A/N: This song^^^ came to my mind repeatedly while writing this chapter, during various emotional scenes, but it would probably be most appropriate played at the end. First at the end of Rose's last part, then at the end of Sam's.

I apologize in advance.

**************************

Rose

"I can't believe this. I told her to come straight home after school," Mom grumbles for the third time, peeking through the blinds and scanning the front yard for Sam. He's nowhere to be found, which is extremely worrying since school let out an hour ago, and I've been home for about as long. I sit at the dining room table and try to focus on my math homework, but my palms are sweating and I keep glancing at the door, hoping and praying for Sam to walk in.

"You better hope nothing's happened to her, George," Mom says suddenly, stepping away from the window. "I can't believe you let her walk home alone, and after everything your father and I talked to you about last night! Letting her go off with some strange boy to 'the library', and now this. You're her brother, for goodness' sake! It's your job to protect her when we're not there."

I put my head in my hands, thinking: Is it, though? Is it really my job? "I'm sure Sam's just avoiding coming home right away because she's in trouble," I assure my mother, while also trying to assure myself. "She can't stay away forever."

As if on cue, the front door slams.

"Sammie, is that you?" Mom calls. Sure enough, he emerges from around the corner following the front entrance, his hair down and hanging in front of his face like a curtain. "Where were you?"

"Walking," he responds. His voice is shaky, cracking on the last syllable, and the cold feeling already residing in my chest grows colder. That voice....something is wrong. Way, way more wrong than usual.

"Well I told you to come straight home, and you directly disobeyed me. If you don't think you'll be facing consequences for this— excuse me! Where do you think you're going?"

Sam had unabashedly turned away from our mother and began stomping up the stairs. "I have homework."

"Young lady, you come back down here or I swear—"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!"

Both Mom and I jump at his menacing scream, but at the words themselves more than anything. Shortly after, another door slams.

Mom shakes her head in astonishment. "Unbelievable. She is going to get it when her father gets home."

Shaking, I gather up my homework. "I think I'm going to finish this upstairs."

"George, I don't think that's—"

"I won't talk to her," I lie. "I know she probably needs space right now. I just....it's just that...." I don't know if I can trust him alone right now.

"Fine." Mom throws up her hands. "And hey, if you can work out what the hell is wrong with her, that'd be great. Because I don't even know how to talk to that girl anymore." She goes back into the kitchen.

I practically run up the stairs and to our room, and find Sam lying curled up on his bed in the dark. The curtains are drawn, and I think of turning on the light but don't want to piss him off. Not before I find out what's going on. "Sam?" I start off gently.

"The fuck do you want?"

Christ. Too late to try not to piss him off, apparently. "Sam, talk to me. What happened?"

"Why do you care? I thought we weren't friends anymore."

"I never said that Sam. Just because I think we shouldn't be so codependent doesn't mean we can't still talk. You're my brother. I care about you."

"No you don't."

"For God's sake, yes I do, Sam." It might be risky, but I dare to approach him. I sit on the edge of his bed, but he scoots as far away from me as possible. I reach out my hand to touch him. "Just tell me. Did something happen after school?"

"Fuck you, Rose."

I retract my hand immediately, feeling like he had just slapped me. I almost ask, What did I do? But that's a stupid question. I know what I did, and I knew from the moment I spoke those words in math class what the effect might be. But I also know that whatever Sam is upset about now has nothing to do with what I said. There's no way.

But even still, ".....Sam, look. I'm sorry if what I said earlier today hurt you. But you have to know that it's true; the way we've leaned on each other all our lives has done more harm than good for us both. It has kept us from focusing on our individual health and happiness, always worrying about each other the way we do. But I promise you, wanting some distance doesn't mean that I don't care. Not even slightly. It just means—"

I'm shocked when Sam sits up suddenly and faces me. His eyes are wild and red from crying. "No, you know what? It's okay. In fact, I think you're absolutely right. We obsess about each other way too much to be healthy. It's no wonder everyone thinks we're fucking freaks!" He stands up and begins to pace. "You're right Rose. We need to start distancing— no, here's an even better idea! We need to just stop talking to each other all together. It's the only way that we can focus on ourselves, right?"

"Sam, that's not what I want..." But he's not listening. He's reaching under his bed for something.

"I don't think we should even have each other's stuff, if you ask me. Too much proximity. It's too harmful to our individual health." He pulls out my makeup kit— the one that was supposed to be his when Mom bought it— and slides it over to my side of the room. "No more sharing clothes—" he picks up my Fall Out Boy shirt off the floor by his bed— the one he wore on the first day of school— and throws it at me. He then marches over to my closet and yanks out a couple t-shirts that I borrowed from him ages ago.

"Sam—"

"No more talking, no more asking each other for help on homework, and definitely no more walking with each other to school! But of course, that last one was your idea, so I can't take credit...."

He's absolutely right. This was exactly what I wanted, isn't it? Distance, privacy, a personal life? So then why the hell am I crying right now?

"S-Sam, I....I just" I stammer out, not even knowing what I'm trying to say as the tears stream down my face relentlessly. I watch him pace the length of our room like a crazy person, still moving and reorganizing things as he goes along, re-solidifying the line between his side of the room and mine.

"And that's another thing!" he approaches me now, getting right up in my face. I don't think I have ever been more scared of my brother. "Enough with the secret names and respecting each other's pronouns and all that shit. All it does is put us in danger of being found out for what we really are. I think we need to go back to faking it one hundred percent of the time, just to be safe. Barely anyone else on this planet bothers to call me Sam even when I tell them, so why should you?"

I can physically feel the blood drain from my face at those words. What? What is he saying? "Sam, calm down. You know you don't mean that."

"Except that I do...." his eyes that mirror mine so exactly stare straight into my soul as he spits the next word. "George."

And just like that, the one person in this entire damned world who called me by my real name....gone. And it isn't a joke. It's not a game. This is for real.

I fall to my knees, sobbing into my hands without control. I feel as if my entire body is convulsing into seizures from that one word....that one name.

Oh, the pain.

Meanwhile, I'm vaguely aware of Sam stalking out of our room and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him without once looking back at the crumpled mess of a human being he left behind.

------------

Sam

What have I done?

------------

Rose

That night I go to bed early, but sleep evades me for hours. I end up lying awake until long after it turns dark, tossing and turning, eventually tuning in to the screaming downstairs.

"I don't know when you turned into such a brat, but it ends now!" yells Dad. The meeting between Sam and our parents began right after Dad came home at six. Two hours later, it's still in full swing.

"Since when is me defending myself being a brat? Just because I'm sick of being pushed around all the time—"

"There it is again, right there! You have no respect for your mother or me. Quit your arguing and just listen when we talk to you!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. You're right, I should just sit here with my mouth shut like a good, obedient, nineteenth-century fucking girl."

Mom cuts in. "Samantha, don't you dare curse at your father! Oh my goodness, where are you picking up these manners? We sure didn't raise you to behave this way."

"Probably those friends of hers at school," Dad grumbles.

Sam, of course, explodes. "Are you literally blind? You think I have friends at that damned place? Did you already forget what I got in trouble for today?"

"You know what...." A chair screeches. That's the sound of Dad standing up, having reached his limit. "I ought to take off my belt and whack your backside. If you're going to act like a five-year-old, I'm going to treat you like one."

"Eli, settle down...." and that's Mom attempting to reel him in. Even when we were little, she had never approved of Dad spanking us.

"No, forget it! She gets away with too much in this house. Back when we were kids, do you think anyone dared to talk to their parents like this? I won't tolerate it!"

"Then we'll ground her."

"Yeah, like that's worked so well in the past. How long do we punish her for this time?"

"We'll work it out....Samantha, go to your room."

I half expect Sam to keep arguing, but I hear him start to come up the stairs. I turn away from the door so he can't see my face, pretending to be asleep.

I hear him collapse into bed while our parents continue arguing downstairs, but by then I'm done listening. I put in my headphones, not turning on any music, but instead drifting off to the sound of white noise and Sam's muffled crying.

------------

"Are you excited for your date today?"

I sigh into my cornflakes and try not to look at Sam right across the table from me. It's the next morning, and tensions are still high from the blow up last night. Of course, Mom is the only one trying to pretend that everything is okay. "For the last time Mom, it's not a date."

"Okay, okay. Either way, I'm so happy that you're getting out."

Dad grunts in agreement, not looking up from his laptop. Work he brought home, I'm guessing. Our usual workaholic father.

As far as Saturday morning breakfasts go, I suppose this one isn't too awkward. Dad usually ignores everyone, and Mom's being her normal excitable self. I guess the only ones being really weird are me and Sam, but no one is likely to notice but ourselves.

"Am I dropping you off to meet her?" Mom continues with her questions.

"No, her mom is actually dropping her off, and we'll go together from here. She said the cafe is just downtown by the school, close enough to walk." This was something that we actually decided over text last night. She said she really wanted to meet my family, and I was too drained from the day's events to come up with a good excuse for why that would be bad. So I just texted her my address. Only now am I starting to regret it.

"Okay. And I'm sorry, what's this girl's name again?"

I bite my lip, glancing over at Sam for the tiniest second. He's staring intently at his breakfast, clearly trying to pretend he's not listening. Because of course, he had no idea about this "date" thing before today.

"Rose," I remind Mom, ignoring the way Sam's head lifts the slightest bit in my peripheral vision. "Rose Parker."

"Ah, that's right. What a pretty name."

"It's short for Rosalie," I remember aloud, smiling. "But don't call her that."

"What time is she coming by?"

"Uhh....noon-ish?" I hate all these questions. It's not even ten o' clock yet, and I've already said more words than Sam has today. So not normal.

"Alright then. Sam, are you finished eating?"

"Yep."

"Good. Wash your dish and go back to your room. You're grounded."

"I know," Sam snaps. "You just haven't told me for how long yet."

"One more day for every time you snap at me like that. I'd keep my mouth shut if I were you."

Sam stomps all the way up the stairs, as usual. Only this time, I make no effort to follow him.

For the rest of the morning, I hang around mostly downstairs. I help Mom with the dishes, watch TV, check the news online....pretty much anything that wouldn't involve having to go to my room. And if Sam's going to be there almost always for the foreseeable future, I imagine I won't be there for much besides sleeping. Fine with me, just as long as I don't have to look at my brother....sister....twin. Whatever the fuck he wants me to call him these days.

A little bit after noon, the doorbell rings.

I shut off the TV and leap for the door. "I'll get it!" I call out. I open the door and there she stands, dressed in black leggings tucked into Ugg boots and a white, buttoned-up cardigan. Also, for the first time since I've known her, her hair is straightened and pinned back.

"Hey," she grins at me. "You look nice."

I doubt it. I'm wearing my usual jeans and a black V-neck, and only don't have my usual hoodie because I didn't want to risk an encounter with Sam by going to grab it from our room. You look nicer, I want to say, but can't seem to form the words. "Your hair is straight," I say instead.

She rolls her eyes. "Ugh, I know. It only took about an hour, but I had to keep up appearances." She adds in a whisper, "My mom thinks this is a date."

I laugh, about to add that my mom thinks the same when she comes around the corner to prove that for herself. "Hi there, you must be Rose," Mom says, smiling and shaking her hand. Then she calls to my dad in the living room: "Eli! Don't you want to meet George's girlfriend?" She only corrects herself when I glare at her. "I mean, his friend."

Dad grunts back a response. Mom rolls her eyes. "I apologize. He's very busy today."

"That's okay," says Rose, glancing over my mom's shoulder, as if looking for someone else. "Where's, uh—"

I cough loudly, cutting her off with a sharp look. She looks confused.

"Oh, you mean George's sister?" Mom asks. "Well, she's technically grounded right now, but I suppose she can come down and greet you—"

"No Mom, that's okay!" I say quickly, stepping out the doorway to join Rose Parker. "We should really get going."

"Are you sure? Oh, well of course. I'm sure Rose has already met Samantha at school, haven't you?"

At this point, all I can do is stare at Rose with desperate, pleading eyes. Luckily she catches on fast, and replaces her completely puzzled expression with a poker face. "Of course," she says. "She....she seems like a very nice girl."

Mom nods apologetically. "I appreciate that, even though I'm sure she has as much of an attitude at school as she does at home—"

"You can stop talking about me now."

All three of our attentions are directed to the top of the staircase, where Sam sits watching us.

"Oh for goodness' sake, Sam," Mom sighs. "Go back to your room."

Surprisingly, he obeys without hesitation.

"Sorry about her." Mom shakes her head. "Anyway, you two have fun. George, you know your curfew?"

"Yeah, yeah," I assure her, trying to pull Rose Parker along and close the door at the same time.

"Don't you want your sweater? It's a little nippy today—"

"Bye Mom!"

"Okay, have fun," she repeats just as I shut the door.

"Come on," I say to Rose, rushing off the porch and down the walkway. Maybe she won't say anything, and I won't have to explain myself....

But of course, I'm not that lucky. "Wait a second," she rushes to catch up with me. "What was that about?"

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'?" she pulls me to a stop. "I thought Sam was your brother?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, that...." I try not to hyperventilate as she gives me that confused look. Not angry or accusing, just waiting for an explanation. "Um, he is."

"Then why did your mom call him 'she'?"

I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. What I'm about to do goes against everything Sam and I have done to hide our true selves from the world all our lives. My next words will completely shatter that Mother Wall of trust and secrecy that we have established together over so many years. By letting someone else in, the sacred bond of Us versus Them will be completely broken.

But of course, all that pretty much went out the window last night anyway, didn't it? So I have no cause to feel guilty.

Hey yeah, that's right! I have no cause to feel guilty. Sam started this. He wrecked our bond the second he called me George. He deserves this.

"George?"

"Right, right! Well, um....you see. Right, okay. I'm going to tell you the truth."

She nods patiently. I appreciate the fact that there's nothing hateful or betrayed-looking about her gaze. "Yes, that would be nice."

"Okay....my mom called Sam 'she', because she and my dad think he's a girl."

"Um, okay....?" Understandably, she's still confused.

"And so does the rest of the world. But he's not. He's a boy."

It takes her a few more seconds before her eyes widen, and I can almost here an audible click in her brain as she finally gets it. "You mean—?"

"Yep," I sigh. "Sam is transgender."

------------

Sam

For almost twenty-four hours now, my mind has been a whirlpool of emotions that I can't even begin to separate and name one by one. I feel like my brain is bathing in acid, like my eyeballs are on fire, like my very soul is breaking apart piece by piece and imploding into itself.

And it all started when Cody Foster said those seven immortal words, and suddenly, everything started to make sense.

"So how's your brother doing?"

"I noticed your brother cut his hair."

"Tell George I said he needs to stand up for himself more."

"I have a crush....on your brother."

I didn't say much after he told me that. All my energy was spent trying to conceal my own heartbreak.

"I know, I know that I suck, and I probably just made our friendship really awkward by telling you that," Cody continued. He wasn't looking at me, so he was pretty oblivious to my pain. "But I figured I should tell you. Just please promise that you won't tell him, or anyone! God, no one else even knows that I'm gay....you're the first person I've told."

I tried to feel flattered, or at least glad that he trusted me, but it was impossible to feel anything else amidst the whirlpool of emotions that had just begun. All I managed to spit out was, "I promise, I won't." Then, "I really have to go."

"I'm sorry, Sam." I wondered vaguely if he knew what he was sorry for.

"It's okay." I left faster than I could even process it.

After that, I walked. It wasn't a lie when I told my mom that's what I had been doing. I walked around aimlessly, cutting through neighborhoods and across yards, and cried. I cried because I had no real friends— even Rose hated me now—and because I had dared to hope that I had a chance with someone I liked even though no one can ever possibly love me. Not when I'm a fucking freak.

Although Rose seems to be doing just fine, I think to myself now, back in my room after having seen that redheaded girl downstairs....whose name is apparently also Rose.

And that right there— the fact that she's had this other person in her life this whole time that she never told me about, plus the fact that Cody likes her and she's not even a fucking boy— is what makes me feel almost guiltless about everything I said last night.

Almost.

The truth is, underneath all these layers of self-pity, I'm disgusted with myself. Disgusted and ashamed and repulsed that I resorted to using her birth name against her, out of pure anger and jealousy. That I threatened to take away from her the one person who has always used her correct name and pronouns, just because I felt like it. I hated myself the moment I walked away from her as she cried, shutting myself in the bathroom.....

I hated myself so much that I dug my emergency razor out from under the bathroom sink and fucked up worse than I have since seventh grade.

Now lying on my back in my darkened bedroom, I tug at the long sleeves of my Green Day pullover, glad that it's finally October and no one will be suspicious when I switch from band tees to band sweatshirts.

As I try not to focus on the annoying itching sensation burning both my forearms, I think about the strange girl I saw downstairs. The girl with the flaming red hair and freckly face, whose name I refuse to believe is also Rose. It's too coincidental.

Yes, because Rose is such a unique and uncommon name. Dumbass.

Shut up, smarter internal monologue.

My thoughts are disrupted when Mom knocks on my door, while opening it. (Why do parents do that? Like, if you're going to barge in anyway, what the hell is that point of knocking?)

"Lunch is ready," she tells me.

"I'm not hungry."

"You didn't eat much of your breakfast this morning."

"Still not hungry."

Mom huffs impatiently. "Fine, don't eat. But don't think this gets you out of doing the dishes later."

"Whatever," I huff right back, wanting that to be the end of it.

But she doesn't leave right away. "Sam...you do know why we're punishing you, right?"

Oh brother. This is the part of my punishment where she has to double check to make sure that I fully understand the ramifications of my actions. I really wish she'd be more like Dad, who doesn't believe that he has to explain himself about anything. "Yes Mom. I understand that I was disrespectful, and I'm certain that isolating me to my room will help me learn to keep my mouth shut."

Apparently I've become too good at this sarcasm thing, because she does not pick up on it.

"Well good. I just wanted to make sure we're on the same page. Oh and by the way, your father and I have agreed that, as long as you maintain good behavior, we will only ground you for a week."

Wow. Not as bad as I thought. "Thank you."

"But you know what good behavior means," Mom continues seriously. "No phone calls from school, no back-talking at home, and definitely no more coming home late. Do you understand?"

"Yes." I keep my tone void of all emotion. I have decided that this is the only way to keep my chronic sarcasm under control. "I understand."

When she finally leaves me alone again, I more or less return to my original state of self-pity. But underneath it all, I can't help but wonder what Rose and Rose #2 are doing. I wonder if my sister is thinking about all the awful things I said last night, or if she's having too much fun with her new best friend to even remember that I exist.

------------

Rose

All the way downtown Rose Parker was mostly silent, saying that it would be better to talk once we reached the cafe. The walk wasn't nearly long enough. Now sitting at a cozy little place called The Corner, sipping hot chocolate in comfy armchairs by the large window, Rose stares at me expectantly as I practically rush to explain my earlier confession.

"We've always know that he was boy. Ever since we were little," I tell her, justifying every betraying word in my head by remembering Sam's vicious tone last night when he said my birth name. He deserves this. "Always wearing my clothes, playing with my toys, correcting people when they called him Samantha....and I understood. It always seemed so obvious to us."

Rose's blue eyes are still wide from astonishment. "Wow....but no one else knows?"

"No one but us. And now you, I guess." I drop my eyes to the coffee-stained tile floor, and I hope that she thinks it's from embarrassment instead of because I'm leaving out a major part of this confession: the part that includes me.

"Wow," she repeats, leaning forward in her chair as she grips her mug with both hands. "I mean....I know that transgender people are out there, but I never would've guessed there was one at our school. It kind of makes me wonder if there are any other ace people hiding out there."

She looks off in longing, and I am hugely relieved that she didn't have anything negative to say. Not that I thought for a second that she would, but now that I know for sure....maybe I'll have the courage to come out to her myself one day.

"I'm sure there are," I tell her, even though I have no idea. "I know that about zero-point-three percent of people are transgender. There's got to be a statistic like that for asexual—"

"One percent," she sighs. "I googled it once. So I guess I have a better chance of finding a friend than your brother does."

"Hey," I protest, feeling offended. "I'm your friend."

She grins at me, nudging my shoulder playfully. "I know you are, George, but you know what I meant. Someone like me, who understands what it's like to be asexual in such a sexual world."

I laugh and sigh for her at the same time. For her sake, I hope that she does meet someone like her. Just as long as they don't take her away from me.

Just to be safe, I wonder briefly if I'm asexual. Truth be told, I've never thought about sex much. I've kind of had other things on my mind my whole life.....But I guess when I do think about it, I know in my heart that I want to have sex some day. Of course, if I try to envision it, I see myself as a woman while the other figure is blurry. But I know that I want it, kind of in the same way I know I'm a girl. Strange how that works.

Noticing that Rose is still kind of staring off into space, I nudge her back. "Whatcha thinking about?"

"What you told me, I guess. About how you guys have never told anyone, but you just told me. And I was wondering....would Sam be mad? If he knew that you told me, I mean?"

My heart speeds up. I was trying not to think about that. He deserves it. My brain reminds me, but it doesn't erase the guilt that's quickly setting in. "Um. Let's just say that I have no plans to tell him that you know."

Rose frowns. "George, I don't like this. I mean, I guess it was my fault for asking, and you did kind of try to keep it from me in the beginning. It's just....what if he finds out somehow? I would hate to be the person that ruined your guys' relationship."

My first thought is: Too late for that. It's already ruined. But she doesn't need to know that part. Besides, I can see where she's coming from, and I appreciate her concern. "It's okay, he won't find out. Just as long as you don't tell him. Or anyone else."

"Of course I won't," she says, like it's obvious. "I'm not crazy. I know where we live."

I laugh because it's true. Statistically speaking, Alabama is about fifty percent Christian-conservative statewide. As for our small town specifically.....I would wager on ninety percent.

"Of course, with the younger generation it's always different," Rose says, as if completing my thought. "For example, if your brother came out at our school, I feel like most kids would either support him or not care one way or the other."

"Yeah, but enough people would be against it," I sigh. Sam and I talked through this countless times in middle school. "Enough teachers would be against it."

"Ah, that's true. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. We....he knows that he can't come out."

Rose nods in understanding, and we both take long sips of our hot chocolate. Unfortunately, the silence between us allows me to hear the song that comes on the radio overhead; a dreary tune from some nineties band that Sam likes, but that I couldn't name for the life of me.

Summer has come and passed.

The innocent can never last.

Wake me up when September ends.

Rose snorts. "Someone had better wake him up then," she remarks, motioning towards the calendar on the wall that reads October 1st. I laugh.

"I really hate this song, though," she mutters, turning around. "Hey Carl!"

"Huh?" I look around, confused.

"That guy," she points at the tall, dark-skinned, very good-looking man behind the bar, obliviously cleaning glasses. "I've known him forever. He's engaged to my aunt, actually. Also, fun fact, he literally never hears people the first time they call him." She sighs, then repeats much louder this time, "Hey CARL!"

Carl looks up, as do several other people in the cafe who all shoot Rose dirty looks. "Oh, hey Little Red," he greets her with a grin. "Didn't even know you were here."

"Yeah, Carmen took our order. Hey, can you change the song?"

"Whaaaaat, you guys don't like Green Day?"

Rose fake-gags. "Ugh, no way. They are way overrated. Can't you play something from this century?"

"This song is from 2005!" Carl sputters in disbelief. "It's a modern classic."

"Something from this decade then. Just change it, please."

Carl rolls his eyes, but turns to his laptop behind the counter that apparently controls the music. "I know what you want," I hear him mutter. He presses a few buttons and the track cuts, switching suddenly to a familiar opening beat, followed by familiar lyrics.

I wish I found some better sounds no one's ever heard.

I wish I had a better voice to sing some better words.

A couple older folks around us grumble obviously, but Rose sits back in her chair looking satisfied. "Aw yeah, that's more like it." She winks at me. "Perks of knowing Carl personally: you get a say in the music choice here."

"You're welcome, Little Red." Carl says from behind the bar, raising his eyebrows.

"Thaaaank you," says Rose, sweetly.

I snicker, but not in a mean way. "He calls you Little Red?"

"Has since I was seven.  He and my Aunt Stacy were still just friends back then, but he used to hang around our place in the evening and read me Little Red Riding Hood before bedtime. The nickname stuck....even though I'm not so little anymore." She grimaces.

I frown at her tone. "So what? It's cute."

"I only don't get mad because it's Carl, and he's always sweet. If anyone else said it, it'd be humiliating. I mean, look at me."

"I am looking," I shrug, challenging her. "What's wrong?"

"Dude, I'm huge."

I sigh. Over time, I've been able to tell that Rose is ashamed of her body size, even though she's nowhere near overweight. She stands at about five-foot-ten with broad shoulders and muscular legs, but it all fits so well together. She's perfectly proportional, her face is one of strength, and she holds herself so confidently that a stranger would never know she was insecure about herself at all.

I laugh at her claim. "Rose, you're tall."

"Models are tall," she grumbles, not meeting my eyes. "I'm just....big."

I can hardly believe she just said that. "Dude! Just because you're built like a sports star instead of a computer-generated anorexic, doesn't mean you're not beautiful. Because you are." Hell, I'd trade with you in a second.

She rolls her eyes. "You sound like my mom. She's always going on about how I'm just 'well-built'. But thanks."

"Of course...." I have to physically bite my lip to avoid saying exactly what I'm thinking. How I wish I looked like her.

It still blows my mind how I have to actually hold back from talking when I'm around her. Me, Rose Wyatt, former master in the art of shutting up. I almost miss that time in my life. When I could literally go days without saying a word to anyone but Sam, and I had no one to worry about watching my mouth around. Things were so simple back then.

"Wish we could turn back time," Rose sings loudly with her eyes closed, "To the good old daaayys."

A few people around us growl in annoyance and move tables. I laugh and join in. "When our mama sang us to sleep but now we're stressed out!"

We collapse in fits of laughter at the reactions of people around us. Dirty looks and judgmental whispers that would have made me sink low into my seat a year ago, or even a month ago....now, I couldn't give less of a shit. Not when I'm having fun.

Fuck turning back time. I wouldn't trade my friendship with Rose Parker for anything.

------------

Sam

Thankfully I wake up on time the morning of Monday, October 3rd. I just need to make that a habit now, because long gone are the days when I could trust my sister to wake me up if I overslept.

Speaking of Rose, she's nowhere to be found, even though school doesn't start for twenty minutes. Her bed is made and her backpack is gone from its spot over her desk chair.

I pull on my skinny jeans and pull a thin, long-sleeved shirt off my pile on the floor. I double check to make sure that it's mine, even though I'm pretty sure I was thorough in splitting up our stuff on Friday.....Yep, Nirvana. Rose has never even listened to them, always more in favor of her mainstream pop garbage.

(Okay, I guess that's not fair. I mean, I have been known to listen to Fall Out Boy on occasion).

I grab my bag and am just about to leave when something among my pile of clothes catches my eye. I don't own anything light gray. Did I miss something of Rose's? Right when I move to pick it up, I realize what it is.

Shit. Cody's jacket. The one he gave me just last week when we walked to the library together, and that I forgot to give back on Friday. I pick it up and shove it in my backpack. I'll give it to him today.

I shut off the light on my way out.

"Where's George?" I ask Mom when I get downstairs, even though I already know the answer.

"He left early again....are you two fighting or something?"

I freeze with my hand in the Pop Tart box, startled by her question. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"Come on Sam, I'm your mother. I do tend to pick up on these sort of things. You guys never walked to school or came home separately before this year. What's going on?"

I take time chewing my first bite of the sugary pastry and swallow before answering.. "Nothing. We're fine," I lie through my teeth, but she leans against the door frame and crosses her arms, clearly intent on not letting me leave until I give her some type of explanation.

"I'm worried about you, Sammie. With the way you've been acting lately, it's clear that there's something going on that we don't know about. If it's as simple as problems between you and your brother—"

"Jeez Mom, there's no problems! It's just high school. It was embarrassing enough doing everything together in middle school. I think we both just figured that, you know....that time has passed. I mean, we both have our own friends now."

Okay, that last part was kind of a stretch. Rose may have Rose Parker, but all I really have is a former bully/quasi-homophobic gay kid who I fight with in gym sometimes, and a boy who only hangs around me because he has a secret crush on my "brother".

"I know that, and I'm glad that you two are finally branching out," Mom admits. "But that doesn't mean I want you to forget about each other. Your father and I have raised you to value family above all else because, at the end of the day, you're all each other have. Do you understand?"

I nod, glancing at the time. "I should go."

"Alright. And remember, come straight home today, young lady. Don't forget our deal: one week of good behavior is all we're asking for."

"Yeah, yeah. Got it." One week. Shouldn't be too difficult, right? "See ya."

------------

I didn't think my school day would start off painfully. I thought I at least had until fifth period Creative Writing, when I would have to sit right next to Cody. But no, he found me almost as soon as I walked into the building.

"Hey Sam!" he practically runs up to me, which might have made me feel elated if I didn't already know his secret. "Hey. How are you?"

"Fine." Man, I'm lying a lot this morning.

"Good...." He lowers his voice, pulling me off to an emptier area of the commons. "Look, I feel like we left things really awkward on Friday. I probably should have just waited longer to tell you, but I just couldn't. And then you left really fast, and I feel like there wasn't time...." he shakes his head, probably realizing that he was rambling. "Look," he repeats. "I don't want you to think that I'm only friends with you to get to your brother."

I bite my lip. Is it really so obvious that I was thinking that? That I've been hurting and crying since he voiced his confession? Who am I kidding? My pain is probably written all over my face. Even if it isn't, Cody's a smart kid. Hell, he's probably known that I've had a thing for him this whole time.

"The fact that I like him doesn't change anything, okay?" he goes on. "I still think you're really cool and I would hang out with you even if you didn't know George—"

"What do you see in him?" I blurt out, blushing immediately. "I mean....I'm just curious. You know, cause he never even talks...."

"Yeah," Cody nods, something in his soft eyes changing as he thinks about my brother. He smiles. "But when he does talk, everyone listens. He's so timid, but I know that he has it in him to say what's on his mind, and to stand up for himself. Everything he does, he does with such purpose. Whether it's the way he holds his pencil, or how he runs his fingers through his hair....it's all so delicate and precise." He seems to come back to Earth abruptly, and his face reddens. "Sorry."

But I hardly heard his words. I was too busy correcting pronouns with bold asterisks in my head. *she. *her. *herself. Probably my mind trying to make up for using her birth name last night, because there's no way I'd be able to make it up to her in real life.

"It's okay," I say in a monotone, shrugging. "Just wondering."

The first bell rings, and I'm about to turn around when Cody stops me. "Wait! Sorry, just....one more thing."

I brace myself.

"I'm just going off my gaydar with this, and the fact that you haven't told me otherwise, but I should probably double check....George is gay, right?"

My brief hesitation feels like a million years of silence as I think of what to say. A lot is riding on my answer to this question. This question that is way more complex than Cody could ever understand. But what the hell do I say?

I decide to go with the truth. As close that I can get without mentioning gender, anyway. "I have no idea," I tell him. "We've never talked about sexuality much. But that's what everyone assumes, and...." I sigh, deciding to go ahead and finish burying whatever chance I might've ever had with Cody. I don't deserve him anyway. "I'm pretty sure he likes guys. He's at least bi."

Cody grins. I've never seen him so happy. "Awesome. Thanks!" He runs off to class, leaving me feeling a bit like abandoned garbage on a roadside.

------------

Rose

I was nervous all morning about seeing Sam in biology, but by the time the class is almost over, I'm not even sure what I was worried about. He ignores me, I ignore him. Edgar Thompson bugs me a few times, and Sam doesn't stand up for me. I'm beginning to think this whole ignoring each other thing might turn out to be a huge improvement on my life.

When the bell rings, he leaves fast and I head off to English in a pretty good mood. Edgar follows me.

"Hey Georgie, your sister hasn't threatened to kill me once today. Is she finally letting you be a man now?"

I'm so delighted that I almost laugh, but I still know better than to respond in any way. He'll get bored for the day eventually. He always does.

But it happens sooner than I expected, because he finds another target.

"Hey fellas," I hear Edgar mutter to his cronies when we reach the classroom. He points at someone taking their seat, and I can't help but turn and look. It's Cody.

Shit. And of course, Mrs. Carter isn't here yet.

"Hey Foster!" Edgar says loudly as he and his buddies surround the poor boy's desk. "Remind me, don't I still owe you for Friday?"

Cody doesn't even flinch. "You really need reminding already? Wow, I knew you were stupid, but I didn't know your memory only spanned for two days."

Daaaaaamn, when did he get so ballsy? The kid's going to get himself killed. Doesn't he know that these are the type of guys who will literally follow him after school to beat him up? Not kidding, they tried that with me several times throughout middle school. Sometimes they got to me, most times they didn't. Bottom line: If it wasn't for Sam, I'd have been beaten to a pulp every day.

Thinking about that pisses me off a bit. Fucking Sam....

"Tell you what faggot," I flinch habitually, only to remember that they aren't talking to me this time....but I flinch again when I see Edgar's face as he shoves Cody. He looks like he's just had a brilliant idea. "We'll let you off with a warning, and we won't come after you later today....if, and only if—" he jerks his thumb at me. "You shove that faggot off his chair. Like I did on Friday."

"Wow, nice biconditional statement," Cody says, sarcastically. "You'll need a bit more than that for a complete proof, though.

I have to bite my fist to hold down my surprised laughter. Did he....was that a math reference?

Edgar furrows his brows. "Huh?"

"You'll learn about it in geometry next year. Er, if you make it out of the ninth grade, that is."

"You're a fucking faggot," says one of Edgar's friends, for seemingly no reason.

"Well, I guess there's your given," Cody replies. He looks right at me and winks, and that's when I realize I'm grinning ear to ear.

Another ninth grader who understands geometric proofs, and who jokes about them while surrounded by four threatening bullies? How the hell is this kid Sam's friend and not mine?

"Well? Are you gonna do it or not?" another one demands.

"Nah, I don't think so."

"Wow, I thought you were smart," laughs Edgar. "It's so simple: you shove little Georgie once, or you get a beat down after school. Just one shove, you don't even have to hurt him."

Cody shakes his head. "Nope. Not for a million dollars."

I raise an eyebrow at him. Really? Damn....

The bell rings and Edgar shrugs. "Suit yourself. We'll see you after school." He then walks to his own desk in the far corner with his buddies, shoving me himself on the way.

I land right on my already bruised shoulder. Ow.

Cody gets up, holding out his hand to me. "Are you okay?"

I nod, taking his hand. Something electric shoots through me when I do. "You didn't have to do that," I mutter.

"But I wanted to," he shrugs it off. "They get away with too much. Why do they always pick on you, anyway? Like, don't they have other targets?"

I shrug. "I assume so. But I guess I'm easiest because I never say anything."

"Yeah? And why don't you?"

I shrug.

"Quit shrugging."

"It's what I do."

"Well stop. Just talk to me."

"I'm talking to you now."

He smiles. "I know."

It's at that point when Mrs. Carter finally shows up and silences everyone, and I'm disappointed that I can't talk to Cody longer. I find myself bouncing with anxiety, turning several times just to smile at him over the next fifty minutes.

When class ends, I practically jump out of my seat. "I forgot to tell you before—"

He waves me off. "No thanks necessary."

"No! Well yes, that too. But also....um," I lower my voice, looking at him shyly. "Nice math jokes back there."

His whole face lights up. "Ha! I thought you understood those! Didn't know there was anyone else in my grade who understands and likes geometric proofs—"

"I love them!" Dammit, I'm practically gushing at him. I try to tone it down a bit. "I mean...neither did I. And I thought you were more of a writing geek than a math geek."

He shrugs. "I'm just a geek in general, to be honest."

"Quit shrugging!" I mock him in a deep voice. He laughs, and we walk out of class together.

"Later faggots!" Edgar yells as he runs down the hall.

"Later," Cody replies. Then he turns to me. "What do you have next?" he asks, flashing me a cute smile.

My heart takes off. "Um....uh," Fuck, where do I go after this class again? "Uh....history!"

Cody chuckles. "Cool. I'm going to Speech. But before we part, I wanted to ask you something...."

Could my heart beat any faster? Apparently so.

Surprisingly, he looks just as nervous."Would you want to....do something sometime? Like, outside of school? You know...." he trails off, probably at the sight of my shocked expression.

"You....you mean like, as a friend, or.....?" I trail off too, the unasked question hanging in the air between us.

"Um....'or'," Cody responds, blushing.

I can't even describe the different emotions I'm feeling, but first place is definitely confusion. "But I thought you liked Sam."

"George, I'm gay," he whispers, dropping his head in what looks like guilt. "And she's a girl. I....I like you."

Wrong. You've got it so wrong. He's the boy, and I'm the girl.

But dammit, I like you too.

"Oh....okay."

His head snaps up. "Okay what?"

I feel like I'm about to faint, but I take a deep breath and spit it out. "Okay, I'll go out with you. I like you too."

"You do?"

I giggle at his astonished tone. "Yeah. I do."

He smiles, and I decide that his smile is the most beautiful thing, and I want to see it more often. "Okay! Um....does today work for you?"

"Yeah!" I say without thinking, before realizing that that probably made me look like a loser. Too late to fix it though.

"Awesome! Wait, hang on a sec,"

I cringe, worried that he changed his mind, or that this whole thing was an elaborate joke to begin with.

"....Um, I just realized that I have no idea where I want to take you. I didn't think this far ahead when I planned on asking you out."

I laugh with relief. "Don't worry about it. I know a place," I tell him, thinking of the cafe that Rose and I went to on Saturday.

Cody grins. "Okay then. I'll.....I'll meet you in the commons after school."

"Definitely." I wave at him as he runs to his next class, and it's not until I'm halfway to my own when it hits me. Everything that just happened, and the possible— no, the inevitable consequences to come.

Holy shit. What have I done?

------------

Sam

I'm wearing my gym shirt on top of my regular long-sleeved shirt today. A necessary precaution, but annoyingly warm in this already too-hot gymnasium. I'm so busy fanning myself that I almost miss the ball that Dan throws my way, and end up catching it by the tips of my fingers.

"So....bisexuality. That's a thing, right?" He says out of nowhere.

I roll my eyes. "Yes, Daniel. That is, indeed, 'a thing'." I pass him back the ball with a rude force, but he catches it before it hits him in the chest.

"Cool. Because, uh....I think that's what I am."

Oh brother.

We started our basketball unit in gym today, and the coaches are mingling the girls' and boys' classes for this as well. Which I'm grateful for, because I have gym the same time Rose and Cody have English. And nothing can better distract me from thinking about what may or may not be going down between them than a conversation with Daniel Albright, which I found out was his full name when I overheard Coach Hill taking role at the beginning of class.

Since then, I have been unable to let it go.

He throws the basketball back at me with just as much force, and I respond by purposely nailing him in the stomach.

"Ow! Fuck..." he falls to his knees, clutching his abdomen.

"Oh no!" I cry out in mock worry, rushing over to his side. "Are you albright?"

He glares up at me. "Did you literally hit me just so you could make that joke?"

I stifle a laugh. "Maybe."

"Well I get it. My last name is stupid...." He grabs my ankle suddenly and pulls it out from under me so that I join him on the hard gym floor. "But at least my first name isn't Samantha."

"Oh grow up," I hiss, hitting him in the arm.

"Hey!" yells Coach Wheeler. "Do I have to separate you two?"

"No," we both groan.

"Then quit horsing around! You're supposed to be practicing free throws...." she turns to go yell at somebody else, and I stick my tongue out at the back of her head.

"Real mature," Dan laughs, throwing me the ball.

I catch it, shoot it through the basket, catch it again when it bounces off the floor, and throw it back to Dan all in one breath.

"Nice!" he commends me, honestly. We return to passing the ball back and forth for a bit. "Anyway....how could I know for sure?"

"Know what?"

"That I'm....bisexual?"

I roll my eyes. "Gee, I don't know man. Do you like dicks and pussies?"

"See, that's the thing. I think I do—"

"Then congratulations, you're bisexual! What kind of cake would you like for your coming out party?"

"I think I do," he repeats. "But seeing as how I've never had either, I don't see how I could know for sure."

I sigh at his ignorance, even though I know it's an innocent question. I just like taking out my frustration on him. "Dude, if that were true, then all virgins would have to consider themselves asexual until proven otherwise, and that's just stupid. Sexuality isn't something you figure out through experience. Not for most people, anyway. You just know."

Dan still looks confused. "But you said—"

"Yeah, I was being vulgar about the 'dicks and pussies' thing. What I meant was, are you attracted to both guys and girls?"

I throw him the ball and he holds it for a minute, pausing to think. "Well....I know I've looked at guys and thought they were hot before. But when I saw you that first day, I thought you were hot. Uh, your body, I mean. The girl parts. Not who you really are."

"Gee, thanks," I reply sarcastically. "Just what everyone wants to hear."

"And then the other day," he continues, ignoring me. "I was at the pharmacy, and I saw this girl with the most awesome tits. And in my head I'm all like 'damn, that girl has some really nice tits'. Which got me thinking.....I can't be gay. Not if I think stuff like that. Right?"

He throws the ball back to me, as if signaling that it's my turn to speak. I still can't get over the fact that this guy who used to do nothing but pick on me is now turning to me for validation about his sexuality. God, life is really weird sometimes.

"Honestly, it depends," I tell him, dribbling the ball.

"On what?"

I shoot it straight through the net again. "You see, it's one thing if a dick or a pair of tits can give you a hard-on. Because that could easily be your raging teenage hormones. But it's a whole other thing if you can see a girl or a guy (as in the person, not the body parts), and think, 'man, I would really love to have a stable and loving relationship with that person'. Know what I mean?"

"Uh....yeah, I guess," he says, rubbing his neck awkwardly. "I've never thought of it that way, actually."

"Well think of it that way for awhile, and maybe you'll finally figure it out."

He nods thoughtfully, shooting a basket himself before passing me the ball yet again. "What about you?" he asks.

"What about me, what?"

"Have you figured it out yet?"

I ignore him at first, dribbling the ball seven or eight times before aiming it at the hoop and shooting. Only this time, it bounces off the rim and comes right back at me, and I'm only saved from getting hit in the face when Dan jumps in front of me and catches it.

I sigh. "Honestly man....this whole sexuality thing is a helluva lot harder when you're a trans guy."

"I can believe that."

"Yeah...." and then, before I can stop myself, I blurt, "Though I have liked one guy."

The shot that he made as I said that rebounds off the headboard and ends up on the other side of the gym. He runs to go get it, and by the time he brings it back his astonished expression still hasn't changed. "You like.....a guy?"

"Um, liked," I correct him, and he must hear the sadness in my tone, because he doesn't pass me back the ball. Instead, he asks, "Why past tense? What did he do?"

"Uh....it's actually really awkward," but suddenly, for some strange reason, I feel compelled to tell him ."He....he's gay."

"Oh, well that's too bad.....wait, hang on," he pinches his eyebrows together, looking confused. Probably because it's fucking confusing as fuck. "That should be good for you, right?"

"Um, in theory. Except he likes my brother."

"You mean your brother who's actually a girl?"

Oh yeah, I forgot that he had figured out that part, too. "Yeah. And I'm really scared that he's going to ask her out, and that she'll say yes because—"

"Wait wait wait," he actually has to take a step back, tucking the ball under his arm and squinting his eyes shut. "Let me see if I got this: You are a boy who liked a boy, who you thought was straight and thought you were a girl. But it turns out that he's gay, and has a thing for your brother, who's actually your sister. And you're worried that your sister might like him as a straight girl, even though the boy assumes that he's a gay boy."

"....Yes."

"Ouch," he rubs his temples like he has a headache, and surprisingly, I don't think he's just faking it to be funny. "Duuuude. Hate to say it but....your life is fucked up."

I stare at him. Then I chuckle. It's soft, barely audible at first, but it grows in volume. The chuckle turns into a laugh, which quickly evolves into full-on cackling. He joins in, and pretty soon we're both on the floor laughing like a couple of maniacs at a joke that no one else in the world could possibly understand.

"Hey!" Coach Wheeler barks. "I thought I told you two to quit horsing around! You can flirt after class...."

We both stand up, trying our hardest to get our bearings, but that last comment of hers just made everything even funnier.

"Wait wait...." Dan breathes, clutching his side. "If we were flirting, then they all would think that I was a straight boy who liked a...who liked a...." we're laughing again.

I finish it for him. "They would think....that you were a straight guy with a straight girl who they formerly thought was a lesbian, when.....when," I wipe tears from my eyes. "You're a bisexual guy who liked a girl you thought was straight, who's actually a gay guy born in a girl's body....."

"Duuuude," Dan chuckles, finally managing to catch his breath. "So wait....are you gay then?"

I swallow the last of my own laughs, my ribs aching from the effort. "Man....I'm not sure. All I know is that I liked Cody—" I gasp at the last word, the name I hadn't meant to say. Shit....

But at this point Dan must be desensitized to it all, because he practically shrugs it off. "If you're talking about Cody Foster, I totally called it," he says in a low voice. "I always knew he was a queer."

I elbow him in the side on my way to pick up the ball he dropped during our laughing fit.

"Ouch! I'm guessing that wasn't PC?"

"So not PC," I explain. "There are people who identify as queer, but most everyone agrees that calling someone a queer, as if they're a noun, is a slur."

Dan nods, like one would after finally understanding something in class. "Ah, I got it. I'll work on that."

"Good." I shoot the ball, and it bounces a few times on the edge of the hoop before falling through.

"Nice one," says Dan.

I shrug. "Eh. It was albright."

"Dude. Same joke twice in one period? Not cool."

"Damn. What's your middle name? Maybe I could make something out of that."

He pulls a face. "Aww, wyatt do you have to do that?"

I snort. "Doesn't work man."

"Not even a little?"

"Mmmm, okay. I'll give you a C plus for that one."

"Yes!" He turns around so he's facing away from the basket and shoots the ball backwards. I'm shocked to see him make it in perfectly. "Score!" he yells.

I laugh, clapping for him. Maybe the whole world is turning upside-down, but I think I'm beginning to really like Dan.

------------

Rose

Once again I don't sit with Sam at lunch, only this time I don't bother lying to him about where I am. He sees me exiting the lunch line, and I even make eye contact with him as I follow Rose Parker to our usual table outside.

"Looks like another storm is moving in," Rose remarks, looking up at the cloudy sky in dismay as we sit down.

"You don't like rain?"

"Nah, I prefer snow," she admits. "Winter's the best season."

I laugh and nod, even though I disagree. I prefer fall and spring myself. Something about the transition; the way that heavy rains seem to wash out the last season in preparation for the next.

"So anyway, what's up?" Rose asks, squirting ketchup onto her burger.

"Huh?"

"You texted me earlier and said you had something to tell me over lunch."

"Oh yeah...." Of course. The very reason I texted her almost right after Cody had asked me out was because I wanted to tell her about it, and didn't want to lose my nerve throughout the morning.

"Well? Go on, spill! I can tell from your face that it's something juicy."

Hell yeah it is. So juicy that I just have to tell someone. And there's no way in hell I could tell Sam, even if we weren't so pissed at each other. I can never tell him.

I just spit it out. "Someone asked me out on a date during English."

Rose's face lights up like a Christmas tree. "Really?" she squeals. "George, that's so great! What's his name?" She immediately blushes. "Shit, um....I mean—"

"It's okay," I say, rolling my eyes. "You're right, it's a guy. I like guys. There, I said it."

"Yes!" Rose pumps her fist. "My gaydar rules."

"Ten points to Gryffindor," I grumble, while I wonder briefly about the legitimacy of 'gaydar', and whether it ever picks up on straight trans people and assumes them to be gay. "Anyway, his name is Cody. Cody Foster. Do you know him?"

She thinks for a second. "I think I might have him in a class or two. Like, Speech or something. Not sure."

"Well he's really cute. In like, a dorky way. And super smart."

"Those are the best ones," Rose sighs. "Wish they sold them at Walmart."

I giggle, raising an eyebrow. "Funny. But I thought you were ace?"

"Asexual, yeah. Doesn't mean I don't maybe want a cute guy in my life someday. Not that I'm likely to get one in high school if I never intend on putting out....But hey, this isn't about me!" She shoots me a look, as if it was my fault for getting the conversation off track. "When are you guys going out?"

"After school today. I'm taking him to The Corner—"

Rose grins. "Really? I'm glad you liked that place."

"The hot chocolate was really good," I shrug. "And I thought it would make a nice date environment."

"Well I am very happy for you, and I hope it goes perfectly. I want you to text me tonight and tell me all about it. No, better yet, call me!" Her eyes are alight with excitement for me. I smile, so glad that I told her.

"I will."

"I mean it, George Wyatt! You'd better take notes, because I want every last detail."

"Okay, okay! I promise I'll call."

"Good." She winks at me. "How excited are you?"

"Extremely," I tell her, even now trying to manage my breathing. But honestly, I'm not sure if my excitement is outweighed by my anxiety at this point.

------------

Sam

Heartbreak, I have found, is not something that can be adequately described without experiencing it. This brings to mind all of the world's most beautiful stories of heartbreak, and causes me to wonder what intensity of pain the authors must have had to experience to conjure up such tales.

My own pain, I understand, is nowhere near the worst it could be. There are heartbreak stories ten times as tragic as my silly, adolescent predicament. However, I will attempt this poem anyway:

Heartbreak is a shattered pink balloon on an icy sidewalk. A small winter cloud spilling drops of hot blood on to the snow. Warm shadows encasing a star that has given up before its time.

It is a deep blue void that tells tales of times once abundant with bold streaks of violet that have long since passed by.....

I have written three full pages, and my hand feels like it's on fire from cramping when Mr. Morton taps my shoulder, startling me. "Sorry Sam, I'm just coming around to collect the journals. I called time already."

"You did?" I must have been in too deep to hear him. I'm reluctant to relinquish my journal, especially with my entry left unfinished, but I hand it to him.

"Thank you," he responds, giving me a curious look as he moves on. Oh great, I really hope he didn't see any of what I wrote.

"You looked really intense there," Cody remarks. "What did you write about today?"

"Stuff."

Cody sighs, but lets it go as Morton gets up in front of the class.

"So, it's a new month, everyone," our teacher informs us. "Which means it's time to move on to a new unit of writing. This month is all about....drum roll please....fiction."

There are, of course, ecstatic cheers and clapping from annoying fangirls who have been waiting for this since the very first day.

"Not fanfiction," Morton reminds them. "Regular fiction."

"Aww!" whines Jessica.

"And I want to kick off this new unit with a challenge: Today, I want you to write me a scene with at least one central character that contains no dialogue. Quotes, exclamations, and even references to dialogue are to be excluded as well. Other than that one rule, today is pretty much a free-for-all. I want your finished assignment on my desk by the end of the period. Aaaaand go!" Morton returns to his desk, but not before passing by me and muttering, "Sam, can I see you for a moment?"

Oh shit, what did I do?

Cody looks to be thinking the same thing as he watches me stand up and clumsily make my way over to Morton's desk in the back of the room. "Yes sir?" I whisper.

"Sam....I don't want you to think I was trying to pry, but while I was waiting to collect your journal, I just happened to catch a glimpse of something you were writing—"

Fuck, this can't be happening. This is the part where he asks if I'm doing okay, or suggests that I go see the counselor. There is no way that I can deal with this right now.

"—and I just wanted to say how much I admire your unique choice of metaphors when discussing something as vague and subjective as heartbreak."

Wait. "Huh?"

"Once again, I apologize sincerely for reading what I did, but I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to tell you what a brilliant writer I think you are. I can't think of a single other author or poet who has ever alluded to a broken balloon as 'shattered', and so appropriately."

"Um....thanks. Thank you so much." I'm not sure what else to say. I have never been complimented this adamantly before, and definitely not about something I wrote as a cliched emotional wreck.

"I was wondering....would you allow me to read the rest of it? I would never do so without your permission, of course."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah sure, if you want." But even as I permit him, my face burns with shame and embarrassment. It's such a stupid poem, so angsty and emotional. I can't imagine what he found so enticing about that one line. But whatever. If there's any teacher I can count on not judging me, it's Mr. Morton.

"What did he want?" Cody asks as I return to my seat.

"Nothing. So what are you making your scene about?"

"Uh, I'm not sure yet. But hey, there's something I should probably tell you."

Fuck, here we go again. Personally, I would be perfectly fine if Cody Foster never told me another god damn thing again.

"I asked George out in English today....he said yes." I can tell it's hard for him to contain his joy, but he's clearly trying for my sake.

"Good for you guys," I respond in a monotone. "Let me know when the wedding is. Better get married now before Trump gets elected and makes it illegal again."

"Sam, do you have a problem with me wanting to date your brother?" Cody asks me outright, making me freeze and widen my eyes like a deer in headlights.

"What? No."

"Really? Because it seems like you do."

"Cody, I'm fine with it. And even if I wasn't, it's not my life. I have no say in what you do, or what he does."

"Right, but Sam....there's a reason why I told you I liked him before asking him out. I know how it can be with siblings, especially ones who are as close as you two. And since you're my friend, I really, really want you to be okay with this. Do you understand?"

But what if I told you I wasn't okay with this? I can't help but wonder. Would you break it off with him, just like that?

"I get it," I tell him. "And I promise you, I am absolutely, one-hundred percent okay with this." Lies lies lies lies lies.....

Cody sits back, appearing to believe me. "Alright....I just wanted to make sure. Because I don't know if you think I haven't noticed, but you've clearly been upset all day."

"It's about something else. Something I really don't want to go into right now. But believe me, I'm okay."

Cody finally nods and returns to his writing, as I repeat my last two words in my own head like a mantra. Trying to ignore my itching forearms and the taste of my own lies.

I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay....

------------

Blackout. The bell rings signaling the end of class, and I have four pages of writing in front of me and a pencil-smudged right hand. I have no idea what I wrote about. I can only hope it's good as I set the pages on Morton's desk and try to make it out the door before he catches me.

I fail.

"Sam," he stops me with a hand on my shoulder, his other hand holding my journal. "This poem was absolutely beautiful. If it was anyone but you, I would've assumed it was plagiarized from one of the greats."

I am so honored by his words and the sincerity behind them that I hardly feel like a mere 'thank you' is appropriate. "Sorry it wasn't finished," I say instead.

"Are you kidding? I couldn't imagine a more perfect ending. Here," he hands me my journal, and with it a sheet of paper that looks like some kind of application.

"What's this?"

"An opportunity. I want you to fill this out, attach your poem to the back, and mail it to this address. It's the American Library of Poetry.  Not only is this a chance for you to be published, but the first place winner of their annual teen poetry competition wins a thousand dollars. I think you have a serious chance at this."

I accept the paper, at a complete loss for words. A thousand dollars. I wonder what that could help pay for in terms of doctor's visits, hormones, or even surgery. Definitely not enough, but maybe a start. A thousand dollars....

"You're going to be a very accomplished writer one day, Sam," Mr. Morton tells me. "You are going to be a successful and happy person, and I am very excited about your future."

He gives me one more smile before leaving me there in the hallway, and I have to think hard about whether I made a suicide reference in that poem. I might have, from the way he sounded when he said that....

I shake myself out of my thoughts and my eyes dart to the trash can a few feet away. That's where this paper belongs, I think.

I can't enter this competition. I can't take yet another chance at happiness, and face yet another rejection. What's more, transgender teens don't accomplish anything. Transgender teens dream of nothing but the impossible fantasy that they can one day be themselves. Transgender teens suffer, hate themselves, and get bullied into suicide; and only a lucky handful of those can hope to be the next Leelah Alcorn, inspiring others and enacting change only after their deaths.

Transgender teens don't get to be happy.

I gasp at the feeling of tears coming out of my eyes. The hallway is almost empty, and I still have to get to math class. Fuck it. I open my backpack and shove the paper in, crumpling it between my English binder and Cody's jacket....

Cody's jacket. I forgot to return it to him again.

------------

I arrive to math mere seconds before the bell rings to find Dan sitting in the spot that used to be Rose's. I glance over at my sister in her new seat far away from me. She's already working on the homework, and we haven't even started the lesson yet. Fucking pretentious bitch.

"Hey," Dan greets me. "Hope you don't mind if I sit here."

"Yeah it's cool. Whatever."

"Just out of curiosity though," he motions to Rose in her seat, then back to me. "How come you two aren't sitting together anymore? You fighting or something?"

"No. Actually, she moved seats because we've been getting along so great that we just can't stop talking to each other."

He pauses, staring at me for a moment. ".....Was that sarcasm?"

"Yes it was sarcasm!"

"Okay, sorry!" Dan puts up his hands defensively. "I honestly can't tell sometimes."

I ignore him, trying my hardest to pay attention to Mr. Smith as he begins droning on about whatever we're learning today. I maintain attentiveness as he starts scribbling practice problems onto the whiteboard, hoping that he won't call on me if he thinks I'm actually listening.

"....And knowing that X equals seven, we simply solve for the remaining variable Y, which equals....George, can you tell us?" He points at Rose's corner of the room.

Rose, who is slumping low in her seat with her hands in her hoodie's front pockets, answers without thinking. "Nineteen."

"Very good. Now...."

"How the hell does she do that?" I whisper in astonishment, half to myself and half to Dan. "How the hell does anyone do this?"

Dan cocks his head at me. "It's just solving by substitution. It's not hard."

"Fuck you, yes it is. God, I can't be the only person in the world who doesn't get this." But at this point, I'm trying to convince myself more than anyone else. The more I look around the room, the clearer it becomes that I am probably the dumbest motherfucker in here.

But Dan scoffs at the notion. "You're not, believe me. The guys I normally sit with," he gestures to the bullies down the row. "Straight D's on everything they turn in. They just don't care enough to try, so you'll never see them stressing or looking confused."

"You mean your real friends?" I ask. "And do they know how much of a nerd you are?"

He shrugs. "No idea. But I always goof off in class and do my work at home, so I doubt it."

"Smart move." I tell him. "With the way you act around them, they'll never suspect that you might be a decent human being who actually cares about school and other people."

Dan's mouth drops. He puts a hand on his chest in mock-surprise. "Did you just call me a decent human being? I'm so flattered. When did you start to think so highly of me?"

"Shut up, I said that you might be. As in, it has yet to be proven."

He rolls his eyes. Admittedly, our entire relationship seems to be made up of eye-rolls. "Whatever."

By the time I actually attempt to refocus on the lesson, Mr. Smith is done lecturing. He points to where he already has tonight's homework problems written up, and no sooner does he sit down at his desk than does Rose get up and turn in her completed work.

How the actual fuck....

"Alright, clearly you need help," Dan says, moving his open textbook so that it lays between us. "Why don't we do these together?"

When I don't object, he points at the first question. "Here, read this one. Then tell me what we need to do first."

I stare down the problem, but don't absorb it at all. The numbers and letters swim across the page like a foreign language. Even the directions make little sense, no matter how many times I read them.

Probably thinking that I zoned out, Dan snaps his fingers in front of my face, making me shoot him a glare. "Read the directions man, come on. What does it say?"

"Uh...'solve the following system of equations using substitution.'"

"Good. So that's what we're doing."

"Why are there two equations?"

From the way Dan sighs, I can tell that I probably just said something really stupid. "Because it's a system of equations. See how there's two variables in each? You need to solve for both."

I stare at him for three seconds. Then I throw down my pencil. "How do you get this?" I ask incredulously. "Never mind, how do I not get this? Because clearly it's simple, if so many other people can do it. Am I just stupid, is that it? Just a complete fucking moron?"

"You're not stupid, Sam," Dan tells me, but not in the kind, soft way that Rose would say it. His voice is full of obvious irritation, like I'm stupid just to think that I'm stupid. "Math isn't everyone's thing, and I'm sure you're good at something else. What do you like to do?"

"I like to write," I respond immediately.

"Well there you go. Now, back to the problem—"

"But that doesn't mean anything," I argue stubbornly. "Math is important; being good at it matters."

"And what, knowing how to write doesn't mean anything?" Dan snaps. "That's ridiculous. And besides, that isn't the only thing you can do, and you are stupid if you think it is. I haven't known you for very long, but I know that you're great at dishing out comebacks. You're a good runner, and even better at basketball. Not to mention that you throw some mean punches. Clearly you're good at things."

I stare at him, completely and utterly speechless.

"Now if you're done feeling sorry for yourself like a freaking pussy, you think we could try this problem?"

I'm not shocked, angry, or even offended by his last words or the scalding the tone in which he said them. In fact, I have never felt so trusting of Dan before this moment, and it is now when I finally realize why I've started to like him: He doesn't talk down to me like my parents do, or treat me like some fragile little flower like Rose did. Rather, he treats me like he would treat any of his douchebag friends. He treats me like one of the guys. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Okay," I agree. "Back to the problem."

------------

Rose

The school day is almost over now, and I still can't get the image from math class out of my head: Sam and that fucking asshole Dan sitting together, working on homework, talking....laughing. The whole world must be going insane.

"Now for this week's assignment," Mrs. O'Brian announces at the end of Speech. I lift my head groggily, having been nearly passed out for most of her lecture. I'm seriously lucky that she didn't call me out on it. "Censorship: an occasional necessity or an infringement on first amendment rights? Both the type of censorship and the stance you take on the issue are yours to decide, but I want no less than six paragraphs by Friday."

The bell signaling the end of the day is almost inaudible over the sound of my classmates' groans. They all get up to leave, Sam being the first one out the door. I, meanwhile, take my sweet time packing up my stuff.

Which turns out to be a mistake.

"George, do you have a minute?" Mrs. O'Brian asks just as I swing my bag over my shoulder.

No, actually, I want to say. I have a date. But of course, I can't seem to summon the required words to my lips in time, and am forced to just nod and join her at her desk.

"A bit sleepy today, weren't you?" she says in a matter-of-fact tone, as she shuffles some papers around at her desk. She pulls out a red pen and begins grading, hardly sparing me a glance. As if talking to me right now is her last priority.

I'm not sure what she wants me to say, so I just mutter, "Yes ma'am."

"Did you not get enough sleep last night?" Her voice carries no sympathy, but she's not really irritated either. Rather, she's grilling me like an officer would.

"....No ma'am."

"Did you eat a good breakfast this morning?"

"No ma'am."

She pauses her scrawling red pen and stares at me over the top of her glasses. "Well that wasn't very bright of you, was it?"

I say nothing this time, my face burning as I stare at my shoes, longing for this to end.

Mrs. O'Brian sighs. "George, do you remember something that I told everyone on the very first day of class? Something concerning drama and personal problems?"

"Uh....that you want us to leave them at the door?"

She nods. "Precisely. And that rule still stands. I don't concern myself with the personal problems of students because they are none of my business, and I have no intention of trying to make them so. However—"

I snap my head up at that last word. Since when is there a 'however' with someone as uptight and strict as Mrs. O'Brian?

"That does not, by any means, imply that I don't want you to take care of these problems," she says, her tone still stern and unchanging. "Particularly if they are affecting your ability to concentrate in my class. I don't know what is going on between you and your sister, nor do I want to know. All I want, is for you to do exactly what I always say: drop it off at the door of this classroom, and pick it up again when you leave. If you are unable to do that, then I can only advise you to work on solving the problem entirely. Do you understand?"

I don't respond. I think I've forgotten how. I just stand there with my mouth agape in shock. Besides my own obvious sadness, I didn't think Sam or I were giving off any clues whatsoever on the turmoil of our relationship. Eventually, I find my voice enough to stammer out, "How...how did you—?"

"I'm a mother," Mrs. O'Brian responds simply. "I pick up on things. Now if you're clear on everything I said, you can run along. I hope we don't need to have this discussion again."

I turn around, shuddering at the thought of what it must be like to be Mrs. O'Brian's child. Being her student is scary enough.

"Oh, and George?"

I freeze halfway through the doorway, holding my breath for what's to come.

"Don't think I didn't also notice that you said more words during this small conversation of ours than you have since you've been in my class." She gives me the smallest of smiles. "At least now I know you're capable of it."

I don't ask what it is exactly that she thinks I'm capable of. I just leave without another word.

------------

I find Cody waiting for me in the commons and his eyes light up when he sees me. But as I get close enough for him to see my face, his expression changes. "Hey, are you okay?"

I wasn't aware that I didn't look okay, only that I haven't felt quite right since leaving Mrs. O'Brian's room. Guilty almost, even though that's ridiculous, since I have nothing to feel guilty about.

I shake myself out of my stupor. "Yeah, I'm fine," I respond in a high voice. "Sorry I'm a bit late, Mrs. O'Brian held me back."

His crooked smile returns. "No worries. I assume it had something to do with your lack of speaking in speech class?"

I offer up a dry laugh. "Something like that."

"You know, you really should talk more," he reminds me.

I roll my eyes. Yeah, as if I haven't been hearing that my entire life. But I blush because, for some reason, it's cute when Cody says it.

"Whatever. Nothing good has ever come of me talking, so...." I drift off, like I'm prone to do.

Cody shrugs. "I like it when you talk," he says. "And I think you have a lot to say."

I snort. "Right. So I should just be like Sam then, and say everything that comes to my mind?"

As soon as I mention Sam, I feel guilty. Cody looks down, his expression something like regretful. I wonder (not for the first time, either) if Cody knows that Sam has liked him this whole time.

"No," he finally tells me. "I want you to be you."

Well damn.

We stand there awkwardly for a few seconds as I try to use my hair to hide my blush, before remembering that I don't have enough of it. I look at the floor, at our shoes. I notice for the first time today that we're both wearing Converse, only his are red and white while mine are the standard back and white. Also, mine are way more dirty and worn than his.

Finally, he shifts his bulky backpack to the other shoulder. "So....where's this place that you're taking me to?"

"Oh, it's not far! Right downtown, actually. Just follow my lead." My excitement returns as, not wanting to deal with the crowds out front, I lead us out of the building through a side exit. We cut through the grass on our way to the street that will take us to the hub of our small town.

I'm so anxious to get there that I start speed walking, and Cody has to rush to catch up. "Slow down, champ," he laughs, nudging me playfully once we're beside each other on the sidewalk again. "I'm excited, too. I'm really glad that we're going out, George. I've....I've liked you for awhile." He bites his lip, a faint blush tinting his lightly freckled face, and reaches for my hand.

I gasp and flinch back from his touch reflexively.

His face falls in disappointment and regret. "Shit, sorry!"

"No, it's not you! I promise. It's just....." Just that we haven't even rounded the corner yet. There are still people around; other stragglers who got held back by teachers, kids waiting for rides, and the like. And it's not that I'm ashamed to be seen with him, just that there's plenty of reasons for both of us to fear for our safety.

He nods, like he knows. "Right," he says. But still, I feel guilty. And not only because I'm too much of a coward to hold his hand.

I'm starting to notice that I've felt guilty pretty much all day, actually. Underneath this sort of shallow giddiness I feel walking next to Cody— an emotion I could only paint as pink—layer upon layer of guilt gives the whole picture a sickly grayish color. I never knew that guilt could come in so many different shades, either.

I feel a shameful guilt about the way I'm passively lying to Cody about being a boy, and a sad guilt because I know that the charade can't last forever. At the same time, but on a different subject, I feel an angry guilt about the role that I played in the destruction of mine and Sam's relationship....as well as a confused guilt for what I'm doing to him right now, by going on a date with the boy I know he likes.

God, I need to stop all this self-analyzing. It's giving me a headache. I wonder if this is what Sam feels like all day, and if that's why he's always so angry....

"Hey," Cody nudges me. "What are you thinking about?"

Yikes. I'm not sure I'd have the vocabulary in me to describe it, even if I wanted to. When I can't think up a lie quick enough, I shrug.

"Oh come on, don't give me that," Cody complains. "What do I have to do to earn your trust?"

"I trust you," I tell him. Because I do.

"Then tell me what you're thinking."

I wrack my brains with all the speed I can muster and blurt out the first thing that pops up. "I'm thinking about what this means. The fact that we're going out on a date right now." Whoa, good one Rose.

It's Cody's turn to be speechless. He adjusts his glasses nervously, wipes his palms on his jeans, and offers up his hand to me. Not an attempt this time, but an offer. "It can mean whatever you want it to," he tells me calmly, but somehow I can tell that his heart is racing inside his chest.

I don't say anything. I accept his hand by way of response.

That's when a shout from behind us makes me freeze in place. "Hey faggots! Where do you think you're going?" It's the unmistakable jeering tone of Edgar Thompson. Mocking laughter ensues, letting us know that he's not alone.

I take my hand back, needing both to cover my eyes. "Shit..." I whisper, but Cody grabs my arm and pulls me forward.

"Don't turn around," he whispers, leading us farther away from the school. Away from witnesses. "Keep going. Just ignore them."

Clearly Cody has never dealt with this specific group of bullies before if he thinks that. "I've been ignoring them for nine years," I tell him, wiggling my arm from his grasp. "They don't stop until they're satisfied, and they're not satisfied until they hurt someone."

"Where're you going, Foster?" one of Edgar's buddies calls out, emphasizing my point. "We still owe you a beat down!"

When we finally reach the corner of Hill Street, where the nice houses end and dingy apartment complexes are separated by alleyways, I summon the courage to turn around. And when I do, I nearly scream. Today, Edgar is backed up by at least ten other bullies from my childhood, including the ginormous beast that is Warren Hawk. They're cracking their knuckles. The only difference between this scene and scenes from my middle school years, is that this time they're not shouting out my name.

"Cody Foster!" they're taunting, menacingly. "Come on, just let it happen! It'll be worse for you both if you try and run."

We won't make it to downtown. Not without crossing through this shady-ass neighborhood, where they're sure to catch us. I look at Cody, who is also seeing what we're up against, and am shocked to see that he doesn't look as terrified as I feel. "They're bluffing," he snorts.

"Trust me, they're not," I assure him. "And believe me, they hit hard."

"So I'm guessing you have experience," he says, as the gang is still approaching. They'll move slow until they're where we are: out of the school zone, and away from the surrounding nice neighborhoods. Then they'll come charging. "How have you escaped them in the past?"

"I...." The truth is, I mostly haven't. I'm not much of a runner, so when I did run they caught me, and the beatings were ten times as worse. I would go home bruised and bloody, then I would either hide it with makeup or lie and say that I fell when my parents asked. Of course, Mom would never believe me, but I refused to let her call the school. I knew that would just make things worse.

"George?"

"I....I would run."

Edgar's grin widens just as he and his friends turn the corner. That's when they charge.

"The let's RUN!" Cody shouts, grabbing my hand and pulling me along as we take off down the street; shouts, slurs, and about ten pairs of pounding feet following behind us.

Cleverly, we avoid alleyways with dead ends. Holding hands the whole way through, despite the jeers behind us growing in volume, we dash and dart in between buildings, zig-zagging all over the place to avoid the enemies.

"Get back here!"

"Fucking faggots!"

"Sons a' bitches!"

"Don't think we won't catch you eventually!"

Strangely, it becomes less terrifying the longer it goes on, and more like a game. Again, I must re-emphasize, I am not a good runner. But with Cody, I forget that I'm tired and my side hurts and I need a drink of water. We're both so busy running and laughing that I think we forget that we even have to breathe.

"You can't run forever!"

Oh, but we could. That's what it felt like anyway. Like we could run forever and ever, and that we never had to let go of each other's hands. Even as it starts to rain. That just makes everything better.

I couldn't tell you when and where exactly we lost them, because I think that we kept running long after we stopped hearing the pounding feet behind us. But by the time we duck behind an old, brick apartment complex to catch our breaths, drenched in rain and sweat, we come to the full realization that we are no longer being chased. And by now, we are far, far out of the way of the place I was originally going to take him.

"Holy shit....." Cody breathes, laughing and clutching his side. "That was...."

"Fucking fun!"

We both sink to the ground laughing, and in this moment I forget about any guilt of any tint or shade that I have ever felt in my entire life. Because as happy as I feel right now, happier than I've ever felt....well, I deserve to be this happy. I deserve to run and laugh with someone I genuinely like, consequences be damned. For once in my life, I should be able to think of and care about myself, to go after what I want without always putting Sam first.

Right?

"You know who we are?" Cody chuckles, holding up our still-clasped hands. "Running from our enemies, holding hands and laughing.....we're The Doctor and Rose. We're the fucking Doctor and Rose...." he devolves into laughter, and I laugh with him because I actually understood that reference, and because it's funny as hell.

And because for once, in the company of someone other than my brother, I can make believe that I am Rose.

------------

Sam

When Speech ends, I leave without even glancing at Rose. Not to see if she follows me, or if she has even lifted her head since class started. I don't care. She has a fucking date after school, and it's not my job to keep track of her. It's three o'clock and I am out of here.

Outside it's still cloudy as hell, but not raining, and warmer than it was this morning. Cloudy and warm, my least favorite type of weather. I want more chilly rains like the day Cody and I went to the library. Hell, I wouldn't even mind snow.

I think about going to the library today, and maybe leaving Cody's jacket there just so I won't have responsibility over it anymore, before I remember my promise to come straight home after school. And how my getting un-grounded is depending on my ability to do that for a week straight. Damn it.

Sighing, I squeeze through the throng of students standing (quite rudely) right in front of the entrance doors that include a combination of mine and my sister's bullies, as well as random people who just don't give a shit. They all laugh at my attempts to get through, and push together tighter to keep me from succeeding.

Grunting with effort, I finally shove through. "Grow the fuck up," I mutter. They just laugh.

I roll my eyes and keep walking as their laughter devolves into their regular, small-minded chatter. I have no intention of stopping to listen....until somebody's words catch my attention like the sharpest, flashiest fishing hook.

"....assembling a team to catch him off guard. That'll teach that fag to fucking tattle on me like a little girl."

Those words make me halt mid-stride for three reasons.

One: Unfortunately, years upon years of conditioning have led me to associate the word fag with my sister Rose. I have learned that, when someone from our school says that word, something about Rose will generally be said in the same breath.

Two: The words were said in the annoying voice of none other than Edgar Thompson, which further supports the assumption that they were about Rose, since he never seems to talk about anyone else.

And three: The word tattle....well, that pretty much erased all other evidence that he was talking about Rose, who has 'tattled' on her bullies approximately zero times in her entire life. This left me intensely curious as to who he was talking about, which was enough to make me linger behind a nearby tree and eavesdrop.

"What if he doesn't come out of this entrance?" one of the cronies asks his leader.

Edgar hold up his cell phone. "I have Hawk stationed at the other entrance by the commons. He'll text me if he sees him go out that way."

I start to wonder where the hell Edgar found a hawk that could text (I knew his parents were rich, but damn) when I realized that he must be talking about Warren Hawk, the tallest, meanest dude in our grade. And that's when I know that this new target of theirs, whoever he is, is in serious trouble.

"In the mean time, can you guys think of anyone else we haven't recruited yet?"

The gang of boys all pause to think (which must hurt quite a bit for at least some of them), until somebody looks up and points at a person across the yard. "Hey, what about, uh....what's-his-face?"

I follow their gaze discreetly, still keeping myself hidden behind the tree, and see a familiar slouching figure in dark clothes trudging through the overgrown grass.

"Oh yeah, Danny boy!" Edgar exclaims. "Remember, he had lunch with us the first couple weeks of the year. Not sure what happened after that, but...."

He became friends with me, I think smugly. And even though I've never officially considered the two of us friends until this moment, I'm suddenly sure of it.

"Yo, Dan! DANNY!" The boys call out as they head towards him. I duck when they pass my tree, but luckily they don't see me.

I decide to push my luck and follow behind them, keeping my distance and weaving between the trees to avoid being seen. By the time Dan hears their shouts, they have met up with him at the west side of the building. There are no trees here, but the perimeter is lined with shrubbery. I pick the thickest bush and crouch behind it, hands and knees in the dirt, just so can keep on listening.

"Yo Dan, didn't you hear us calling you?"

Dan shuffles his feet awkwardly. "Sorry, uh....I'm kind of in a rush. I have plans. Do you need something?"

"Yeah, cancel your plans," says Edgar, triggering laughter from the group. "We need your help for something important."

"I don't know man," someone else from the group speaks up. "He don't got a lot of muscle on him. Look at those skinny-ass arms." They all laugh again.

From where I'm sitting, Dan looks irritated. "Look guys, like I said. I'm in a hurry—"

"Yeah, yeah. Listen, straight to the point," Edgar cuts in. "We're off to teach a fag a lesson. You want in?"

Dan stares. "What?"

"Are you deaf? A fag, Danny boy. He fucking ratted me out to a teacher last week. I know you didn't grow up here, but in this town we have a rule: snitches get stitches."

"Yeah, I've heard that before. Pretty sure it didn't originate here," Dan says, rolling his eyes.

"Anyway, back to the question: you in or not?"

I hold my breath, sensing that our newly developed friendship is about to encounter its first test.

"Who is it?" Dan asks.

"Does it matter?"

"No, just curious. I wanna know who's getting it this time."

I suck in a sharp breath, hoping that this is just Dan's way of stalling. That he's not actually considering it.

"You pry don't know him, anyway. Some little worm from my English class named Cody Foster.

I gasp, and have to bite my fist to keep from making any other noise. Cody? What the fuck did he do to deserve.....ah, of course. English. I'll bet the little shit got himself into hot water by defending my stupid sister.

Yeah, and who does that sound like? Memories poke at me, making me recall scene after scene from our lives where I have gotten myself into trouble for exactly the same thing. You're one to talk.

I hold my breath waiting for Dan to respond. Dan, who has such a remarkable poker face that you wouldn't think he's ever heard the name before. "Hmm, Foster....nope, doesn't ring a bell."

"Well it shouldn't matter anyway," Edgar reminds him. "Now I repeat the question again: are you in or are you not?" From the tone of his voice, it's clear that if he has to repeat himself a third time, Dan is next on his shit list.

"Thanks, but no thanks," says Dan, simply.

"Why?" Edgar asks. I can't see his face, but I just know that he's narrowing his eyes threateningly as he gets up in Dan's face. "Are you a fag?"

"No—"

"You weren't lying to me about not knowing him, were you? Is the little nerd your secret boyfriend or something?"

"Fuck no!" shouts Dan, defensively. "God, I have no idea who he is, okay? I just....have better things to do."

Wrong answer. The group as a whole seems to go from friendly and casual to rigid and threatening in the blink of an eye. They look like all they would need is a word from their leader to jump and attack the poor boy.

"You know Dan...." Edgar begins ominously. I can hardly breathe from the suspense. "I'm really starting to wonder—" but his phone must have buzzed right then, because he cuts himself off and digs it out of his pocket. When he reads the screen, he smiles. "Good news from Hawk, fellas," he announces. "They just came from the other side of the building, headed downtown."

His friends look confused. "They? Who's they?" Someone asks.

Edgar's grin widens like a shark's. "Two of our bestest friends in the world: Cody Foster and the Wyatt kid."

"Who?" Dan blurts suddenly, not bothering to hide the anxiety in his voice.

Luckily, the bullies are too riled up to hear it. "East side!" Edgar shouts. "Let's go! But remember: NO ACTION until we're clear of the school!"

They all jog off in excitement, but Dan grabs one of them by the arm. "Who is the Wyatt kid?" he asks, desperately.

"Little Georgie." The boy responds in a disgustingly evil voice. "You pry don't know him either." Then he runs off after the others, leaving Dan staring after him, his expression a mix of relief and anxiety.

Meanwhile, my knees are numb from crouching for so long, but it's a mild discomfort compared to the rapid drumming of my heart in my chest. Cody.....Rose....god fucking dammit Rose.

Now that the bullies are gone, I stand up and stretch.

Dan jumps when he sees me. "Sam! How long have you—"

"The whole time," I inform him in a monotone. I'm so focused on trying to calm my own internal panic that I am incapable of expressing any outer emotion. "But don't worry. You managed to pass a test you didn't even know you were taking, and for that I must tip my hat to you, sir."

Dan stutters and stammers for a solid eight seconds, probably trying to make sense of my word choice. Finally, he manages to spit out, "Those guys! Sam, they're after your brother! I mean, your sister! We should—"

I walk up to him and place a firm hand on his shoulder. "We should nothing, Dan. You did your part by not joining them, and I can't even tell you how much I appreciate that. But there's nothing I can do. I'm done standing up for her."

Dan blinks like he can't believe I just said that. I don't blame him. "Um....what? Did I hear you right just now?"

"Probably."

"Dude!" Dan exclaims in shock. "I can recall a time about a month ago, when you wanted to murder Edgar Thompson for giving your sister a bloody nose in gym. And what, now that he might seriously hurt her and the guy you like, and you're not going to do anything about it?"

I almost laugh as I remember the exact day Dan is referring to. Back when Dan himself said something along the lines of,"We get it, you're overprotective of your brother. But guess what? If he acts like a fag, he's going to get beaten up. You should be used to it by now....." And I almost threw a punch at him for saying it.

But now things are different. Dan knows my life, and he knows our pronouns. And Rose hates me. And Cody likes her. "You don't understand." I mutter. "Rose and I....we're not getting along very well right now."

Dan narrows his eyes at me. "Is it because of Cody? Are you guys, like, fighting over him? Cause I gotta tell you Sam, that's some middle school bullshit right there. And it's a crap reason to not stand up for her."

I stare at him. I can't believe I'm being lectured on maturity by a kid who, not long ago, was laughing and calling people fags right along with Edgar and his gang of morons. "That's not what it's about!" I shoot back, defensively. "She hates me right now, okay? She doesn't want me in her life; she straight up told me so! She doesn't want to sit with me, or talk to me, or be seen with me at all. So yeah, excuse the fuck out of me if I'm not too fond of her lately."

"Sam—"

"And if you're going to guilt trip me about not running to her fucking defense like I have every other time she's been threatened in our goddamn lives, then maybe stop and think about what's ACTUALLY FUCKING GOING ON!"

"Sam, calm down—"

"GIVE ME THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT ONE FUCKING TIME, WILL YOU? NONE OF THIS IS MY FAULT! I'M NOT A BAD PERSON! I'M NOT—"

"SAM! CALM THE FUCK DOWN!" He finally has to yell over me to get me to shut up, and it's only now I realize that I'm crying.

I break down completely, unable to say anything more, and fall forward. Dan catches me in his arms and I sob into his shoulder like the complete fucking mess that I am. "I'm not a bad person," is all I can blubber out through my tears. Over and over. "I'm not a bad person.....I'm not..."

"You're not a bad person," Dan assures me, holding me tight. I feel so safe in his arms. Warm in the fabric of his jacket. "I'm sorry. You're right, I should have asked instead of assuming. I need to just quit fucking assuming...."

Shit, this needs to stop. I hate that I'm letting him see me this vulnerable. That I'm letting him hold me. I swallow back my sobs and take two long, deep breaths before pushing myself away from him. I use the back of my arm to wipe my eyes in one, angry motion. As the blurriness of hysteria fades from my vision, I see Dan looking at me with care and concern. God, I probably look awful.

I clear my throat before talking. "I'm sorry I cried all over your jacket."

He shrugs. "I'll hit you for it later."

I laugh. One of those small, shaky, halfhearted laughs that always happen after a good cry, when someone says exactly what you need to hear at that moment.

Still, I gaze off in the direction of downtown that is blocked from sight by trees that have yet to lose their leaves. I listen for screaming and shouting, but hear nothing.

"They'll be fine," Dan assures me, as if reading my thoughts. "She and Cody both. I'm sure they'll protect each other."

The thought makes me slightly bitter, but not much. Nowhere near as bitter as I would have felt yesterday, or the day before. Now, I'm just tired. I'm done feeling angry, distraught, confused, upset, worried.....I am ready to drain this whirlpool of emotions that has been drowning my lungs and heart since Friday. In fact, I'm about done with emotions entirely.

"Would you like me to walk you home?" Dan asks thoughtfully.

At the mention of home, one more emotion hits me like a brick to the face: Fear. But even that is deluded by exhaustion. "Ah, shit."

"What?"

"I'm supposed to be home right now. One sec," I pull out my phone and call home. Mom picks up on the first ring. "Hey Mom. Uh, don't freak out. I know I promised to come straight home. I was just finishing a test. I promise, you can call my teacher and ask...." I know that she won't. Not now that I said that. "I'm on my way now."

"Nice lie," Dan says with an approving nod. "Quick, too."

"Thanks. Now if you don't mind, I'm going home to take a nap." Actually, I plan on soothing my itching skin with another trip to razor-ville. Then I'll pry take a nap.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Dan asks. "I can still walk with you—"

"Thanks Albright," I say with a tiny smile. "But I think I'm alright."

"Please stop mentioning my last name."

"Not a chance." I shoot him a peace sign, then lower my index finger for a proper goodbye.

He laughs and flips me the bird right back. Like the great friend he is.

I make my way back around the school and down the hill without looking back, so I couldn't tell you how long he stood there, watching me go. But I never heard the sound of his footsteps retreating. I never heard a thing.

On my way home, a steady drizzle finally picks up. It doesn't improve my mood any, but it does a great job at hiding my tears.

************************

Song title: Please Let Me Get What I Want -- The Smiths