off quickly.
I’ve been holding the door open this whole time, standing halfway out the door, so I simply nod and step out, shutting it behind me. The second I shut the door, I burst out laughing. I’m surprised I can laugh, considering the situation, but it’s hilarious. Riley just so happens to be Bree’s nonbinary partner. Mom and dad are completely clueless, they both think that Riley’s just Bree’s best friend, but in reality, Riley is Bree’s datemate. Riley isn’t even their birth name, it's the name they chose when they came out. The two of them started dating right around the beginning of the season.
Still laughing, I walk to the edge of the garage, where my bike is standing. I mount it, and bike out of the driveway. I still haven’t decided where I’m going to go, but I figure I should leave before they look outside. It’s still going to be light out for about two hours, so I have time before I have to make a decision. So I bike to the neighborhood park to think.
It only takes a minute to bike to the park, and yet by the time I get there I already thought of many people I could go to. There’s the obvious people, like Tiana and Ethan; but then there’s Chloe and Zack. Zack’s parents have campaigned for LGBT rights for a while now, so I know their home is a safe space.
I coast to a bench, dismounting my bike, and take a seat. I pull my phone out of my pocket and see I’ve received thirty-eight texts from both Tiana and Ethan over the last hour or so. Not to mention the texts I got when I first got home, which I ignored. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, I just wanted to listen to music with no other noise.
Are you home yet?
What’s happening?
What’d they say?
Is your dad home yet?
Are you ok?
Why aren’t you responding?
How’d they take it?
C’mon, please respond, I’m freaking out!
Sammy! What is going on?
Finally, from about three minutes ago, Tiana texts me, saying ‘If you don’t respond in the next five minutes I’m coming to your house and finding out for myself!’
I panic, terrified of what they would say or do to her, and hurriedly begin typing. I have no idea what I was planning on telling her, but I’m sure it’s not what I said.
Hey, sorry I didn’t respond, left my phone in my room while we talked. They’re pretty pissed, and it probably won’t be the same for a while, but I think it’ll be ok.
I have no idea where it came from, or why I lied to her, but I just felt like I couldn’t actually face the truth yet. Right now I don’t need crying and comforting words, I just need silence to process everything. I forward the text to Ethan, and in no time I have two responses.
Tiana: OMG, are you kidding? That’s great! I mean, it sucks they’re mad, but that’s to be expected right? They actually took it pretty well. Congrats.
I appreciate how sweet she was, and that she believed the lie, but Ethan’s a bit smarter (no offense to Tiana, I love her) and he doesn’t fall for it.
Ethan: Yeah right. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying, even over text. How did they really take it? No lies this time.
I take a deep breath, not wanting to tell him. I decide to try one more time at the lie, hoping if I’m persistent, he’ll believe it, at least for a little while.
I don’t know what you mean. I know it’s surprising, but why would I lie?
I put my phone down, running my hand through my hair. I rub my eyes, trying to clear my mind. Before I get a chance, my phone dings again, it’s loud ping obnoxious in the silence of the park.  I pick it up again, nervous to see what he says this time.
Unfortunately, he still doesn’t believe me. C’mon Sammy, how dumb do you think I am? First of all, you wouldn’t be this chill if they took it well. Secondly, I don’t care how well they took it in comparison to what you expected, they would have taken your phone away in an instant when they found out about Tiana. You’re not at home. Where are you?
I curse, frustrated he didn’t accept what I said. I think fast, trying to say something that would satiate him.  Before I respond, I text Chloe, asking her if I can come over for the night. I didn’t tell her the truth, just that Bree was being loud and I couldn’t focus on homework. She responds instantly, saying yes, but joking that I’m not going to be able to focus over there either. I tell her that's fine, and now I won’t have to lie to Ethan about anything.
Fine, you’re right, they took it awful. It seemed alright at first, like maybe they wouldn’t be too mad, but then my mom just started screaming at me to get out of the house, and how wasn’t her daughter anymore, and that she didn’t want to look at me ever again.
By this point tears were streaming down my face at the thought of everything that happened, and I wanted to stop typing and never think about it again, but I know he deserves an explanation.
I left the house about ten minutes ago. But don’t worry about me, I’m going over to Chloe’s house for the night. We can talk tomorrow. Oh, and please don’t tell Tiana. I told her the same thing I told you earlier, but she believed it.
I send the text.
I figure it’ll take him awhile to process what I said and figure out how to respond, so I began to bike to Chloe’s. The ride is quiet, for some reason there aren’t any kids out playing or biking; normally I wouldn’t like that, but today I’m glad there’s no one who would want to stop and talk.
The second I pull into Chloe’s driveway, I feel my phone buzz. It’s Ethan, obviously.
Sammy, I’m so sorry. Are you sure you’ll be ok at Chloe’s house? Does her parents know? Does SHE know? I can come over if you want. What are you going to do now? How can you not tell Tiana?
I smile a little at his concern, but at the same time I wish he wouldn’t care so much. It’s hard enough dealing with it on my own, but I am not the type of person who finds sharing their situation helpful. Nevertheless, I know he deserves to be part of it, so I text him back before I go inside.
It’s ok, I’ll be ok, I promise. I’ll be fine at Chloe’s, her house is safe. No, her mom doesn’t know I’m agender, but if I do tell her I don’t think she’ll mind too much. She knows, but I didn’t tell her what happened tonight; don’t worry, I’ll be fine, you don’t need to come over. I don’t really know yet, I’m just trying to take it one day at a time for now. I didn’t want to tell Tiana over text, I’d rather tell her in person, besides, I really don’t want pity right now.
As I type, the first part especially, I feel like I’m trying to convince myself as well as him. I push the feeling aside, and walk up to Chloe’s front door. I ring the doorbell, feeling an intense bout of deja vou. I did the same thing this morning, but this time, I’m not here to bring her to school, and I’m not full of hope for the first day of school. Instead, I’m alone and scared and worried about the next day, the next week, the next forever.
Like this morning, her mom opens the door and greets me politely. “Hello Callie, how are you. I didn’t expect to see you here again.” She pauses, her smiling face dropping as she sees the tear stains on my cheeks. “Oh, are you alright?”
At that moment, Chloe comes up behind her. She doesn't seen seem to have heard her mom, because she smiles perkily. “Hey, what's up?” she asks, grinning still. She does the same thing as her mom, and stops smiling. “What’s wrong?”
I tear up again at the thought of recounting the story, but I take a deep breath and force myself to calm down. “Can I talk to you inside please?” I ask through gritted teeth.
They nod and usher me inside. We sit down at the couch, them on one section and me on the other. They stare at me expectantly, both giving me the exact same look of concern. It’s clear Chloe has figured at by now what’s going on, but Mrs. K still looks clueless, but she still is worried for me. I’m not usually this serious, and I don’t think she’s ever seen me cry.
“Alright. So first of all, Mrs. K, there’s something about me you should know. I’m agender and pansexual. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of it, but it basically means I don’t feel I have a gender, and I’m attracted to any gender. I’ve been going by Sammy for a while now, since it’s more of a gender neutral name. I wanted to tell you, but we were worried you would say something to my parents, on purpose or by accident.” I pause, letting her take it in, nervous for what she’s going to say.
She looks pretty surprised, but not angry, which is reassuring. After a moment of silence, she opens her mouth to speak.
“I have never heard of that, but I’m glad you told me, I always say it's good to learn new things. And I have heard of pansexual. Now you know I’ll always support you no matter what, but I have to ask. Why are you here? And why are you just now telling me this?” She says it all very calmly, but not in an uncaring way.
“Well, you heard me say that we were worried that you'd tell my parents. That's not an issue anymore.” After this sentence, comprehension dawned on her; you could see it in her expression. I didn't give her a chance to express pity or anything, I just kept talking. “At school today, a teacher heard someone call me Sammy and interrogated me, so to say,and then called them and told them everything. We got in a fight when I got home, and mom told me to get out of the house and not come back.” Somehow, I manage to keep my face calm and not start crying. I have no idea how, it seems like after everything that's happened today, I'm just numb to the pain. It still hurts, just not in the way that make and want to cry, if that makes any sense.
Mrs. K gasps, covering her mouth with her hands. “Oh my! I can’t believe your mother would do that. She’s always been so sweet. I am so sorry,” she tells me, her voice conveying utter disbelief. Nevertheless, it’s clear she’s taken me seriously, and I think she’s pretty ok with everything I told her.
“I know. I didn’t expect her to take it well, but I was hoping she wouldn’t have gotten that mad. But I’ll figure something out, I always do. Tonight though, can I stay with you guys?” I ask.
“Of course you can, I told Chloe you’re welcome here whenever you want and that hasn’t changed! How much stuff did you bring? Is there anything you need from around the house? You’re welcome to anything,” she tells me.
I think for a minute. “I think I have everything I need for right now. But…” I begin, biting my lip. With anyone else’s parents, I would be too uncomfortable to ask, but with Chloe’s mom, I don’t really mind. “I haven’t eaten dinner yet, and I’m kind of starving. I don’t mean to be inconvenient, if you don’t have anything made already, you don’t have to.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Of course you can have food. I told you, as long as you need it, this is your home,” she insists. I smile, trying not to look uncomfortable. I love Chloe and Mrs. K, but I hate having to ask people for things. Even at home, I took care of myself; I made my bed, did laundry, cooked for myself sometimes, and even went shopping occasionally. Having to have someone else do everything made me feel very helpless, and I didn’t like it.
Nevertheless, I didn’t want to seem rude, so when she strolled into the kitchen, I followed her. She began taking things out of the fridge, and I squirmed a little. She glances at me, noticing my discomfort. “Tell you what,” she says. “We haven’t had dinner yet either, so how about I make something for all of us?”
I nod gratefully. “I’d like that, thank you.” At least I won't be putting her out of her way to make anything special just for me.
“Alright, good. Now I didn't have time to prepare anything earlier, so is spaghetti and meatballs okay with both of you?” she asks.
We both nod and she gets to work. Chloe grabs my arm and pulls me into her room. I stumble along after her, attempting not to fall. We burst into her bedroom and she yanks me down on her bed. “Why didn't you tell me Mrs. Reed outed you! When did this happen?” she exclaims. She sounds betrayed, and I can't help but feel bad.
“I’m sorry, but with everything happening, I didn't really think of it. Besides, I didn't want anybody but me, Ethan, and Tiana involved,” I try to explain. The second I finish talking, I regret what I said, and she picked up on it too.
“Ethan and Tiana! Why do they know?!” She shouts, confused and annoyed.
I sigh, realizing I hadn't mentioned that part. I didn't want to get Ethan in trouble with her, and she would surely be mad, but I figured I should tell the whole story. I'm a crappy liar anyway, not including lying to my parents for years; that's different though, just me trying to survive. “Alright” I begin. “So after 4th period when we were passing by Mrs. Reed's classroom, Ethan called out to me, but he called me Sammy, and I told you the rest earlier. Tiana was there too, so she knows all of it.”
She looks shocked, but just asks, “No offense, but if Tiana knows what happened, why aren't you with her?” she questions curiously.
I wave my hand, brushing it off. “It's fine, I just… um.. I haven’t told her. I mean, she knows what happened at school, but I told her my parents just were a little upset, not that they kicked me out of the house.” I wince slightly in anticipation of her reaction. Sure enough, she’s shocked.
“Sammy why? Don’t you think she’d want to know?” She asks, a pleading lilt in her voice.
“I know, I just didn’t want to worry her, ok? Now can we please not talk about this anymore?” I beg. “I've been thinking about what happened for hours, and I really can't anymore.”
She nods sympathetically. “Alright, whatever you want. I get it's been a lot today. Why don't we just go down and get dinner?” She suggests. It’s clear that she's not happy about it, if it was up to her this conversation wouldn't be over for a long time, but she didn't want to make me shut down. So I just nod gratefully, and we go downstairs and wait for the meatballs to be ready.

After dinner, Chloe suggests a few different things we can do, but I tell her I’m tired and I just want to get ready for bed. So her mom, her, and I get to work setting up the guest room so I can go to sleep.
It was around 8 o’clock when we finished, and I was planning on watching some Youtube before going to sleep, when suddenly my phone buzzed. Apparently 7 texts from Bree had come in while we were making the bed.
Hey where are you?
Sammy where are you????
I’m asking mom and dad?!
What the hell?
How could they have done that?
Sammy, I think I messed up.
Where are you?
Crap.
What did she do? The last text came in three minutes ago. I hurriedly respond, terrified of what may have happened.
I’m at Chloe’s house. Are you at home? Please tell me you’re at home.
I lay in bed with my knees up, my phone pressed against them, and my head pressed against my phone. Please respond Bree.
It takes her a minute, but finally she responds. It’s short, and in no way comforting.
I’m not.
At this pointing I’m shaking, out of both terror and nerves. I scramble to respond, not knowing what to say.
What! Where are you!?  I respond immediately. She doesn’t respond, and I freak out. It’s not like her to not answer her phone, especially in a situation like this. I spam her with messages, asking where she is, what happened, and what she’s doing now. She doesn’t respond, and after a few minutes, I’d had enough. I jump out of bed, throwing my shoes back on my feet. Luckily, I hadn’t changed into pajamas yet, so I didn’t have to waste time with that.
Running downstairs, I find Chloe and her mom lying on the couch, watching Mean Girls. I don’t want to bother them, because they look like they’re half asleep, but I didn’t want to run out without saying anything.
“Hey guys, I’m going out for a few minutes, I’ll be back soon,” I call out. In hindsight, there’s probably a lot of better ways I could have handled this situation, but give me a break, I was panicking.
Before I open the door, Mrs. K calls out. “Woah, woah, woah, where do you think you’re going?  I thought you were going to go to sleep?” She asks, sounding confused, like she doesn’t know what she should do. Chloe has an arm over the side of the couch so she can see what I’m doing.
I sigh, not wanting to waste time explaining. “Bree’s in trouble, I have to go find her.” I explain quickly.
They jump up simultaneously. “Not by yourself!” Mrs. K shouts, at the same time Chloe exclaims. “I’m coming with you!” They look at each other, shocked.
“There is no way you’re going out, it's late and it’s a school night. Sammy and I will go out and find Bree and you’ll stay here and wait for us!” she yells, sounding exasperated. I stand there awkwardly, wishing they would have this argument faster, regardless of what they decide. Honestly, I couldn’t care less who came with me to find my sister, I just wanted to find her.
Chloe gasps dramatically. “Puh-leese! Its barely 8:30! You know I’m going to stay up for at least three more hours anyway. Besides,” she begins, her tone softening. “I really care about Bree, I want to make sure she’s not in trouble.”
At that, Mrs. K’s face melts. She looks like she may want to fight a little more, but looking at me and my anxious expression, she gives in. “Fine, you can come, let’s just go.” she relents.
  Chloe lets out a little squeal of happiness, then immediately stops and looks guilty. “Sorry, serious subject, I know. But let’s go!” She explain, running to the door.
I nod gratefully. “Finally. I plan on taking my bike, I don’t know about you two but…” I trail off, waiting for them to state how they plan on finding my sister. They look at each other, and go running off to the garage; hopefully to get their bikes too. I shrug, and walk outside to where I left my bike at the front of the house.
By the time they get their bikes wheeled out, I’ve mounted mine, and am sitting at the front of the driving waiting for them. They wheel them down to where I am and mount theirs, and we begin riding. My house is about half a mile to the right of Chloe’s, so I assume she’s somewhere down that way.
We ride for about two minutes, fast-paced, yelling out her name every few seconds. Finally, once we get near the park that I originally went to, we hear a shout back.
“Sammy! Is that you?” she calls. Despite being tense, I laugh a little that she went to the same place as I did, earning myself a strange look from Mrs. K. Brushing it off, I continue to yell to Bree.
“Yeah, it’s me! Come to the front of the park!” I yell. Chloe dismounts her bike, and comes running over to embrace me. I stumble a little, surprised at the hug. Chloe seems like the girl who always hugs you hello and stuff, but in truth she isn’t very comfortable with hugs, so a heartfelt gesture like this is unexpected.
“What’s this for?” I ask.
She lets go and stares me in the eye. “I’m just glad we found her, and she’s ok. And I’m sorry for what you two have to go through. I can’t imagine my mom kicking me out of the house for anything. I guess it didn’t fully register how hard you have it. So yeah, I’m sorry,” she says, her voice serious and sympathetic. I tear up a little, both the weight of what she just said and what’s happening finally getting to me.
Wiping my eyes, I look around the park, attempting to locate Bree.  After a minute, I spot her, and take off running in her direction. She’s walking slowly, with her head down. She has her backpack on her back and a small duffel bag in her hand. As I’m running, she notices me, and she begins to run too.
We keep running until we reach each other, and she tackles me in a hug, but I manage to keep my balance. She wraps her arms around my neck and starts sobbing, her face buried in my neck.
“Sammy I’m so sorry,” she cries. I pull her tighter, just wanting to comfort her and make it all better. Bree tries to be a ‘tough teenager’ but she actually really sensitive, and this would be a traumatic situation for anyone.
“It’s not your fault. Don’t be sorry. I promise it’ll be ok,” I reassure as gently as I can. I look up to see what Mrs. K and Chloe are doing, trying my best not to move Bree. They’re jogging towards us, and I see Chloe shoot me a questioning look. I just shake my head, and push Bree gently back so I can look her in the eye.
She stares at me, looking more helpless than I’ve seen her in years. “Ok, Mrs. K is going to let us stay at her house for a little while; until I figure out what to do next. Right now we’re going to go back to her house and you’re going to tell me, and them, everything that happened after you got home, ok?  Now have you had anything to eat today?” I ask, slipping into my worried mom voice. I suppose now that will be my role most of the time, since it’s my job to take care of her.
She wipes her eyes, and shakes her head. “I haven’t eaten since lunch,” she tells me, her voice slightly shaky.
“Ok, we’ll get you some dinner first then,” I say, fighting to keep my own voice steady.
By this point Chloe and Mrs. K are standing next to us. “Is everything ok?” Chloe asks, at the same time Mrs. K asks, “Are you two ready to go back to the house?”
I look at Bree, and she nods, trying to regain her composure. “I left my bike over by the benches,” she says.
I nod to Mrs. K. “If you two want to head back, we can meet you there. I’ll walk with Bree to get her bike,” I suggest, but immediately see that’s not going to happen. She shakes her head dramatically.
“No way. It’s after dark, I’m not letting you two off by yourself. Chloe and I will wait by our bikes while you two get Bree’s, and then we’ll all bike back together. Ok?” she commands. Despite her asking if it’s ok at the end, I can tell it’s not a choice, so I simply nod.
I sling my arm over Bree’s shoulder, and we begin walking towards the benches. I’m dying to ask her what happened, and talk about everything that went down tonight, but I know it’s too soon and she needs more of a chance to process it herself. So instead we walk in silence, me holding on to her, and her partly nestled in my against my side.
A few minutes later we’re back with Chloe and Mrs. K, Bree walking her bike alongside her. We all mount are bikes and head to the house. I realize as I’m biking that at least for a while, Bree and I will always think, ‘go to the house’ and not ‘go home.’ It’s not that big a deal, it’s just kind of a sad thought that I won’t have a place to call my home, I’ll always feel like I’m visiting, which makes me uncomfortable.
We bike back in silence, no one really knowing what to say or ask. I can tell Mrs. K is would love to interrogate Bree, especially since I didn’t mention the fact that she was LGBT too. Luckily, she clearly senses that now is not the time. Even once we get back to the house, I’m going to leave it up to Bree whether or not she wants to tell me what happened in front of them or not. I would like her too, because it’ll make it easier to talk freely in front of them, and just having them know the whole story would be nice, but it’s Bree’s story to tell.
After a few minutes of very awkward biking, we pedal into the garage. I hear Bree sigh in relief a little, though I’m not sure why. I guess just arriving at the house was reassuring; it’s hard to believe you’re going to have a place to stay until you see it.
I’m having so many mixed emotions I can barely focus on walking into the house. On the one hand, I’m broken-hearted at my parents reaction to my coming out. On the other, I’m so relieved to finally be able to be me everywhere, not just around certain people. Part of me is happy to have Bree with me; but the other wishes she could have just been the perfect daughter our parents wanted.
I shake my head, trying to clear it so I can talk to Bree. It’s then I realize Mrs. K has been talking to me, probably for a while now. All I catch is, “Sit down on the couch, ok?”
I’m not 100% percent sure of what she said, but I’m assuming she wants to hear Bree’s story.  I'm not sure if Bree is comfortable talking in front of Mrs. K; it's not like she knows her that well after all. Instead of responding, I glance over at Bree, trying to see her reaction. She notices me looking at her, and shakes her head slightly, in a near imperceptible way, so as not to offend Mrs. K.
Not wanting to be rude, I try to explain to her best I can why we weren’t going to explain. “I think it would be best if for now, Bree and I just talked alone. It’s kind of a personal thing, and I don’t think Bree is quite ready to talk about it with anyone but me for now. Is that ok?” I ask. My voice is sugary, and I cringe at how polite I sound. I’m so used to Mrs. K being overly polite isn’t something I do around her, but right now I feel to awkward to say anything else.
She looks mildly disappointed for a second, but quickly recovers. She puts her hand on Bree’s shoulder. “Of course, sweetie. I know this is a difficult time, I’m sure I would be just as emotional,” she reassures her. I’m a little surprised at the lack of reaction on Bree’s part; usually she hates being talked down to like that, but now she doesn’t even look up. She just continues staring at the ground, twiddling with her hair tie, something she only does when she’s upset or nervous.
“Thank you,” I say to Mrs. K. I then put my hand on Bree’s back and start leading her upstairs. Once again I’m surprised she doesn’t react, she hates it when I guide her places - claims it makes her feel like a child. About halfway up the stairs she stumbles a little, but keeps walking. I shift my arm so it's wrapped around her shoulder. I’m getting worried about her now, she’s acting strange.
However, I don’t say anything about it when we get upstairs; I figure it’s just a product of the night and she’ll be ok by tomorrow or later in the week.
We walk into Chloe’s room, with me closing the door gently behind us, and sit down on the bed. We sit there quietly for a moment, not knowing what to say. I adjust my binder slightly, as it’s starting to hurt my back. It occurs to me that I should probably take it off, since you’re only supposed to wear a binder for 8 hours, and it’s been about 14 now. I roll my shoulders, trying to alleviate the ache, then try and forget it.
“So, um…” I begin tentatively. “What happened?”
She shrugs. “I got home, you weren’t there. I asked what happened, and they wouldn’t say anything, so I kinda pieced it together myself. I tried asking again, and when they didn’t answer, I started yelling.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. I see tears starting to well up in her eyes, so I put my hand on her thigh.
“It’s ok, take your time,” I murmur. It’s strange for me, seeing Bree this vulnerable, I’m so used to her being the tough girl who never cried. Even when kids at school were being cruel, she kept her head up and stood up to them.
She nods, exhaling slowly. “I started yelling, trying to get me to tell you where you were. It was awful, they didn’t even look upset. They both had this stone-cold face, as if they were trying to pretend you didn’t even exist. After about 10 minutes of me yelling, I had started crying at this point, dad broke. He didn’t say anything, his face just kinda crumbled and he walked out of the room. That’s when mom told me.” Bree was sobbing hard now, and her words were getting hard to distinguish. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but hear what she said next. “She wasn’t emotionless anymore, she just looked so mad. She snapped at me, ‘Look what you did! What are you, a dyke like your sister?’” She stops talking, leaning in to hug me. We sit there for a minute, just sitting on Chloe’s bed hugging, both of us sobbing.
“Sammy, I didn’t know what to do or say. I was frozen, no sarcastic comeback, no angry outburst, I couldn’t even ask her what she meant. I didn’t need to, though, I knew what had happened. So I ran upstairs and started packing a bag. Mom came up a few minutes later and told me to get out of the house. I probably forgot a lot of things, because the second she said that, I ran out of the house. I wish I had gotten to say goodbye to dad,” she finishes, her voice breaking slightly.
“You know he didn’t want us there either, right? If he was ok with us he wouldn’t have let us leave the house,” I tell her gently. I feel cruel saying that to her when she’s so upset, but I didn’t want her getting any false hopes that we’d be going back there.
She nods. “I know, but it just seems like he cared just a little less. Like maybe if mom hadn’t been there he would have listened, maybe one day been able to understand. I know it’s dumb,” she concedes.
“Actually, I know what you mean. When mom freaked out, he kinda just stood quietly in the back. He clearly wasn’t happy, but I don’t think he wanted me to leave. It doesn’t matter though, he would never go against mom,” I explain.
Bree nods again, going quiet. She fiddle with the hair tie on her wrist some more, before finally asking. “So what now? I don’t know if I could stand living with some stranger ‘till I’m eighteen. I just can’t. And what if we end up in the system and we get separated?” She gets increasingly frantic as she talks, to the point she jumps up out of the bed. I notice she’s showing most of the signs of a panic attack - ragged breathing, panicked voice, unsteadiness, and inability to sit still. Sure enough, she immediately starts pacing. I leap up, putting my hands on her shoulders.
“Hey, hey,” I snap, not in an insensitive way, simply a ‘you need to pay attention to me’ way. “Look at me. You’re going to be ok. I’m going to be ok. We’re going to be ok. I don’t know how yet, but we will. For now, we’re going to stay with Mrs. K until we figure out something else. She’s going to take care of us. Nothing bad is going to happen.” I don’t know why, but when I said that last part, I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. I meant what I said, but it’s like deep down I know it’s a lie. However, it serves it’s purpose, because Bree nods, eyes still wide, and starts taking deep breaths. I hug her again, and this time we stay like that until Bree’s breaths are completely steady.
Then, we go over to the guest room so Bree can change and go to sleep. It’s not that late yet, but with everything that’s happened I know she needs to get some sleep. I insist that she’s skipping softball tomorrow, and she concedes without a fight.
After she gets her pajamas on I remember she still hasn’t eaten dinner. But when I ask her about it she just shrugs and says she doesn’t want anything. Shrugging, I say that’s fine as long as she eats in the morning. She nods noncommittally.
By the time she’s in bed and I’m sure she’s asleep, it’s after 10. We spent most of that time talking, me reassuring her it would be ok and her asking questions about everything that happened. At this point by back is killing me, and it’s getting difficult to breathe. I rush back into Chloe’s room, not wanting to disturb Bree. I tear my hoodie off as quickly as I can, followed by my shirt. Taking a deep breath, I begin to pull the binder over my head. It’s a lot harder than you would expect to bind, and taking them off is torture. They cling so tightly to your skin you have to pull hard to take them off; but they’ll rip if you pull too hard.
Plus, since I was biking earlier, I started sweating, and so of course my skin is kind of sticky now, so it’s even harder to get the binder off. Nevertheless, I manage, like I do everyday. I throw on some pajamas (an oversized shirt and a pair of boxers), and head downstairs.
Mrs. K looks surprised to see me. “Oh, hello,” she says. “I didn’t expect you to still be awake.”
I shrug. “I figured you’d want to hear what happened before I went to bed,” I explain. She nods.
“If you don’t mind,” she says cautiously.  It's clear she’s trying not be insensitive, so I try to be equally polite.
“Of course not, you're helping us so much the least we can do is explain. Bree’s a bit emotional right now so she went to bed already, but she’s ok with me telling you,” I explain.
She hesitates for a moment, then gestures towards the couch. “Ok then, let’s sit down.” I nod, and we sit. I immediately launch into the story. I thought it would be harder for me to talk about everything, since I was so nervous the first time, but now I just want her to know and understand.
Through my whole explanation, she sat there quietly, nodding along, her facial expression gradually growing more horrified. I decide not to mention that Bree’s acting strangely, figuring I’ll only talk to her about it if it gets worse.
“So yeah, that’s what happened,” I finish with a sigh. I feel almost relieved, like now I don’t have to bear the whole thing alone. I know I would have had Bree with me no matter what, but she’s still so young and dealing with so much, I don’t want to burden her and act worried.
“I’m  glad you told me. I still can’t believe any parent would do that to their child. Especially Bree, I mean for god's sake, she only 13. Just know, and make sure Bree knows too, you’re welcome here as long as you need.”
I nod. “Thank you, we really appreciate that. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go to bed now, it’s been a long day,” I tell. In all honesty, I’m not that tired,I just need to think in silence for while.
She agrees, saying I need to get some rest, and I head upstairs. It takes me about ten  minutes to finish getting ready for bed. I have to take out my contacts and brush my teeth. Once I’m done I quietly sneak back into the guest room without waking Bree. Luckily, she isn’t taking up the whole bed like she usually does, she’s sleeping curled up into a ball in the corner of the bed.
I slip into the bed and pick up the book I left on dresser next the bed. I turn on the little bedside lamp so I can read.
After about twenty minutes, I finally feel like I can fall asleep, so I bookmark my place, turn off the light, and slide under the covers.
I stay still for about 5 minutes, and right as I’m on the edge of consciousness, Bree speaks quietly.
“Sammy, are you awake?” she asks. Her voice is scared and young, as if she seven years old again.
“Yeah, I’m awake. What’s up?” I ask gently.
“Are we going to be ok?” she asks, sounding so vulnerable I nearly start crying. I pause for a minute, knowing that right now, I can’t lie to her. Even if I wanted to, my voice would probably break.
“I hope so, Bree. I really do.”

The next morning I get up and go to school like any other day. I’m careful not to wake Bree up as I get ready, opting instead to change in the bathroom. Chloe, Mrs. K, and I eat breakfast in silence, nobody knowing what to say. Chloe and I ride to school together, and she asks me what I’m going to tell Tiana. I just shrug, not knowing. I know I’m going to tell her, I just haven’t figured what yet.
When we get to school, I go straight to my locker, hoping to avoid talking to people. I semi-succeed - nobody approached me, but I see the pity gazes of people who heard what happened, and I heard one or two people whisper to their friends “Did you hear what happened to them?”
While I don’t appreciate being gossiped about, and I could feel my head bowing lower everytime I walked by a group of kids, I do have to admit they weren’t being rude. Nobody was calling out slurs or anything, and most of the people whispering about me used they/them pronouns.
Unfortunately, when I reached my locker, Tiana and Ethan were already standing by it. I was worried that Ethan had told Tiana, but I could tell by the look on her face she still thought yesterday went well. Ethan’s was standing with a grim expression on his face, and I know he wants to question me and tell Tiana, but is trying to respect my wishes.
Tiana comes running towards me and wraps me in a hug. She kisses my cheek then pulls back, her hands still on my shoulder. She looks me in the eyes and says with pride, “I’m so glad it went well.”
I don’t know what to do. I just stand there for a moment and look back at Ethan, who raises his eyebrows at me, everything in his expression screaming, “TELL HER.”
I nod, taking a deep breath. “Um, Tiana… about that… I, um, I lied.” My voice is trembling as I say it, and I can barely get the words out. Her face falls, and I immediately feel guilty.
“What do you mean you lied?” she asks in a small voice.
“I’m sorry. My parents actually freaked out and kicked me out of the house. I spent the night at Chloe’s. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, I just wasn’t ready to talk about it,” I explain in a rush. Instead of stuttering, this time the words just kind of spill out, as if not thinking about what I’m going to say will make it easier.
For a moment it seems like she isn’t upset. Her voice still tiny, she says one word. “Bree?”
I shake my head. “She did too. She freaked out when she came home and I wasn’t there. We had to pick her up at the park.”
Her expression breaks, intense pity on her face. At first all I wanted was for her to do anything but pity me, until a second later when her face turns stone-cold. She whirls around to face Ethan.
“Did you know about this?!” she exclaims, just loud enough to turn some heads. Ethan just nods, trying to convey an apology to me, and Tiana, without words. Unfortunately it doesn’t work. “I can’t believe you kept this from me!” She shouts. “How could you go to him and not me?” She storms off, in the direction of first period.
I start to run off after her. “Tiana!” I yell. “I’ m so-” but Ethan grabs my arm, stopping me in my tracks.
“Let me talk to her, ok?” he asks. I nod, figuring she’d probably not want to talk to him either, but realizing I don’t think I can handle retelling my story again.
He goes running off, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sigh, and reach into my backpack, pulling out my headphones. I turn on Spotify, and press shuffle. The music shuts out all sound, and distracts me from thinking about what happened.
I wander around the school, waiting for the bell to ring, and the second it does, I walk to first period.
. . . . .
First period passes slowly. I can barely focus on what Mrs.Trace is saying, I’m too distracted by the cold look Tiana is giving me. Once or twice I see her face soften, and it looks like she’s about to say something, but she always returns to the cold glare.
In the middle of class, I realize something. Mrs. Trace is an ally, her son is transgender. That means she might know a way for me to handle this situation. I spend the rest of the class waiting anxiously for the bell so I can approach her.
Finally the bell rings, and I leap out of my seat. The rest of the class shuffles out slowly, while I walk to Mrs. Trace’s desk.
“Um… Can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask awkwardly. She immediately looks concerned.
“Of course, let me just tell the other students not to come in yet, ok?” She responds, her voice sweet and gentle. She hurries over to the door, and murmurs something to the first student she sees. He nods, and turns around to tell the rest of the kids. Satisfied, she hustles back to where I’m standing. “What’s wrong, dear?” She asks.
I take a deep breath. “Well, I don’t know if you heard about what happened yesterday…” I pause, and she interrupts.
“With Mrs. Reed? Yes I heard. It’s truly awful that she did that, and even more awful that she’s still allowed to work here. In fact, I’m speaking to the principal about getting her fired, don’t you worry. This school should be a safe space for every child. How did your parents take it?”  She questions.
“Actually, that’s why I’m here. They didn’t take it well. They kinda kicked me out of the house.” I pause for a moment, inhaling, trying to stop my eyes from watering. Mrs. Trace gasps, covering her mouth with her hand, but doesn’t say anything. “And, um, they kicked out my little sister too. I was just wondering if you knew what I should do now. If it were just me I’d figure it out on my own, but I need to take care of Bree.”
She shakes her head. “Sammy, I am so sorry you had to deal with that,” she says sincerely. Her face turns thoughtful, and she’s silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, but I can’t think of anything you can do. Do you have a place to stay? How about enough clothes? I could bring some old outfits of my son’s. I’ve been meaning to donate them anyway. I might even have some that will fit your sister, back from before Dan transitioned.”
I smile. “Thank you, we’d really appreciate that. Yeah, we have a place to stay, but we didn’t get to bring much stuff. Plus, most of my clothes at home are pretty feminine, so anything you could give would be so helpful.” I feel kind of bad asking for things from her, but Bree and I are in a pretty desperate situation.
She nods, “Of course, I’ll bring some in tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I should get to class now.” I groan internally as I say this, because leaving this classroom means I have to go to Mrs. Reed’s class, which I am incredibly opposed to doing, for obvious reasons.
Mrs. Trace gives me a pitying gaze. “Are you sure you can handle Mrs. Reed? I could write you a note and have you stay in this class until third period,” she suggests.
I seriously consider it, and it probably would have been a very good idea, but nevertheless, I shake my head. “No thank you, I’ll be ok.”
“Alright dear, head to class then,” she concedes. I nod and rush out of the room, hurrying to Mrs. Reed's class.
As I walk in the door, I feel all eyes on me. I keep my head down, eyes trained on the ground. Taking my seat, I don’t even look at Mrs. Reed. Tiana’s sitting in the chair next to me, and at first I think she’s still mad at me, but after a moment she takes my hand and whispers. “I’m sorry.”
It’s not much, but I can hear the sincerity in her voice. I look up at her and smile. She looks relieved, as if she didn’t expect me to forgive her.
“I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. I get you were still overwhelmed, I was just being a b****,” she giggles.
“It’s ok, I shouldn’t have lied to you in the first place,” I respond. By this point the bell has rung and Mrs. Reed started talking, but we didn’t notice until she called us out for it.
“Excuse me ladies, am I interrupting your conversation?” She asks, putting emphasis on the word ladies.
We shake our heads and murmur an apology. She scoffs and goes back to teaching. I don’t retain a single word she says all class.
. . . . .
Bree
Bree wakes up a few hours after Sammy left for school, sometime around 11:30. She glances at the alarm clock at the side of her bed, and mild surprise registers, but for some reason she can’t bring herself to care. Normally she loves getting up early, sometimes she’ll even go on a run in the morning, but today she doesn’t even want to walk downstairs to get breakfast.
Instead she lies in bed, reflecting on the night before. She felt a little better after telling Sammy what happened, but she didn’t really go into detail about what her parents had said to her. In truth, they were a lot harsher than she had told Sammy. They yelled for at least 15 minutes, calling her a dyke and a fag. It’s like they were in too much shock to say everything they had wanted to say to Sammy, but once Bree came home, they knew what they wanted to say.
Around 11:45 Bree’s phone dings. She glances towards it but doesn't bother to go get it off the floor where it was charging. But then it went off again, and again. Finally, with a huff, she climbs out of the bed and picks it up. It’s just Sammy, like she expected
“You awake?”
“You ok?”
“Helloooo?”
Bree sighs. She knows Sammy just worried about her, but she can’t help but wish they’d back off a little. They’ve always been so concerned about everything that Bree does, it gets a bit smothering. However,in all honesty, there have been times when Bree wished Sammy paid a little more attention, like when she spent nearly 2 months barely eating. Nobody in the family noticed that she was nearly starving herself, which made her think she was even less important to them then she already thought. The only reason she stopped was the girls at school noticed she was getting too skinny, and she always either gave away her lunch or threw it away. They made her eat something every time they had a chance, no matter how much Bree fought them.
That was before she had come out at school though; and while there was only one or two very negative reactions, she can still feel a difference in how everyone looks at her. The other girls seem almost uncomfortable around her, as if Bree sitting next to a girl or giving her friend a hug somehow meant she’s hitting on them.
The guys still call her a dyke at least daily, even though she’s pretty far from the “stereotypical queer girl.” She’s always liked dresses and skirts, even if  they’re not a part of her daily attire, and she’s never even considered cutting her hair shorter then her shoulder. Lately she’s been trying to overcompensate when other girls talk about guys, always stating how cute she thought this boy was, and how nice that new haircut looks on him. God forbid they find out about Riley. Bree hasn’t decided if that would help, or make things worse. On the one hand, her dating someone would probably make everyone be less worried she was hitting on them. On the other, her dating someone other than a guy would just reinforce the fact that she’s not straight in everyone’s mind.
After staring at her phone for a moment or two, trying to figure out whether or not Sammy would try and start a conversation if she responded. Hoping they’re in class and just had a moment to spare, she types out.
“Yeah, just woke up. I’m great, thx”
Hoping it doesn’t sound to fake, she sends the text, then forces herself to go downstairs and get something to eat, no matter how much she doesn’t want to, she refuses to slip back into that bout of anorexia again. This time there wouldn’t be anyone to pull her out of it.
Luckily, Mrs. K is out, probably at work, so Bree has the house to herself. Still fairly uncomfortable in it, she decides to be careful not to make a mess and clean up the dishes and stuff after she’s done eating. She turns on Spotify and plays some upbeat music, hoping it will make her feel a little better. She pours herself a bowl of cereal and sits down at the table.
After eating about half the bowl, she begins to feel sick, as if her stomach is fighting against her trying to be normal. She tries to ignore it, but soon has to put the bowl down, unable to finish it. She sighs, feeling hopeless. If she can’t even do a simple task like eat breakfast, how is she supposed to live?
Determined to at least clean up after herself, she brings the bowl to the sink at starts to wash it out. She starts scrubbing the extra cereal out of the bowl, and keeps going for much longer than necessary. She completely forgets what she’s doing, and her hands are just moving on autopilot; not even realizing until the bowl bangs against the edge of the sink, knocking her out of her trance.
She stares down at her hands for a minute then starts sobbing. She doesn’t know why, nothing traumatic happened but for some reason she just can’t stop. Still crying, she places the bowl into the dishwasher, grabs her phone, then runs back upstairs and lays back onto the bed, her arms wrapped around a pillow.
As she’s lying there trying to regain control, her phone dings again. It’s Sammy, obviously, and they seem to be in a great mood. Either that or they’re overcompensating for something.
“That’s great! What’re you up to?”
This time Bree just ignores the message. She can make up some lie later when Sammy why she didn’t respond. She could claim she was showering, or outside, or something. It doesn’t really matter to her, as long as she doesn’t have to talk to anyone for the time being.
Continuing her deep breaths, Bree’s mind starts thinking about her attitude. She started realizing she was different from everyone else years ago, not just because of her sexuality, but because she just couldn’t see the world in the same light as all her friends. Everytime something bad happened to a friend, they would giggle and brush it off. Bree couldn’t do that (she certainly acted like she could, but it’s just an act), everything bad added up and overwhelmed her. She could spend days reliving the dumbest things, like when she dropped her pencil in class and had to ask the teacher for a new one because the lead broke.
To a normal person that would have been nothing, maybe a little embarrassing, but no big deal. To Bree, it was another thing she couldn’t do right.
Of course, no one would ever knew how hard it is for her to laugh things off. Instead, she smiled at everything, and acted as though her confidence level was through the roof. She’s had people tell her they wished they could love themselves as much she did. When that happens, she just smiles and thanks them, figuring if she tried to correct them people would just get worried. Until now, she figured there was no reason to worry; after all, she probably was just a pessimist, right?
But now, as she lays on her bed crying because she couldn’t finish her breakfast, she realizes they probably should be worried. The urge to do something was stronger than ever. Trying to relieve the internal pain, she starts scratching her wrist. Nothing bad, just absent minded movement to distract her.
Until she keeps doing it, past the point anyone else would. Her wrist is turning bright red, and she realizes she should stop, but she doesn’t want to. All the anger and grief she’s been building up at her parent’s, at society, at herself; this pauses that. In this moment all she feels is the movement of her arm and the sensation on her wrist. It doesn’t hurt, not exactly, more of a stinging feeling.
Bree goes on for minutes like that, until feels something wet, snapping her out of the trance she had been in. She looks down, realizing she was bleeding.
“Dammit!” she mutters, reluctantly getting up to go to the bathroom. She could cover up emotions, but how could she explain scratches all up her arm? This is sure to leave a mark, and a noticeable one at that. She searches the bathroom for a washcloth, something she could wash the bloodstains off of. Finally she finds one. Getting it damp first, she lays it gently against her arm, moving it carefully up and down, trying to staunch the bleeding. Luckily, it stops pretty quickly, so she rinses off the washcloth until it looks like nothing happened, then goes back into the room and changes into real clothes, making sure to wear a long sleeve shirt.
It’s weird, because the only thing she’s upset about is possibly getting caught. And even that doesn’t really matter, it’s just a mild concern.
She sighs. What is wrong with me? 
The rest of the day is spent lying in bed, sometimes sleeping, sometimes watching Youtube, sometimes just sitting there thinking.
At one point, Riley texts, and while Bree attempts to hold a conversation with her, and seem happy, she just can’t. Talking to Riley reminds her of why her family hates her now, and reminds her of why she hated herself for so long.
Sammy never realized how much trouble Bree had with coming to terms with her identity. For Sammy, realizing who they were was natural, and once they figured it out, everything felt right, For Bree, when she realized she liked girls, boys, and everything in between, it was hard. It didn’t feel like her, it felt wrong.
Bree may never have been the perfect daughter, but she was a good kid, and she didn’t do much that was completely against her parents wishes. Even though she knows it’s not something she can control, it doesn’t seem to matter. All she can see is that her parents now hate her for who she is.
The kids at school didn’t help either. Sammy always told Bree how almost everyone at their school is accepting and opinions of them didn’t change. You’d think since they go to school in the same town, how people see the LGBT community wouldn’t be very different school to school, but it is. Not everyone was awful, of course, but a lot of kids refuse to talk to her now, or call her a dyke and a freak.
It was difficult, but she always survived, no matter how much she wished she didn’t. Now though, it just seems so much easier for it all to be over.

Days turn into weeks at Mrs. K’s house, and to me, it starts to feel like we’re home. I can tell Bree doesn’t feel the same. She begins to be more comfortable in it, but she still spends almost all of her time in our room. She hasn’t even been to softball since we left home. I’m worried about her, but I don’t really know what to do except try to make her happy.
I’m always asking Mrs. K if there’s anything I could do to help, since I don’t want to seem like we’ve just taken over the house. She says that it's fine, that we’re guests and don’t have to worry about it, but I still do Bree’s laundry and my own, as well as most of the dishes.
One day, Bree and I were at the store getting Mrs. K some things for dinner, and we see mom. She doesn’t notice us, or maybe she did and didn’t say anything, but I pull Bree to the other side of the store and try to finish the trip as quickly as possible.
Seeing mom upsets Bree a lot; she doesn’t say anything, but she spends the rest of the day in her room not eating or talking to us.
Nevertheless, I think we’re finally safe, and maybe even happy. 
. . . . .
That is, until I come home from school one day. I walk in with Chloe, like usual and call out to Bree, letting her know we’re back, but she doesn’t answer. Chloe and I shoot each other a confused look.
“I’ll go check on her, she’s probably just watching Youtube,” I suggest casually. It’s not really a big deal that she didn’t answer, but usually she does.
She shrugs. “Alright, I’m gonna go make a sandwich, I’m starving,” she says, throwing her backpack on the couch.
“Maybe if you remembered your lunch you wouldn’t be so hungry,” I joke, laughing.
“Yeah yeah, just go find your sister. Oh, and ask if she wants a sandwich,” she orders, sarcastic as always
“‘Kay,” I laugh running up the stairs. The door to our room is closed, which is strange, but I didn’t really notice. Still laughing, I swing around the doorframe, peering into the room.
“Hey Bree, I’m- Oh my god, oh my god! Chloe!” I scream in shock.
Bree is lying on the bed, unconscious. Her phones on the floor next to the bed, and there’s an empty pill bottle next to it.
“What’s wrong!” She yells back. I don’t even respond, and I soon hear her running up the stairs. Not even waiting for her to get in I grab my phone out of my pocket and dial 911. While I’m waiting for them to answer. Chloe sprints into the room.
She immediately screams, deafeningly. “What happened!” she shouts. “Call 911!”
“I am! Shh!”I yell. Finally a person picks up the phone.
“911 operator, what is your emergency?” A lady answers calmly.
“I need help. My sister, I think she overdosed. She’s unconscious.” I respond, trying not to yell into the phone. My voice sounds panicky, but I’m sure she’s used to that. Chloe’s eyes widen as I explain what happened, and she mouths, ‘Oh my god!’
“Alright ma’am-” I cringe slightly at this, but I have bigger problems right now. “We’ll send an ambulance over. What is your address?”
“ 3456 Clearwood Lane” I tell her, shooting a quick glance at Chloe to make sure I’m right. She nods.
“Ok thank you. The ambulance will arrive in 10-15 minutes. In the meantime, make sure she keeps breathing and turn her on her side to make it easier to breathe.
“I will. Um… We’re upstairs, do I bring her downstairs for the ambulance?” I asked, worrying about how Chloe and I would carry her all the way downstairs.
“No ma'am, the emergency responders will carry her down. It’s not safe for you to move her right now.” She responds.
“Thank you,” I say, then hang up.
Chloe looks at me expectantly. “The ambulance will be here in about 10 minutes. We shouldn’t take her downstairs and we need to turn her on her side.”
She nods, and we pull Bree up to the front of the bed and rotate her on her side. I’m trying to be careful, but my hands are shaking so bad that it’s hard. Chloe begins to look concerned for not only Bree but for me too.
“Hey, it’s ok,” she says soothingly. “She’s going to be ok. Take a deep breath, try and calm down. Having a panic attack isn’t going to help her.”
“I know,” I say, my eyes beginning to water. “I just don’t understand why she’d do this. She’s so young,” I  cry.
She hugs me. “I know, I know,” she comforts. “She’s had a hard life, she just couldn’t handle it anymore, I guess.” She’s trying to help, but it just makes me even sadder.
“I was supposed to protect her though, how could I not notice she was so sad?” I ask. I mean, I knew she was sad, but I never imagined she would do anything like this.
“I don’t know. Maybe-” she begins, but is cut off my the sound of sirens. They begin to grow louder, and Chloe and I jump to our feet. I hesitate to leave the room, and she notices. “Why don’t you stay here with her, I’ll open the door for them.” I nod thankfully. I can’t bear the thought of leaving Bree’s side, even for a moment.
Minutes later two men come running in the room. I jump to my feet, giving them room to deal with her. One of them picks her up gently, cradling her in his arms like a child, while the other turns to me.
“How long has she been like this?” he asks. His voice is kind, but it doesn’t comfort me, even though I can tell he’s trying to.  He’s surprisingly young, unlike the one carrying Bree, who looks like he’s in his late 40’s or so. Still not old, but the guy talking to me couldn’t be older than 28. It surprises me for some reason, I guess I’m not used to someone so young having such an important job.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly, holding back my tears while there are other people around. “Chloe and I just got back about 15 minutes ago, and we called 911 right after. I have no idea when she took the pills.” I reach down and pick up the bottle and her phone. “Here’s the bottle though,” I tell him, handing it over. I don’t even look at it, not wanting to know what she used.
“Thank you,” he says, and the two of them run back down the stairs. I follow them out, and find Chloe still at the door, looking shell-shocked, as if the reality of the situation just kicked in now that EMTs are here.
As they run out to the yard, I call out to them. “Wait! Are we allowed in the ambulance? We don’t have any other way to get to the hospital.” I plead. I’m not sure why I’m so concerned I can’t come, family’s allowed, right? I suppose I’m more worried about Chloe than myself.’
The one carrying Bree continues into the ambulance, placing Bree on a stretcher and hooking her up to machines, but the other stops. “You’re her sisters, right?” He asks. I grimace, but nod. Chloe shoots me puzzled look, but I silence her, raising my eyebrows to try and convey she needs to lie.
“Well then yes, hurry on in,” he responds. We scurry to the vehicle, Chloe pausing for a moment to lock the door, then running after me.
As soon as we’re all in the ambulance and have closed the doors, it takes off, accelerating quickly and leveling off somewhere around 50. The sirens have returned, giving me a headache and increasing my panic level.
Chloe and I are sitting on the opposite side of the vehicle from Bree, trying to ignore the EMTs speaking and adjusting machines. I know I should be listening intently, trying to make sure she’s ok, but I just can’t bring myself to
After a few minutes of driving, Chloe suddenly gasps. “Omg! I need to call my mom!” she exclaims, pulling her phone out of her pocket.
“Oh god, yeah. I totally forgot about that. What’re you going to say?” I inquire.
She shrugs, punching numbers into her phone. “I don’t know, I’ll figure it out. Should I put it on speaker?” 
“That’s a good idea,” I say hesitantly, with a glance towards the two men in the back. They don’t even look up.
She nods. “K” she says, pressing call. It rings for a few seconds, then clicks, indicating Mrs. K picked up.
“Hi, dear,” she says. “I’m at work, what’s up.”
Chloe stutters, unsure of herself for the first time. “Um, well, we have a bit of a problem,” she begins, but Mrs. K cuts her off.
“Is that sirens I hear? What’s going on. Are you two ok?” She interrogates, shooting rapid questions one after another.
“Well, that’s actually why I’m calling. We, uh, we’re kinda in an ambulance right now.” She stutters.
“WHAT! Why!” She yells.
Chloe looks nervous, and doesn’t say anything for a moment. I take a breath to make sure I have my composure, then take the phone out of her hand. “Hi Mrs. K,” I begin. “I think Bree tried to overdose. We came home and she was unconscious on the bed with an empty pill bottle next to her. We’re on our way to the hospital now.” I’m shocked at how calm my voice is, because I certainly don’t feel that calm.
“Oh my god!” she exclaims, her reaction similar to Chloe’s. “Is she going to be ok? Where are you now? I’ll be there in under an hour, I just need to wrap this up at work.”
“We don’t know if she’s going to be ok yet, we haven’t talked to anyone. We’re approaching the hospital now. Oh, and it’s ok, get here as soon as you can, but don’t rush, we’re handling it.
I hear her crying now, and I feel awful we’ve caused her this pain. “You all are so brave,” she sobs.
I’m getting a bit uncomfortable now, so I try to figure out a way to end the call. “We’re pulling into the hospital now, I have to go. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, dear. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she says, and I hang up the phone. Chloe takes it back from me, and I notice she’s crying again too. This time I’m the one who needs to comfort her, instead of the other way around.
I put my arm her, pulling her closer to me. “Hey,”  I murmur. “We’re going to be ok. She’s going to be ok.” I hope I sound confident, because inside I’m not even remotely sure. I’m praying we’re all going to come out of this ok, but my anxiety is trying to take control of the situation, leaving me incredibly unsure.
She nods, still sniffling. “I know. It’s just… over the last few weeks I started to see you guys as my sibling, you know. Really a part of my family. Seeing her like this is like seeing my sister hurt,” she explains.
I chuckle. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” She looks up, her eyes widening.
“Oh my god, that was so insensitive of me. I’m sorry,” she apologizes.
I brush it off, waving my hand a little. “It’s fine. I know what you mean, I see you as a sister too. It means a lot to me - and to Bree too - how much you and your mom have done for us. I don’t know where we’d be without you right now,” I tell her, my words heartfelt and genuine. Words can’t explain how grateful I am for them. Even though we’re still in this situation, even though Bree was so unhappy, I’m still grateful to them. If it weren’t for them, we would have been on the streets, and who knows what would have happened to Bree if we were.
The older paramedic walks over, tapping me on the shoulder. “Not to interrupt anything, but we’re at the hospital, I need you two to move to the side of car so we can take her out. Go to the front desk, she’ll explain what to do,” he says.
“Oh of course, thank you,” I respond, pulling Chloe to the side. Seconds later, they’re rushing her out of the ambulance into the hospital itself, and they disappear around a corner.
Chloe and I walk to the front desk and introduce ourselves, explaining what happened. The receptionist give me a sympathetic look, which quickly shifts to a confused one.
“Wait, do you have a parent here?” she asks.
“No,” Chloe answers. “My mom’s at work, she can’t be here for about another hour.”
“And you dear?” she asks, turning towards me. I shift uncomfortably, trying to decide if we should carry on the ‘we’re siblings’ act, but I have a feeling she’d see right through it.
“Um…” I stutter, not knowing what to say. Chloe looks at me pityingly, then leans in close to my ear.
“I know you don’t want to talk to them, but don’t you think you should at least tell your parents? Just so they know,” she suggests hesitantly, as though by mentioning my parents she might set off a bomb.
I nod. “You’re right.” I pull out my phone and go to contacts. My finger hovers over dad’s number for a minute, and eventually I jerk it to the side, clicking text instead.
I pause, not knowing what to say. It’s been weeks since I’ve talked to my parents, if either of them cared they would have called or texted or something. Anything to show they still wanted me in their lives. Mrs. K offered to talk to talk to them for us, let them know we were safe, but we declined, saying that if they cared whether or not we were on the streets, they wouldn’t have kicked us out in the first place, and if they didn’t, they don’t deserve to know.
Nevertheless, I feel a need to let them know what’s happening. Even if they don’t do anything, they deserve to live with the guilt of knowing what they caused their daughter to do. So I type out a message.
Hi dad. I know you’re upset with us, and you probably hate us, but Bree’s in the hospital. She overdosed; tried to kill herself. If you care at all, please do something, I don’t know what to do.
I hit send before I can even think about the message. Then, without being completely aware of what I’m writing, I continue.
Oh, and if you care at all, we’ve been staying with Mrs. K and Chloe. You remember them, right? They’ve been so accepting, they treat us like their own. So much more than you ever tried to do.
I don’t know what I was thinking sending that, but I needed to say it. I needed him to know the pain he caused us, but know we weren’t on the streets, helpless and alone.
I show the message to Chloe, and she puts her arm around me, looking sympathetic. “Good job,” she murmurs. “That couldn’t have been easy.”
I smile at her, then look back up at the receptionist, who’s looking pretty confused. “So what do we do now?” I ask, ignoring her confusion.
She shakes her head, snapping herself back into the scenario. “Well, your sister’s going to be taken care of, we’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as I get news. There isn’t much you can do without and adult, but there is a form or two you’ll probably be able to fill out. Would you like to take it?” She asks, reaching down for the form before I can even answer.
“Sure,” I say, taking the clipboard out of her hands.
“Lovely, there’s seat right over there,” she tells me.
We walk over and sit down, and I begin filling out the forms. I don’t know everything on it, but most of it’s pretty simple, like if she has any allergies (yes, peanuts and penicillin), last visit to the doctor (April 22), and if she takes any medications (no). Some are slightly more difficult to answer, such as whether or not she’s had a history of depression, if she’s ever been bullied, and how long she’s been having suicidal thoughts.
I don’t answer the second two, but check yes for history of depression. I realize as I’m reading the form how little I know about her life. We talk all the time, but we never really go into detail about her life, or her feelings. It’s mostly about me, or our parents, or things we do together. If we ever talk about school, it’s always about her teachers or classwork, not friends. I think back on her behavior over the last few weeks, and even throughout the last year. I suddenly become aware of all the times she’s shut down in the middle of a conversation, and all the things we’ve neglected to talk about, and how much more I could have done if I had just listened.
Why didn’t I listen?
. . . . .
We sit there in silence, crying on and off, waiting for someone to come out and tell us what to do. I’ve never felt so helpless, not when I was trying to figure out my gender, not when I spent hours crying in my room, not when people yelled at me and misgendered me and told me I was invalid. I’ve never felt as helpless as I do now, sitting in the hospital waiting room waiting for somebody to tell me if my baby sisters alive.
It’s been half an hour, and I figured my dad either ignored the text or blocked my number or something, when suddenly, as I look out the glass doors leading to the outdoors, I see him. He’s walking up the ramp to the entrance. His face is a mixture of so many emotions I don’t know what he’s going to say when he walks in. I see anger, I see pain, I see regret, and sorrow, and guilt.
I know my face is showing emotions too. Confusion, hope, longing, sadness, terror. I know Chloe hears me gasp, because she looks out the door, and immediately gets up, standing in front of me protectively, like a mother dog to her pup. I stand up too, standing just behind her.
He enters, then peers around the room, looking for me. When his eyes finally land on Chloe and I, they light up for a moment. He jogs towards me, looking hopeful, but stops short a few feet in front of us when he sees the steel in Chloe’s eyes, and the fear in mine.
His face falls, all emotions other than regret gone from his expression. He no longer looks scary and powerful like he did the last night I saw him. He now looks young and confused, as helpless as I am.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he says, his voice genuine and small. “I should never have let you leave.”
I know he’s doing his best, and I want to forgive him, but it’s not that easy. All the anger I’ve pent up for him and mom is bubbling inside me, and I snap.
“HOW DARE YOU!” I yell. “How can you claim you’re sorry when you did it twice! If you really regretted kicking me out you would never have let Bree leave! You would’ve called, or texted, or done something to make sure we were ok! For God’s sake, we could have been on the streets! We could have been dead! You didn’t even try to find out! You didn’t even care enough to text me saying you were sorry! You didn’t even care enough to tell your 13 year old daughter that you don’t hate her! This is your fault! It’s your fault we’re standing in the hospital not knowing if Bree is alive!” My voice cracks, and I start sobbing. “How could you have not even cared?” I ask, my voice as small as a child’s.
He’s stunned into silence, and I’m shocked to see he’s crying too. Chloe wraps her arm around me protectively, and her being there helps a little.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was just so filled with confusion, and disgust, and anger I didn’t know what to do. Every time I tried to rationalize the situation, your mom told me I was right to be angry, and we made the right decision, and I just couldn’t think for myself. You have every right to hate me, I would hate me too. But I’m here now, and I’m sorry. I need to know that she’s ok.”
The sorrow in his voice nearly breaks me, and I want to forgive him so bad, but just thinking about Bree, alone in her room, so full of self-loathing she swallowed pills.
“Well she’s not ok. Even if she does recover, she’s not ok. She’s fill with hatred, and sadness. She’s depressed and thinks the world hates her. She thinks she doesn’t deserve to be alive because that’s what the world made her feel. That’s what you made her feel,” I tell him.
“Callie-,” he begins, his voice full of sadness, but I cut him off.
“It’s Sammy,” I say, my voice hard as ice.
He nods. “Right, Sammy.” He nearly chokes on the word, but the fact that he said it at all means a lot. Maybe he really is sorry. Maybe I need to give him another chance. “Sammy, I know I’ve been an awful father to both of you. I can’t excuse what I did, but can I at least have a chance to make it up to you. Can I have one more chance to be a father? I promise I will do my best to accept you and Bree for who you are.  Please,” he begs.
My guard is still up, but I’m beginning to forgive him. Wiping my eyes, I stare coldly at him, not wanting him to think he’s completely in the clear. “Tell you what. If Bree makes it out of this, if she’s alive, I’ll give you another chance, if she does. If she dies in there, I never want to see you again. Ok?” I explain, fighting to keep my voice steady and calm.
He nods. “Thank you. Now what can I do?” he asks.
I gesture towards the receptionist. “Figure out what's going on. Fill out the forms she tells you to fill out. Pay for whatever it costs to make Bree better,” I command, my voice still harsh. I meant what I said about Bree dying.
“I will,”  he promises, his voice earnest. He begins to walk to the desk, but I call out to stop him.
“Wait- one more thing. Where’s mom?” I ask. I know I didn’t text her, but I figured if dad came she probably would too.
He hesitates, looking unsure. “Um, she’s not coming. We got in a huge fight about coming here. She’s going to be staying with her parents across town for awhile,” he explains, then turns back to the receptionist.
Oh. So she knew, but she didn’t care. For every mistake dad’s made over the last few weeks, at least he came when I called. At least when he knew we were in trouble, he tried. At least now he’s trying, even though it goes against everything he’s ever known.
. . . . .
The next few hours are actual torture. Dad fills out the required forms and demands to speak to a doctor after about 30 minutes. Mrs. K shows up after an hour like she promised, and spends the first few minutes glaring silently at dad, but eventually they talk it out and she seems slightly less mad. Like me though, she hasn’t completely forgiven him. I suppose she’s seen Bree and I cry ourselves to sleep one too many times to let it go that quickly.
At around 7:00 a doctor finally comes out and sits down in front of us. His face isn’t grim, so my hopes immediately soar.
“She’s going to be fine,” he informs us. “She needed her stomach pumped and a few hours to clear out the drugs, but she’s mostly clean now. Family can come back and see her,” he says. Chloe and I hug, and I’m nearly crying tears of joy. Dad and Mrs. K look so relieved, and they both lean in for a hug. I pull back at dad’s embrace, not quite ready. He realizes, and pulls back too, muttering an apology.
Dad looks up at the doctor. “Sir, if it’s alright with you, I want these two to come back and see her too,” he says, gesturing to Chloe and her mom. “They’ve been more of a family to Bree then I have lately.” I smile at his concern, and he grins back.
The doctor hesitates, but eventually smiles. “Well, it’s not something we’d typically allow, but as long as you don’t mind, I think it will be ok.
He leads us to the back of the hospital, walking past room after room, and finally stops at one. It has a sign on the door with Bree’s name on it. He pauses before opening it. “She may still be asleep,” he says.
Chloe and Mrs. K walk in, but I hang back with dad. “If it’s ok,” I say. “I’d like to have a few minutes to talk to Bree before you come in. Just so she doesn’t get scared.” I feel bad saying it, but he can’t just show up without her knowing anything.
He nods sadly. “That’s fair. Go on in.”
So I do. Chloe and her mom are already sitting down on one side of Bree, leaving the other side open for me. I sit in the chair next to her bed and lay my hand on her shoulder. “Bree,” I murmur. “It’s Sammy.”
She doesn’t respond at first, but then she begins to stir. She tries to sit up, but I put a little pressure on her shoulder, trying to keep her laying down. “Hey, hey, it’s ok. Don’t move.”
She ignores me, pushing herself into a sitting position. “Sammy,” she cries. “I’m so sorry. I just- I just couldn’t- I just didn’t know what to do. I can’t do this anymore. With kids at school, and mom and dad, and myself, I can’t.”
She’s not quite crying, but she’s on the verge. Her voice is a whimper, and it breaks my heart how desperate she sounds. I don’t know what she means by kids at school, but I figure it’s another thing we never talked about. I figure addressing that would just upset her even more.
“About that Bree, dad’s here,” I tell her hesitantly.
Her eye’s widen, either in shock or fear I can’t tell. “What do you mean dad’s here?” she asks in a small voice. So, both shock and fear.
“When we got to the hospital I texted him telling him what happened,” I pause, seeing the betrayal on her face. “I’m sorry, I had to tell them, they deserved to at least be aware.” Too late, I realize the mistake in my explanation. I used the word they.
Sure enough, she picks up on it. “‘They’? You mean mom knows too? Is she here?” She looks almost excited, but like she doesn’t want to be.
I sigh, not wanting to let her down again. “No, it’s just dad, she refused to come. Do you want dad to come in?” I ask.
She sighs, letting out air like a deflating balloon. “I guess,” she mutters.  I hadn’t expected for her to want mom or dad here, let alone both of them, but now she seems disappointed that mom didn’t come.
“Alright,” I say cheerily, not wanting to let her see my concern. Right now, the last thing she needs is something else to be upset about. I stroll out of the room, trying to appear casual, as if nothing strange is going on. Dad’s waiting outside the room, staring down at his shoes. When he see’s me, his eyes immediately light up. I try to grin, but it probably looks more like a grimace.
“She wants to see you,” I tell him. “But please, be careful, she’s still really upset over everything. It seems like right now she regrets what she did, but I don’t want anything to send her back into the headspace she was in earlier.”
He nods. “Of course.” We walk into the room, plastering big smiles onto our faces. I think dad’s is genuine, but mine’s just for Bree’s sake.
“Hi Bree!” he exclaims softly. “How ya feeling?” Even though I know he’s just doing what I told him to do, I want to slap him for his cheeriness, as if everything that happened here wasn’t his fault. I don’t understand how he can just come in here with a sob story and a smile, acting as if he hasn’t hated us for the last few weeks. Bree’s attempt must really have been a wake-up call for him, because he’s acting like a totally different person.
Bree doesn’t seem mad though, or at least she doesn’t right now. She gives him a weak smile. “Eh,” she says. “Better, I guess.”
“Well that’s good!” He declares, pretending that wasn’t the most half-hearted statement he’s ever heard. “‘Cause I was just talking to the nurse, and they wanted to keep you overnight, but I talked them into letting you come home with me tonight.”
Wait what? He never talked to me about going home with him. I know I said I would give him another chance, but right now? I glance at Mrs. K, expecting her to look as outraged as I am, but she doesn’t. She looks perfectly calm, as if they had already talked about it. Now that I think about it, they probably have.
Chloe however, looks furious. I can tell nobody said anything to her about this. She looks like she wants to yell and ask questions, but she bites her tongue for the same reason I am. For Bree.
“W-with you?” Bree stutters. “B-but, I thought you d-didn’t want us anymore.” She looks crushed, even though he didn’t say anything negative, as if she’s reliving the night she was kicked out all over again.
His face falls, but only for a moment, and the smile returns, but it’s smaller this time, more gentle. “What I did, what I said… it’s awful. I can’t believe I let myself be so blinded to emotion as to lose you and Ca- I mean, Sammy,” he pauses, looking up at me. I smile encouragingly, happy he corrected himself. “I know you probably can’t forgive me after everything I did, but if you can try, I promise I’ll be more accepting. I can’t lose you,” he repeats, his voice full and genuine.
She hesitates, unsure, then looks up at me. My expression falters for a moment, and a try to cover it up with a smile, but it's too late, she saw. “Um, I don’t know. Can Sammy and I talk about it first?” She asks. “Oh, and I need to talk to Chloe and Mrs. K too,” she adds quickly. Chloe smiles, happy to finally be included in the conversation. For the millionth time, I feel bad for dragging her into my family’s situation, but she’s done nothing but be supportive, and I love her for that. It’s like I have another sister.
Dad looks disappointed at first, but his face quickly shifts to one of understanding. “Of course,” he says. “I get it’s a lot to handle. You’re not going to be released for a few more hours anyway. I’ll wait in the hallway ‘till you want me.”
“Thanks,” she murmurs as he leaves. As soon as the door closes, she looks at me. “Thanks for the warning. He wants us to live with him again?!”
I shrug. “Hey, you can’t blame me for that one,” I say, sounding semi-sarcastic. She looks confused, and I gesture towards Mrs. K. She blushes, looking guilty.
“Sorry, we talked about it earlier. He asked to be the one to say something, and I didn’t know how to tell you. But I promise, if you’re not ready, my home is open to you as long as you need. And even if you are ready, you can still come over anytime you need,” she says sincerely. I decide not to be mad she didn’t tell us earlier, and it’s clear Bree feels the same way.
“It’s ok,” Bree begins. “I just… I don’t know. What do you think, Sammy?” She asks. Her eyes are wide, and I see her again as just a child dealing with so many difficult things. No wonder it got this far.
I don’t say anything for a moment, trying to think. “Well,” I finally start. “It’s totally up to you. If you’re ready, so am I. If you’re not, that’s ok too. But I talked to him a lot in the last few hours, and I think he’s genuinely sorry. He still doesn’t understand, that’s for sure, but he’s trying. I think that’s what really matters.” I explain. I had been just saying it to comfort Bree, but as I talk I realize I believe it too.
She nods, trying to process everything I said. “Are you really ready to forgive him?” she asks. This time I barely take any time at all to respond.
“Yeah, I think I am.”
“Well then, I am too,” she responds. “Besides, I really missed him, even when I thought he hated us.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I say, but only for her sake. In all honesty, even though I occasionally wished mom and dad were there, anytime I really thought about it I just replayed the night I was kicked out over and over again in my mind, and then I wanted nothing to do with them again. Now that he’s here trying to be accepting it’s different, but for all those weeks all I had was them yelling at me, and it’s hard to miss that.
We talk a few more minutes, hug some (carefully so as not to mess with any wires she’s connected to), and talk with Mrs. K and Chloe about what’s going to happen now. We decide that Chloe, Bree, and I will go back to Mrs. K’s house in dad’s car to pick up all our stuff. Mrs. K will talk to dad while we pack, making sure he’s really going to do his best and try to help him understand a little bit more. She said she wants Chloe with us at first, just so we know we have a friend no matter what dad says, and she thinks hearing Chloe call me Sammy will help him adjust. Even though she claims to trust him, it’s clear she doesn’t completely.
About 15 minutes later I call dad back into the room and we explain everything to him. He seems ecstatic that we agreed to come home with him, and he’s completely understanding of the slight distrust we still have. He even offered to have Chloe stay the night, but we said that wasn’t necessary.
For the next hour or two we simply talk more. Dad has a lot of questions, so we try to answer them as patiently as we can. At around nine we get the all clear to take Bree home. WE all get into our cars, dad following behind Mrs. K so he doesn’t get lost.
We pack quickly, not talking much. Chloe helps out, handing us things we would have forgotten, and in no time we’re done and back downstairs with dad and Mrs. K. Chloe give me and me a big hug, not wanting to let go after a few seconds. “I’m going to miss having siblings,” she whispered. Then, to Bree. “I’m especially going to miss a baby sister.” Bree giggles, surprisingly not being offended at being called a baby.
Then it’s Mrs. K’s turn to hug us. “Remember,” she murmurs. “My home is always open, no matter what. Even if you’re dad is great, but you just need a break, just show up at my door, and you’re welcome for as long as you need.”
We thank her, then start to head out the door. Dad doesn’t follow immediately, instead turning to Mrs. K. “I just wanted to say thank you, for everything. You were a parent to them when I wasn’t, and I can never make that up to you,” he says.
Her eyes are cold when she responds. “I wasn’t doing it for you, I was doing it for the kids you abandoned,” she tells him harshly, but at seeing his face fall, she adds much more gently. “I’m sorry. It was no trouble, they’re great kids. Try and accept them.”
He nods. “Of course. I wish I had from the beginning.” At this, they shake hands and we walk out the door to go home. It’s so nice being able to say that again. Home.
 

It’s been six months since the night at the hospital, and everything is pretty much back to normal. Dad’s had a rough time with it, but he’s trying his best. He even agreed to have Tiana and Riley over for dinner a few times. He’s slipped up a lot, but for the most part he uses the correct pronouns and calls me Sammy. Plus, I’m allowed to shop wherever I want, girls section or boys.
We each have our own therapist now, which is kind of funny when you think about it. Dad doesn’t have a personal one, but the 3 of us go in for a family session once a week. That wasn’t our idea; actually, in all honesty I think we would have been ok on our own, but she’s probably helped a lot. It was Bree’s therapist’s idea. She said we need a place to talk about everything from family, to sexuality, to school life. Bree was the first one to get a therapist, since she was clearly dealing with depression. I just got started with mine, since I was on a waiting list for a while. She’s called a gender therapist; she helps me deal with dysphoria, anxiety, and unaccepting people. We’ve also talked some about getting me on testosterone, which is something I’ve been thinking about for while, but I’m still not 100% sure I want it. For right now though, I don’t really need to worry since I couldn't start until I’m 16 anyway.
As for mom, she still hasn’t reached out. I don’t think she ever will, to be honest. Her and dad aren’t legally divorced, but she started renting an apartment across town about 4 months ago. They never talk anymore. That’s ok with me, I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life, and neither does Bree. I can tell it takes a toll on dad though, having to do everything on his own, so Bree and I do most of the chores around the house, including making dinner. I even got a part-time job after school to help a little; I know all the therapy isn’t cheap, and we were on one income for a while. I don’t make much, it’s just a minimum wage job at publix, but it covers grocery and clothes shopping.
We switched Bree to a private school, one that’s much more accepting of different sexualities, and she’s much happier there. It also happens to be the school Riley goes to, which is a plus.
Mrs. Trace, Ethan, Tiana, and I teamed up to talk to the school administration to get Mrs. Reed fired, and after each of our individual accounts of how awful she is to the students, especially minorities, they agreed. She no longer works at our school, so my academic life is much easier now.
All in all, Bree and I have pretty good lives now. We still spend a lot of time at Chloe’s house, just because they still feel like family. I can’t say I forgive Mrs. Reed for what she did, she almost destroyed my family after all, but part of me is glad she did it. Even though mom isn’t around, and we all miss being a complete family, we’ve gained so much through everything that happened. We’re stronger now, closer, and much more understanding.
Everything worked out in the end.