Sam

Fun fact: Rose and I never had to come out to each other.

Crazy, right? Maybe not, if you're one of those people that believe twins have this deep, mutual understanding of each other that just can't be explained. Then I guess it makes sense.

I don't know if it's true or not- the whole mutual understanding thing- but I do know that we've always understood each other's gender. Even when we were toddlers. If you want evidence, just take a look at the video of mine and Rose's fourth birthday, one that everyone still watches and laughs at to this day.

That was the year our parents did a big old boy-and-girl party. They really went all out, with one half of the living room full of pink balloons and dolls and pretty princess dresses, while the other half had blue balloons and transformer trucks and legos. Way to be original, Mom and Dad.

The video captured the excitement of our four-year-old selves when we arrived downstairs and saw the decorated living room, and then proceeded to run to the sides opposite of what was expected.

It's always interesting to watch, because nobody seemed to care that little Samantha had run to play with the trucks. You can even hear our Aunt Rachel in the background go "She's gonna be tough, that girl!". But little Georgie goes for the barbies and everyone flips their shit.

Or at least Grandpa did.

"Get him away from there, Eli!" You can here him yell at Dad offscreen, and then the camera shakes as Dad tries to lead George to where his area was. The video cuts off when George starts to throw a tantrum, but you can still see me in the back at the end, happily discovering that the trucks turned into robots.

Mom and Dad like to play the video ever year on our birthday. The year we turned seven, I asked Dad what happened after the video ended.

"Well, we eventually had to let George play with the dolls, much to your grandfather's disapproval," Dad replied. "He just wouldn't stop crying. It wasn't a big deal though. Every boy goes through their phases."

I remember frowning at that because I knew it wasn't a phase, though I was still too young to understand or explain how I knew that. Both of us were.

Of course, the older we grew the more we understood, and just two years later came the day that George told me to start calling her Rose.

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I wake up at 3 a.m. on the morning of our fourteenth birthday to the sound of sobs coming from the bed next to mine. I'm not surprised. This has kind of been a birthday tradition for the past three years.

With a sigh, I climb out of bed and tip toe over to my sister's shaking form. I tap her on the shoulder. "Hey girl. What's up?" I whisper, even though I already know.

She doesn't turn around. Rose hates people seeing her cry, even me. "Just...nightmare," she breaths back.

I don't have to ask what it was about. "Rosie, we're only fourteen. That's not that old-"

"But one day it's going to happen," she says. "One day I'm going to wake up with a deep voice and hair everywhere and I won't be able to stop it. Neither of us can stop what's happening to us."

I cringe, selfishly thinking of my own misfortune. Girls mature faster than boys, unfortunately, and I was born a goddamn girl. I delayed buying my first bra for as long as I could, but could no longer go without one when I became a B cup.

I remember crying when I started my period in seventh grade, and how Rose held me and told me it was going to be alright, even knowing that her own dreaded puberty was awaiting her. And then there's the stupid "hourglass figure" that Mom keeps telling me I'll develop one day. Goddamn female bone structure. The thought of it almost makes me want to cry.

But I know better than to start voicing my own problems. That's not what Rose needs right now. "It's not going to happen all at once," I remind her. "These things take time. And you've always been a late bloomer."

"Thanks," Rose scoffs. At least I got her to laugh, a little.

I turn to go back to bed, but she stops me. "Sam, wait."

I pause and watch as she gets out of bed and softly shuts the door all the way. Then she turns on the lamp. "Can I do it one more time?"

I groan. "Rosie, we have school tomorrow. First day of high school, remember?" It used to be fun to have a birthday on the first day of school, but then it just got annoying.

"Pleeeease," she whines, batting her long eyelashes which are, in her opinion, her best feature.

I roll my eyes. "Fine," I concede. "But you better hurry up. You know I can't sleep with the lamp on." Then I pull my makeup kit out from under my bed and hand it to her.

Mom bought me makeup for Christmas last year, contrary to her belief that girls shouldn't wear any until they're sixteen. She said that she had decided I was mature enough, but I'm pretty sure she thought that it would convince me to act more "girly".

Nice try, Mom. In the eight months that I've had it, the only person that's worn it has been Rose in the dead of night.

Despite my usual preference of silence and darkness, I end up drifting back to sleep with the lamp still on and Rose softly humming Lady Gaga's "Born This Way" to herself as she applies the makeup in front of our mirror.

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As per usual on the morning of our birthday, Rose and I each have a present waiting by our places at the table.

"Happy birthday, you two," Mom says, coming out of the kitchen and wrapping us both in a hug. Then she steps back and observes us with a frown. "Don't you kids want to look nice on your first day of high school?"

We can't blame her for asking. I have on dark jeans, combat boots, and a black, oversized, Fall Out Boy themed t-shirt. My unfortunately long, brown hair is tied up in a bun. (Mom refuses to let me cut it).

Rose, meanwhile, is wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a red hoodie. Her shorter brown hair, which she is trying to discreetly grow out to resemble a pixie cut, is combed so that her bangs hang over her eyes.

"Nobody tries in high school, Mom," I answer. "It's embarrassing."

Mom just sighs. "If you say so. Now, open your presents! Your father and I thought hard about these this year."

Rose and I have to pretend to be excited. Mom and Dad like to use gift giving as a passive-aggressive way of telling us something, like the way Mom got me makeup for Christmas.

I take a bite of my pancakes before I pull the paper off the small box by my plate, hoping that chewing will keep me from having to fake a facial expression.

The white box is labeled with the logo of the downtown jewelry store. Yup, classic Mom and Dad.

"Open it!" Mom tells me, excitedly. I do and am not surprised to find a shiny silver necklace with a huge, jewel-studded charm shaped like a heart.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Mom says. "I saw it and immediately thought of you. You'll be the envy of every girl in your class!"

"Thanks Mom," I say, but she's still looking at me expectantly, so I reluctantly put it on.

Poor Rose seems to be having an even more difficult time than me, however.

"Wow, Mom. These are....these are great," she mutters, staring down at the brand new pair of khaki shorts and three young men's t-shirts.

"Well, we've noticed that you wear almost the same thing every day," she says, gesturing to Rose's normal jeans-and-hoodie ensemble. "We were hoping this would help you mix it up a little."

"I love them," Rose responds in a flat tone, immediately setting them aside.

Mom frowns. "What is up with you two this morning? You don't seem to be in the birthday spirit."

"It's the first day of high school," I reply. "We're nervous." I speak for both of us, as I usually do. Rosie has never been much of a talker. Well, to anyone other than me.

To my relief, Mom nods and doesn't question us further.

Rose and I both take as long as possible to finish our breakfast, to the point where Mom has to point out that we're going to be late if we don't get going. 

Rose and I exchange a glance and a sigh (another one of those mutual-understanding things) and finally head out the door and towards our doom.

Unlike our previous schools, Mountain Brook High is about a ten minute walk from our house. This means we no longer have to ride the bus, which is blessing for the both of us. There are no words to describe the extent of harassment we underwent on that yellow box of literal hell known as the school bus.

As soon as we have turned the corner and our house is no longer in sight, I take off the stupid heart necklace and hand it to Rose. She accepts it gleefully. "Thanks Sam," she tells me as she slips it around her neck.

I reach over and make sure it's hidden well under her hoodie. "Summer's over," I remind her. "It's time to get back into macho mode."

She smirks at me. "And it's time for you to get out of it," she says, reaching over and releasing my long hair from it's bun.

"Hey!" I smack her hand and she giggles. "I bet you wish you had my boobs!"

She smiles, playing the little game we like to play when we're not too dysphoric to joke around. "I bet you wish you had my dick!" She blushes even as she says it, but the fact that she can make the joke at all tells me that I've succeeded at putting her in a semi-good mood.

I laugh harder. I always love it when we can do this. Life may suck sometimes, but at least there is always dark humor to mask the pain.

"You've got pretty long hair for a guy," she goes on. "You trying to join a rock band or something?"

"Hey, at least I don't have a stupid name like yours," I laugh.

Her smile falters. Ah shit, I went too far. "Sorry," I say quickly. She shrugs, but I still feel guilty. 

One of the things my sister has always hated about herself is her birth name. Way before we knew we were trans, I feel like she always flinched when people said it. When she chose a new name, she didn't want anything that even started with the same letter. I can never forget how much her name means to her, especially since I'm the only one who calls her it.

"Sorry," I can't help but repeat.

However, she has already smoothed the hurt expression on her face back into a neutral one. "Hey man, it's cool," she lies easily.

I decide to let it go.

We walk in silence for a little bit after that, until I think of something I've been wanting to ask for a while. "Hey Rosie," I say, tentatively. "Do you think there's a potential for this year to be....you know....not shit?"

She laughs again at that, but it's completely humorless. "Be realistic," she says. "Since when has a school year been anything but a living nightmare for us?"

I shrug. "I'm just saying, it's high school now. There's a lot of people. Maybe all of the assholes will lay off of us, finally."

"As if," says Rose. "We're way too easy to torture."

More silence follows, because I have no response. She's right, after all. Neither one of us even attempt to conform to our assigned gender roles when we aren't around our parents. 

Which gets me thinking, "What if this is the year we come out?" I ask her. "I mean, how worse can the bullying get? We might as well at this point-"

"Dude, no," she cuts me off. "No way. Have you fucking forgotten where we live?"

I flinch at her rare curse word. "Yeah," I say. "You're right." It was stupid to even say, in retrospect.

I can think of very few things worse than coming out as transgender in Mountain Brook, Alabama.