A/N: ^^^^^^This song. This fucking song.

To be played over the last three or four scenes. You'll know when you get there.

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

Rose

On the morning of January 6th, the first day of the new semester, I find myself stuck in front of the full length mirror in our room, just staring.

Now this is far from out of the ordinary, as there is at least a part of every single day that I spend lingering in front of my reflection longer than most people would, picking out the flaws and mistakes, and generally growing increasingly more sad the longer I stand in front of it. This is a practice that I have repeated thousands of times for as long as I can remember.

But this morning is different.

This morning, I accidentally wake up a good half hour before my alarm is set to go off. After about ten minutes spent in vain trying to fall back asleep, I get out of bed. I flip the light on, not worrying at all about waking my heavy-sleeping brother, and start changing into my regular outfit.

But it is when I've just stepped out of my sleep clothes and am standing there in only my briefs that I catch sight of my reflection. I freeze, my eyes captured by what they see.

The thing is, for as much time as I spend staring at my face, I hardly ever look at my body. Everything from the top of my stupidly brushed hair to the distinct Adam's apple in my throat is enough to stress over. Below that....I hardly think about it.

But I think about it now, as I stand in front of my entire body, naked except for my underwear. I think about my flat chest and my thin hips, and the slightest pouch of belly fat that hangs over my waistband. Crap, I should really start watching what I eat.

My eyes travel across my hairy legs, and I wonder if there's a razor in our bathroom that I can use to shave with. I think that was something Mom put in Sam's stocking for Christmas, as a not-so-subtle hint.

I continue to scan my body upward from my legs, and I won't lie, I pause the longest at the very prominent bulge at the front of my underwear. I cringe heavily, actually making a disgusted noise at the sight of it. I want it gone. Fuck, I want it gone. A part of me has always wished I had the pain tolerance to just cut it off, but the smarter part of me knows that mutilating myself wouldn't give me what I want down there.

I can't even tell you how long I've been standing in front of my reflection, ripping apart and analyzing every inch of my body, when Sam's tired voice snaps me back to reality.

"Rose?"

I whirl around, blushing when I realize that I'm still in my underwear. He doesn't seem to care though, looking more concerned than anything. "What are you doing up?"

"I was....I-I was just....just, uh," Agh. Words.

"Don't tell me you're just super excited to go back to school today."

I laugh at the mere notion. "Ew, no. I just woke up early. On accident."

"Well could you accidentally fall back asleep for another thirty minutes?" asks Sam, holding his digital clock up so that I could see the time. "It's way too freaking early for the light to be on."

I sigh, turning back to the mirror to continue absorbing my reflection. It's almost like I can't stop now that I've started; my eyes just want to keep taking in parts of my body, reshaping them in my head, and molding them into what I want to look like when I transition fully.

In my mind's eye, my chest immediately becomes fuller, my hips wider, my legs longer. My Adam's apple disappears and my hair extends down over my breasts to just above my waist. I look almost identical to Miss Vaughn.

I wonder how many times my art teacher did this when she was a teenager, this elaborate imagining of her transitioned self. I wonder if she had any idea that, in ten years' time, she'd be passing this well. I wonder if it's possible for me.

"Roooose," Sam groans, shoving his face into his pillow. "Liiiight."

"Sorry," I say, but make no move to turn it off.

Maybe something sounded weird in my tone, because suddenly Sam's body bolts into an upright position. "Rosie, what's wrong?" he asks. "Why are you staring at yourself like that? Do I need to be worried?"

I shake my head no, and for once it isn't even a lie. Thinking about Miss Vaughn's beautiful transition while standing in front of the mirror, formerly so hopeless about my own, has given me hope. I'm even excited now. If only there was a way I could rush it along....

That's when a thought hits me like a frying pan to the head-- not quite as painful, but with just as much force.

"Sam!" I shout, making my brother, who had just started drifting back asleep, jolt upright once more. "I need to borrow one of your bras."

Sam stares at me like I just grew a third eye. "Um....what?"

I don't elaborate right away, first moving to pull on my jeans. My mind is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, the thought that had just hit me banging me in the head over and over and over. What's the point of hiding anymore?

"A bra, Sam. You have them, don't you?"

"I wear, like, the t-shirt ones. But only because I have to. Why?"

"You don't have a normal one?" I ask, ignoring his question.

Sam looks uncomfortable. "I mean...."

Giving up on getting a straight answer out of him, I cross over to his side of the room and start rummaging through his dresser.

"Yo!" says Sam, jumping  up out of bed just to slam shut the drawer I had just pulled open. "What's gotten into you?"

"I need a bra, Sam."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a girl," I snap. Should I need any more reason than that?

"No shit, Sherlock. But you've never worn one to school before. Why now?"

"Think about it," I say, excitedly. "We planned on coming out this year, remember?"

"Well yeah, but not the first day of the new semester! We need to talk about this first, formulate a plan, decide how we're gonna do it--"

"Or," I cut him off, yanking open a drawer of his below the one he's holding shut. "Maybe we don't even have to come right out and say it. We could just slowly start to transition ourselves. I'll start wearing makeup, you can cut your hair. Then maybe people will just put two and two together." I find what I'm looking for at this point: a B-cup, nude colored bra that was hidden under a mountain of socks.

Sam continues staring at me as I rifle through my closet, in search of the right shirt to wear with this.

Finally, he speaks up. "Alright, Rosie....what have you been smoking?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if I had told you back in November that, in just a couple of months, you would be this freaking excited about coming out....well, you would have asked me what I've been smoking. This is just so unlike you, sis. What happened to the you who was scared shitless of anyone finding out the truth?"

"That's the thing," I say to him, wide eyed and serious. "It's what I've just realized: there are people who already know the truth. Cody, Dan," Miss Vaughn, I add in my head, because really she was the one who changed me. But I can't tell Sam that part. "And they don't hate us."

"Well okay, yeah,"  Sam acknowledges. "But they're total freak cases. And neither of them reacted pleasantly when they first found out; it took them both awhile to warm up to the idea. Dan straight up called me a tranny for the first couple weeks that he knew," Sam recalls, smiling as if he remembers that time fondly.

I shake my head. I will never understand the romance between those two. "But that's exactly it, they warmed up to the idea. It was just shocking for them at first. Maybe that's how it'll be with everyone else. Maybe even Mom and Dad won't react as badly as we've always been afraid they would. Maybe--"

But Sam is shaking his head sadly. He places his hands firmly on both of my shoulders and rocks me gently. "Rosie, Rosie, Rosie. I love you so much. And I'm all for coming out; it was my idea, remember? But," he pauses just to sigh. "You're speaking like an idealist here. You're excited to not have to hide anymore, I get that. But you're letting your excitement go to your head, and it's making you think irrationally."

I let all of that sink in, taking a moment to mull it over. Yikes, maybe he's right.

"I'm sure our entire school won't start a lynch mob when we come out," Sam continues. "But we can't act like it's all going to be rainbows and acceptance, either. Some people will just whisper about it, others will come after us outright. And plenty of people are going to judge us. Again, I love that you're so excited, but we can't forget what our school is, Rose. We can't forget where we live."

I must look as defeated and crushed as I feel, because Sam pulls me in for a brief hug before turning away to get himself dressed for school.

I glance at the bra that I'm still holding. "Can I still wear this today? Under my hoodie, I mean?"

Sam shrugs. "You do whatever you want, sis. Do whatever helps your dysphoria. All I'm saying is, be careful. And as for me," he sighs as he grabs his hair tie from his bedside table and begins twisting his hair up as usual. "I think I'm going to wait awhile to cut my hair. I just got ungrounded, after all."

"That'd be pretty stupid if Dad grounded you for cutting your hair," I remark.

Sam shrugs. "Yeah, well Dad is pretty stupid. I've learned to expect that kind of stuff from him."

Going slowly so I can savor the process, I pull the bra on like a jacket and fasten it behind me easily, as I've practiced this several times before. I stuff it with socks from my drawer so it appears full, then gaze once again at my reflection. It might look awkward, but it feels so right.

From his side of the room, clearly staring at me, Sam sighs. "I'll say it again, please be careful today, girl. I don't want to have to kick any asses this early in the year, but--"

"Please don't," I beg him, pulling a V-neck on over the bra. I smile at the result; they look even more real now.

"I will if I have to," he continues. "If even one of those boys so much as touches you. And I know that Dan will help me. Probably Cody too, actually. You've got yourself a regular Rose Wyatt Defense Squad with the three of us."

I roll my eyes. "Great, just what I need. All three of you to get suspended."

"Well hey," says Sam, grinning like he always does right before making a terrible joke. "At least now we know what we need to do if we ever want to get expelled. Just hunt them down after school and go all Rose Parker on their asses." He laughs, making a slicing motion in the air complete with sound effects.

I, meanwhile, fall silent. Rose. Since our last phone call, I've been trying my freaking hardest to push her out of my mind. I was almost doing better until just this past weekend, when word of what she had actually done to Andy Thompson finally made it onto a news channel that our parents were watching. I taste vomit even now, just thinking about it.

Probably noticing that I've gone quiet, Sam's teasing smile drops. "Sorry," he says. "Too far?"

I nod. "Yep."

"Sorry," he repeats. "How much longer until we can start joking about it again?"

"Is forever too long?"

"Aw, come on Rosie!" Sam whines. "Dark humor is my coping mechanism. You don't think it affects me, too? That the guy who got away after I pummeled him got his face all cut up, and I didn't even get to be the one to do it?"

"Sam, you're joking again," I point out in a quiet voice. "Please stop."

Thankfully he does, and I'm able to go back to attempting to shove the Rose Parker Incident from my mind.

"You're going to put your hoodie on over that, right?" asks Sam, grimacing at my now-noticeable breasts.

"Yeah, one sec." From my nightstand, I grab the same heart-shaped necklace that I've been wearing under my clothes every day since August, except for during those long weeks when Sam and I were fighting. I fasten it around my neck before throwing on my hoodie which covers the necklace completely, and mostly hides the fake boobs.

I examine my reflection once more. "Do you think it's too soon for makeup?" I ask Sam.

"Yes, definitely. But again, it's your decision."

I think on it for a moment. "I'll probably just stick with this for now."

"Good choice," says Sam, not even attempting to hide his relief.

We head downstairs. "Bye mom!"

"Wait, you guys are leaving already?" Mom corners us by the door. "I thought you kids would want to eat breakfast before your first day back, at least."

I stare at my mom, whom I feel like I haven't actually seen in ages. Even after she gave him so much crap about getting time off for Christmas, she and Dad spent the majority of his short vacation fighting. Consequently, Sam and I spent the majority of it either hiding in our room or hanging out with Dan or Cody (never both of them at the same time). And no one nagged at us about being home to spend time with family, which was the only silver lining about our parents being so preoccupied with fighting with each other.

So the few times I have seen Mom over winter break, it seems, she has looked absolutely awful. Usually her hair was wild and her face tearstained.

Today, however, she looks....surprisingly good. Her face is positively caked in makeup, anyway.

"Sorry Mom," says Sam. "We want to get to school early today so we can have time to find our new classes."

"Oh, that's right! You have new electives this semester. Gosh, it feels like forever since I've actually caught up with you two."

Sam and I look at each other, and I know we're both thinking the same thing: Yeah. And whose fault is that?

"Well, I guess you'll have to tell me all about these new classes of yours when you come home," says Mom, excitedly. She sure is smiling a lot this morning. I don't know why, but whatever the reason, it's really good to see her happy again. "We'll have a nice, big family dinner to celebrate your first day back at school! I might even get a cake, if I have some extra time on my hands today."

I can't help but shoot Sam another look, this one more along the lines of what the hell has gotten into her? But Sam doesn't look at me to share in it. In fact, he seems to be more preoccupied with staring at our mother's heavily made-up face. He seems suspicious.

"I wonder if I could text your father and see what time he'll be off of work tonight," Mom continues rambling, tucking a strand of hair aside. And that's when I see it. On the left side of her face, where her hair normally falls to drape around her shoulder, her cheekbone seems to be coated with an abnormal amount of blush. But it doesn't look pink or brown. More like a faded shade of....purple?

"Mom?" Sam speaks up, interrupting her rambling. "Is that a....bruise on your face?"

Mom laughs, but it sounds too loud and forced. "Oh, hun don't be silly. I know, I went a little overboard with the makeup today. It's just what I was feeling. Anyway, off you kids go! Like you said, you want to have that extra time so you don't get lost today."

"But--" Sam tries, but Mom practically shoves us out the door.

"Hurry on! You don't want to be late!"

Before either of us can protest any further, Mom shuts the door on us. My heart is pounding. "Was that....?" I ask Sam, unable to even complete the thought.

But he knows, and he looks absolutely livid. "Yep. Looks like their last fight must have gotten a bit too rough."

"Jesus Christ." I can feel myself starting to panic. "What do we do, Sam? What are we supposed to do?"

For once, my brother doesn't have an answer. He stares off into the distance, looking at god knows what. Maybe he's not looking at anything, but is just thinking. Maybe, like me, he's just trying to calm himself down.

After a moment, he grabs my arm. "Come on," he says, sounding weak as he pulls me down the sidewalk. "We should really get to school."

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

Sam

What....the....actual....FUCK.

I try not to let it on to Rosie, because I could tell that the sight of Mom's bruise almost sent her into a panic attack, but my anger doesn't fade the slightest as we start on our walk to school. How could Dad do that to her? How could he?

I take a deep breath, even as my newly budding hatred for our father races through my veins, and try to maintain a poker face for Rosie's sake.

"Hey," Dan greets us, coming up from his street to join our walk at the usual spot. The first thing he does is kiss me on the cheek. My face would heat up if it wasn't already so warm from anger. "What's up, Sammy boy? You look like you've had a rough morning."

I grimace. Guess my poker face wasn't as good as I thought it was.

Funny enough, Rose is the one to cover my ass. "He's just tired," she says, casually. "Sammy's still on winter break schedule, poor guy. Could hardly get his lazy ass out of bed this morning." When Dan isn't looking, Rose gives me a nod. I take it she and I are on the same page about keeping the fighting between Mom and Dad a secret until we know what we want to do about it.

"Sounds like him," says Dan, giving me a teasing shove.

"Shut up." I shove him back.

------

When we get to school, the air is filled with a mix of excitement and agitation, both from people who are ready for the new semester and people who are already desperate for it to be over.

"Hey," Cody greets us at the door. It's clear to see that he falls directly into the 'ready' category. He's dressed in a white collared shirt and crisp khakis, and his newly cut hair is freshly wet from having showered.

"What's up?" I greet him back with a nod.

"Hey!" says Rose, beaming excitedly.

"You just come back from a nerd convention or something?" Dan snorts at his outfit.

Cody ignores the jibe, which I'm grateful for. His patience and willingness to put up with Dan's shit is about the only thing keeping the peace between us. "You guys ready for school again?" he asks.

"No."

"Oh, let's not start off with that attitude," Rose laughs, pushing her hair back. Her whole face seems to be glowing. "We've got this, Sammy. Nothing can be as shitty as last semester, right?"

Right away, Cody raises his eyebrows at her. "What's gotten into you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You seem so...." he looks to be grasping for the right word. "Happy."

Rosie shrugs. "I'm in a good mood. Is that bad?"

"Hang on a sec," jumps in Dan, eyeing her up and down. "Something is different about you. Is it your hair?"

"Well, it has gotten longer," says Rose proudly, ruffling the back of it. It's barely at the nape of her neck, but having gone nearly three months without a haircut now, this is the longest she has ever been able to grow it. She gives me a knowing smile when neither of the boys are looking.

I can't help but break into a smile of my own. Though I was nervous as hell about her willingness to wear a bra this morning, I can't help but feel overjoyed by how it's affecting her. Cody was spot on: she just looks happier. Happier, probably, than I have ever seen her at school before.

"No, that's not it," says Dan, staring at my sister and scratching his hair as he thinks.

Smiling, Rose winks at him. Then, in one swift motion, she grabs her hoodie from the bottom and pulls it up over her face, revealing just her V-neck shirt and the enhanced chest under it for all to see.

Cody is clearly taken aback, but it's Dan who expresses it verbally. "Holy sweet Jesus you're wearing a bra."

"Rose," I hiss, looking around nervously. "Are you out of your damned mind?"

"Don't you get it, Sam?" Laughs Rose as she lowers her hoodie. "I don't care anymore. I don't care who knows about me. I just want to be myself, and enjoy it."

Damn. Who the hell is this girl? Why am I the unconfident, insecure one all of a sudden? "Okay Rose, I get that. But--"

"Holy shit, was that a fucking bra?"

The four of us freeze at the sound of an unfamiliar, but definitely threatening male voice from a few feet away. I look to find a small group of wide-eyed upperclassmen, four boys and two girls, staring us down from their spot to the left of the front doors. I can tell that they're upperclassmen not only from the height of the boys, but from their unflinching and confident demeanors.

"Trey, whatcha talkin' about?" asks a petite black girl wearing booty shorts, despite the fact that it's January.

"That freshman kid. The one in the hoodie. He's totally wearing a bra!"

"Get outta here," says the other girl.

"Hey, I'm just tellin' you what I saw."

"Bullshit," says another boy.

They're all craning their necks over at us without the slightest bit of subtlety, but it's the tall boy with chains around his neck, whose name is apparently Trey, that shouts, "Hey kid! Yeah, you in the red. Am I crazy or was that a bra under your shirt?!" They all dissolve into fits of laughter so loud that other people start to look.

Rose's smile, which had been so bright before, falls immediately. She seems to shrink into herself again as she notices the amount of attention she's drawing.

Dan glares at the onlookers until they turn their attention away once more, and I'm extremely tempted to tell the juniors and seniors who are laughing to fuck off, but I know that will only cause more trouble. I just wrap an arm around Rosie's shoulders. "Just ignore them," I whisper.

Unfortunately, some of the courage that Rose lost for a second returns with a sudden force. "So what if I was?" she responds loudly, shutting the group up immediately. "You got a problem with that?"

I want to smack myself in the forehead. God dammit, Rose.

The older kids all exchange looks. "Wait, you serious?" asks one of the darker-skinned boys, this one in jeans, a white tank top, and a backwards cap. "Shit, that's gay as hell."

"John!" shouts the smaller girl, actually seeming to be chastising him.

"Hey, why don't you guys mind your business," says Cody, more as a statement than a question.

"Bitch, who're you fucking telling what to do?" the boy in the tank top challenges, stepping forward. He has a good foot-and-a-half on Cody, and at least twice the muscle mass.

But Cody doesn't back down an inch, even when the guy gets right up in his face. He just stares up at him, completely unafraid. "You, if that wasn't clear," Cody answers. "I told you to mind your business and leave my friend alone."

"Oh yeah?" says the boy, threateningly as he steps even closer. He's clearly trying to get Cody to back up, but he stands his ground. "And which one of your little faggy friends is going to protect you when I kick your ass after school?"

"That'll be me," says Dan, to the surprise of literally all of us. He actually steps in between Cody and the boy, holding his hand out for a handshake. "Dan Albright. Nice to meet you. Touch any of my friends and I will fucking maim you."

Smirking, the boy cracks his knuckles. But at that moment, the petite girl steps up and puts a gentle hand on his bicep. "C'mon babe, just leave them."

The boy raises his eyebrows at her. "You serious? This little shit just--"

"They're just freshmen, John. They ain't hurting nobody." The girl turns to us apologetically. She's even smaller up close, barely five feet, and extremely pretty. She doesn't appear to be wearing a ton of makeup, but has probably the nicest skin I've ever seen. "I'm sorry about him. And Trey. They both have kind of a temper." I notice immediately that her southern accent is thick, like she's from the deeper parts of Alabama. "I'm Alicia Kincaid, by the way. Junior class president." She shakes Dan's hand, which was still extended ironically.

Dan pulls back. "Yeah, I don't care who you are. And it's my friend here who deserves the apology." He motions to Rose.

"Dan, it's fine," Rose mutters, her face already red. "It was my own fault. I pretty much asked for it, didn't I?" She looks to be feeling honest regret for having been open about her gender for even five minutes, and it honestly breaks my heart.

Cody shakes his head. "No, you didn't."

"You didn't ask to be harassed," says Dan indignantly.

Alicia just looks at us sadly, her boyfriend already having retreated to whisper angrily with his clique of jerks. "I really am sorry, guys. To all of you. My friends ain't all like that, but John and Trey can be kinda homophobic sometimes."

"Kinda?" I snort.

"Okay, a lot. But I have a cousin who's homosexual, and I just wanna say that I fully support you," she says this directly to Rose, smiling wide as she does, as if awaiting an award of some kind.

Rose just stares at the floor. "But I'm not," she mutters.

"Hey, you do you," says Alicia, holding up her hands. "I ain't judging. Sorry again!" She immediately rushes back to join her friends, and starts hanging all over her boyfriend like he's her god.

"Jesus, is the student body up for re-elections already?" Dan smirks once she's out of earshot. "That was the fakest display I've ever seen in my life, and I'm from West Hollywood."

Cody nudges Dan in the shoulder. "Thanks for backing me up, by the way."

Dan's smirk turns into a scowl. "Hey, I only did it for Rose. I still hate you."

Cody shrugs. "That's cool. I still hate me, too."

Dan actually snorts in response, letting him have that one.

Meanwhile, I turn to Rose. "You okay?"

She shrugs, but her eyes still look surprisingly determined. "I'll be fine. It's not like I didn't expect some comments. If we're going to come out this year, I better start preparing for all of that now."

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold up," Cody snaps to attention. "You guys are coming out? When?"

"Sometime this year," I say.

"Soon," Rose responds at the same time, flashing him a grin. "We just have to pick a date--"

"We'll worry about that later," I cut in anxiously. "For now, let's worry about starting school."

Just then the bell rings, causing us all to snap our heads up.

"Well, I've gotta get to my Music Theory class," announces Dan. "Which is, let's see....oh, all the way across the building. That's nice." Pocketing his paper schedule, Dan gives me a side hug and waves at the other two. "Catch you all later."

"See ya," I mutter unenthusiastically, knowing that I still have World History first period.

Cody doesn't look too excited either. "And I need to get to biology," he sighs.

"What, you don't like that class?"

"It was my lowest grade last semester," he grumbles. "An A-minus."

"Oh my god!" I exclaim dramatically, clutching my chest. "Not an A-minus! Oh, the horror. Did your ego make it out of the hospital?"

Cody rolls his eyes at my sarcasm. "Hey, I set standards for myself. Anyway, I'll see you guys at lunch."

"Yeah!" says Rose who, unlike the rest of us, looks positively thrilled for her first class. "See ya later, Cody."

"Someone's excited for art today," I remark, smiling at Rose. "You guys have a special project your first day back, or something?"

Rosie shrugs, still smiling wide. "I like art. What can I say?" And with that she speed-walks away from me to start her day, clearly with a much more positive attitude than me.

----

"Welcome back everyone," Mrs. Bork greets us all in her normal monotonous voice as soon as the bell rings to start classes. "Hope you all had a good Christmas."

There are a few excited murmurs as people continue to talk to their friends, while some loudly respond to Mrs. Bork's sentiment with elaborate stories from their holiday break. Meanwhile, all her statement can make me think of is the elegantly decorated front window of The Corner, and of Dan tapping on the glass where the cross hung, saying "What about people who don't celebrate Christmas?"

Remembering the squeaky indignation in his voice makes me smile.

"Now," says Mrs. Bork, settling everyone down. "If you'll please take out your notebooks, we can pick up right where we left off last semester."

The excited murmurs fade into disappointed groans. I quietly follow instructions.

"Psst. Samantha."

Now, I know better by now than to turn in response to my birth name because no one whispering it would have anything good to say afterward. However, curiosity almost always gets the better of me. Sighing, I turn around.

Callie Dunham is leaning forward, as are most of her friends, all of them giggling. "Hey Samantha,"

"The fuck do you want, Callie?"

"Whoa, what's with the hostility? I just wanted--" she is cut off by her own incessant giggling, unable to even complete her own sentence. Her friends are all snickering uncontrollably as well, and I notice that most of them have their eyes on their phones.

I have a bad feeling about this.

Callie takes a deep breath, and has to wipe away legitimate tears from laughter as she pulls up something on her phone. "I just....I just thought you should see...." Dissolving into laughter again, she just shows me.

As I see what is on the screen, a familiar cold feeling takes over my stomach.

The picture was posted to twitter approximately two minutes ago, according to the timestamp, and already has ten retweets. It features Rose, but more specifically her chest, which has been drawn on to exemplify the barely-distinguishable mounds formed by the bra under her hoodie. The picture-taker must have used Snapchat, because besides the crudely-drawn breasts and nipples, the picture also features a caption: Georgia Wyatt, now with real life boobies!

My fists clench under the table and I grit my teeth. I close my eyes and count in my head. One. Two. Three. Four....

"Hilarious, isn't it?" Callie laughs. "Wish I could take credit for it."

My eyes fly open. "And who can, may I ask?" I say softly, trying so fucking hard to control my temper.

Callie smirks. "Please, like I'd tell you."

"Girls, are you quite finished back there?" Mrs. Bork calls us out. "Or must I wait for you to finish your conversation before I go on with the lesson."

"Sorry Mrs. Bork," says Callie, sitting forward immediately. "I'm listening."

I face forward as well, but have to continue my counting (one, too, three, four. One, two, three, four.) just to keep myself from flying into a rage. The first day back at school is not a good day to get detention.

But for the rest of the hour, I can't get the image out of my head. It was taken in Rosie's art class of all places. Which one of those innocent nerds could have done such a thing?

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

Rose

I'm the first one to make it to art class this morning, which I am incredibly grateful for. "Hey Miss Vaughn!" I greet my teacher excitedly. I wish I could throw my arms around her, I've missed her so much, but I feel like that would be inappropriate.

Miss Vaughn greets me back with her own wide smile. "Well hi, Rose," she says, using my name only after ensuring that there is no one coming in behind me yet. "It's so great to see you! How was your break?"

"Good, actually," I respond. "And it's great to see you too. I have something I want to tell you."

"Oh? And what's that?"

I'm so excited to share this with her, I actually want to squeal. But I keep my voice quiet as I tell her. "Sam and I made an agreement to come out this year."

Miss Vaughn's eyes widen, but her shocked expression is also mixed with pride. "My goodness, that is quite a decision. Are you positive that you're ready for it?"

I nod without missing a beat. "Yes. I'm excited to be myself, Miss Vaughn. I want to wear what I want and grow my hair out how I want. I just want to be happy. You inspired me, actually. Just knowing that you're here and you made it through everything that you did....I felt for the first time like I could do it, too." I inhale deeply, having said all of this in one breath. I don't think any of my teachers have ever heard me use this many words at once.

Miss Vaughn covers her mouth, her eyes welling up a bit. "Aw, sweetie. That is the best thing I've ever been told." Then she gives me a hug, making me feel like it's okay to hug her back. She lets go of me suddenly "Are you wearing....?"

Biting my lip, I nod. "Yeah, I borrowed it from my brother....Man, that sounds weird out of context."

Miss Vaughn laughs. "Well, you're certainly braver than I was at your age. I'm so proud of you, Rose."

At this point, other students start to file in, bringing an abrupt end to our conversation. "You better take your seat," she whispers. "And please be careful today. Come to me if you need anything."

I don't have to ask what she means as I sit down at the table closest to the door, in my same seat as last semester. I watch people file in; unfortunately we have slightly more kids than last semester, but still not that many. I count a total of thirteen, including Kelsey and Bri, who don't even look at me as they choose seats at a different table. I'm not the slightest bit hurt. I enjoy working alone anyway.

Once the bell rings to start class, Miss Vaughn starts passing out blank sheets of paper, just like she did on the first day of last semester. "Good morning, everyone!" she greets us as she walks about the classroom. "I hope you all had an excellent holiday break! Welcome to the second semester of Advanced Art 1."

As usual, our bubbly art teacher speaks with honest passion and excitement. She also smiles and makes eye contact with every person in the room, her gaze full of warmth as always. Though I do notice her eyes linger on me for a fraction of a second, and her smile extends to a more meaningful one.

"As some of you may know, enrollment for next school year will be coming up sometime in February," Miss Vaughn continues once she is back at the front of the room. "At which point you will meet with your academic advisor, who will help you choose your classes. I hope to see all of you in Advanced Art 2, which I'm happy to say I will also be teaching next year." She says this last part with a hint of pride, and I can only guess how hard she had to fight the art teachers who have been here longer to be able to teach that class.

Someone whose name I've never bothered to learn raises her hand. "What grade do we need in this class in order to qualify for Advanced Art 2?" she asks, seeming nervous.

"We'll accept B's and A's. But of course, there are only so many slots, and A students will take priority," Miss Vaughn smiles. "But anyway, enough of that. On to today's assignment. You know I like to start off new semesters with a free day, just to see where you all are at. Today, I will give you a couple limitations." She picks up a pencil from her desk and holds it for us all to see. "Your creation must be drawn, and must be without color. I expect you all to use a simple graphite pencil. Other than that, just see where the next fifty minutes takes you. Go!" And with that signal, she clicks on the radio and leaves us to work.

I take a moment to examine my eight-by-eleven sheet of paper, a dozen different rose-related designs forming inside my head....

"I'll bet you five dollars he's going to draw a rose."

"I'd take the bet, except I know you'll win."

I glance over to where Kelsey and Bri are sitting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I can hear them whispering about me. I roll my eyes and return to my work.

But their words get me thinking. Maybe I do draw roses too much. It's not like I can't draw anything else, roses are just....what did I say when explaining it to Miss Vaughn? My trademark. Yeah, that's it. They're my trademark. I'm Rose Wyatt, who draws roses. Not that anyone in this room except Miss Vaughn knows that.

But suddenly, even as I come to the conclusion that I should be able to draw whatever I want and Kelsey and Bri can go fuck themselves, I feel a strange compulsion to draw something different for a change. Maybe it's the feeling of this bra under my shirt, or Miss Vaughn's support, or this newfound sense of confidence, or maybe it's all of the above. But I'm suddenly feeling like trying something new might actually not be that bad.

Smiling as a new image forms itself in my head, I put my pencil to the page....only to be disrupted by laughter coming from the next table.

I look over, feeling the heat rising to my cheeks-- my natural response to the sound of laughter at this point. I'm just so used to any humor in my presence being at my expense. But all I see are Kelsey, Brianna, and the two girls they're sitting with all gathered around Brianna as they look at something on her phone. I relax, thinking that it must be a funny picture or something, and return to my work. Like always, as I lead my pencil on its journey to create the sketch in my mind, I narrate internally.

Once upon a time there was a girl named Rose who was born in the wrong body. It was a painful life that she lived, and every day it pained her more. It was many years before she realized that the worst pain of all was the pain of being forced to hide. Rose decided that she might be okay like this, if only she could dress how she wanted, speak how she wanted, and go by the name she has always known herself as.

Fortunately, a day came to pass that Rose met a woman like her who lit the first genuine spark of hope that she had ever experienced. Hope that maybe, one day, everything might be okay. And it was that first spark of hope, Rose believes, that inspired her to agree to her brother's proposal a few weeks later.

Rose and her brother agreed to tell the world the truth at some point in the following year. And for the first time, Rose smiled at the thought of being truthful. And the spark of hope ignited into full-fledged fire inside of her, and that fire has been burning strongly ever since....

----

"Alright, pencils down everyone," announces Miss Vaughn suddenly. "We have about five minutes left of class.

I look up from my work, cringing at how stiff my neck feels. I blink at the florescent lights around me. Shit, where did the time go?

"Would anyone like to share what they drew today?" Miss Vaughn asks.

Unsurprisingly, no one raises their hand. Being a class mostly composed of quiet, awkward nerds, we've never had a whole lot of big sharers in here.

"How about you, Lucas?" Miss Vaughn asks, eyeing someone in the very back of the room.

We all turn to look, and find the only other kid seated at a table by himself, besides me. He has shoulder-length black hair, golden skin, and is wearing a white t-shirt emblazoned with the words Bring Me the Horizon. I don't recognize him from last semester.

He laughs nervously. "Nah, I'm good."

"Oh, come on," says Miss Vaughn, teasingly. "You didn't move up from regular art just so you can hide your work from me, did you?"

"I moved up because you would've killed me if I didn't," Lucas mumbles, triggering laughter from the class.

Smiling, Miss Vaughn walks back to his table. "Don't mind me, I'm just going to put you on the spot real quick."

Lucas groans and covers his face.

"Everyone, this is Lucas Santos. My best student from my intro-level art class last semester," Miss Vaughn announces proudly. "And I did practically force him to move up to this class, so I hope you'll all be very welcoming to him so that he won't be sitting by himself tomorrow." I think I catch her glance in my direction at these last words, but it's so quick I could've missed it if I blinked. "Now Lucas, I see you have a finished drawing here. Why don't you show it to your classmates?"

Sighing, Lucas stands up with his paper in hand. "Um, okay." He clears his throat. "So I drew a tree. And uh.....here it is. So yeah."

Many stand up to get a closer look, including me. And when I see what the kid managed in forty-five minutes....holy shit.

"Okay, to be fair," Lucas mutters, seeming embarrassed by the sounds of awe emerging from the class at the sight of his drawing. "This is literally my view from out my window at home. I've drawn it, like, seven times before."

"It's still beautiful," I blurt.

Everyone currently standing to gaze at Lucas's drawing turns around to look at me. I bite my lip. I so did not mean to say that.

"And would you like to share what you have?" Miss Vaughn asks, raising her eyebrows at me. I've noticed that she has been going to great lengths to avoid using my birth name ever since I came out to her, which I greatly appreciate.

The most familiarly insecure part of me wants to shake my head, like I do every time I'm given the opportunity to present anything. It'd be so much easier to just slink back to my seat and wait for the bell to ring.

But a newer part of me-- also fueled by my insecurity, but that feels threatened by the artistic talent of this new boy-- wants to show everyone, to remind everyone that I am just as good if not better at drawing. And that is the part that wins over.

"Alright," I say, surprising everyone, I'm sure. I grab my own drawing from my table and bring it over to the group standing by Lucas. I hold it up like he's still holding his, and my ego is immediately soothed by the reactions of my classmates.

Surprisingly, this includes Lucas himself. "Whoa," he breathes, staring at my art. "Who is that girl?"

"Um," I mutter nervously, gazing down at my own picture. "Nobody."

"You sure?" asks Lucas. "Because I'd really like to meet her."

The other students laugh again, but I just roll my eyes. It's clear to me now that Lucas is one of those kids whose life mission is to be a class clown, just to get others to like him. I am not amused.

"Fantastic work, as always," says Miss Vaughn, smiling at me. "That goes for all of you here today. I am fortunate to have a class full of wonderful young artists, and I look forward to working with you all for another semester."

The bell rings, and most everyone scatters to grab their stuff and head on to their second class. I notice that Lucas hangs back, though, very slowly tucking his drawing into the pocket of a binder.

"You don't have somewhere to be?" I ask him curiously, throwing my own bag over my shoulder.

Lucas seems to know that I'm referring to the fact that he's taking his time packing up. "My next class is literally two doors down," he tells me. "I have French."

"Oh, neat," I remark. "Is it hard?" I only ask because I've been wondering if I should take a foreign language next year, and have considered French.

Lucas grimaces. "Honestly, I barely avoided failing last semester. I haven't learned a damned thing."

"Really?" I ask, surprised. "That's weird. I thought French and Spanish were, like, really similar."

Lucas gives me a weird look. "What's your point?"

"Well, I mean....I just assumed it'd be easy for you."

"I don't speak Spanish, dude."

"....Oh." My face burns. God, I'm an idiot. Now this kid pry thinks I'm a racist bigot, no different from half the kids in this school. This is exactly why I should just keep my mouth shut. "Sorry."

Lucas stares at me for a second longer, then breaks into an amused smile. "Oh, don't worry about it. I get that a lot around here. Probably something to do with me being brown."

I laugh nervously, but don't feel any less embarrassed.

Thankfully, he changes the subject. "By the way, you are an awesome drawer."

I smile, not feeling so threatened by this kid anymore. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."

He waves that off. "Pssh, I only draw stuff I've seen before. Can't create things in my imagination, like you. I still can't believe that girl isn't based off a real person." He stares at the drawing I still hold in my hand. "You sure you don't know her from somewhere?"

I bite my lip, feeling like I'm lying to him. "Nope. Just....an image that popped up in my head." I can't exactly say, This is me in ten years, hopefully. Though I kinda wish I could.

"Well that is amazing," says Lucas. "I can't even draw people. You should teach me sometime. What's your name, by the way?"

Suddenly, I am very aware of the time on the clock above us. "Shit, I've got to get to Biology. My teacher's a hard-ass, and will kill me if I'm late."

"Hold on--"

"See you tomorrow!" I rush out the door while waving at him without looking back. I'm thrilled that I got away without having to tell this kid my birth name, but also wonder how long I can keep him from finding out.

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

Dan

Music theory was boring as fucking hell. The class seems to focus less on playing actual instruments and more on....well, theory. Guess I should've foreseen that.

Next up, I have history. I have no strong feelings about this class one way or another except that my teacher-- a guy named Mr. Green-- is a total dick hole.

Okay, maybe that's a bit harsh, considering that the popular opinion around here is that Mr. Green is one of the better teachers that Mountain Brook High has to offer. But as far as my relationship with him goes, the two of us are pretty much sworn enemies.

This all started on the first day of school, when the guy told me that my eyebrow piercing was against school policy. I rolled my eyes at him and refused to remove it, declaring that it was my right to wear it. Things got worse moments later when Mr. Green, while taking attendance, felt compelled to ask me in front of everyone if I was in related to the famous Nathan Albright, star of the hit nineties sitcom Family of Eight.

Of course I denied it, but I was extremely pissed that I hadn't even been at this school for two hours and someone had already made a connection between me and my asshole father. Since then, I have retaliated by "accidentally" calling Mr. Green Mr. Bean every third time or so that I say his name. He has given up on trying to get me to stop doing this by now, and just gets revenge by making me rewrite all my essays at least twice. Understandably, there is a definite mutual hatred that exists between us.

"Morning Mr. Bean," I greet him as I stroll in to class. "How was your break?"

"Oh, it was wonderful," he answers, responding to my fake politeness with some of his own. "I actually spent much of it rewatching some of my favorite episodes of Family of Eight--"

"What a sad life you must lead--"

"--And I have to say, Daniel, you do bare a striking resemblance to the lead actor--"

"You know, I do get that a lot," I say, trying my best to sound casual when I really want to punch him in his stupid face. "Must be the sparkling eyes and the chiseled jaw."

"I'd say it's mostly the name," says Mr. Green, also in a casual tone. "And the fact that, according to Wikipedia, the actor has a son named Daniel--"

"You know something, I think I'm just going to take my seat," I interrupt him quickly. I then turn away before he can read anything from my expression, because inside I can feel myself about to lose it. The motherfucker knows.

God, what if he uses this shit against me? What if he tells people? Jesus, how the hell am I going to make it through his class for an entire semester?

Oh well, I think to myself, trying my best to maintain a positive outlook as I head to my desk. If my stupid history teacher discovering the truth about my family is the worst thing that happens today, then I'm not doing too bad.

"Well, this is a surprise," says an all-to-familiar voice coming from the body in the desk right next to mine.

I stare up in the general direction of the heavens, suddenly more certain than ever that no god lurks beyond this ceiling. And the hits just keep fucking coming, don't they?

"Foster, what the fuck are you doing here?" I hiss, while at the same time searching for any other available seat in the room. Unfortunately, the only other chair that has yet to be claimed is on the other side of the same asshole I want to avoid.

Cody shifts awkwardly in his seat. "I had to move some stuff around in my schedule in order to take the economics class I wanted--"

"You wanted to take an economics class?" I cut him off. "Jesus, how nerdy can you get?"

Cody shrugs. "I don't think there's a limit, though I'm sure as hell testing it."

I push my fringe back in irritation. There is no way in the seven circles of hell that I am sitting next to this douche canoe for the next five months. "Dude....sit somewhere else."

Cody looks to his left, then his right. By now, someone has taken the other empty seat by him leaving only one left. "Where?"

"Do I look like I give a shit? Sit in the floor for all I care! Better yet, transfer classes."

"I'm not going to change my schedule again just because you're too immature to handle being civil towards me," Cody responds in his stupid, pompous voice. "Just sit down."

"I am not sitting by you!"

Just then, the bell rings and Mr. Green shuts the door. "Please take your seat Mr. Albright," he calls me out, placing unusual emphasis on my last name.

I scan the room one final, desperate time before sighing in defeat and dropping my backpack by the desk next to Cody-freaking-Foster.

"Why do you hate me so much, anyway?" Cody whispers as Mr. Green spends a few minutes setting up his powerpoint. "What did I ever do to you?"

"Gee, let me think," I mutter back sarcastically. "Other than the fact that you made my friends' lives a living hell for most of last semester--"

"God, how many times do I have to apologize for that?" he asks, sounding both irritated and desperate. "I get it, I was a piece of shit. But you know what, most of it was just one big misunderstanding."

"Like the part where you were dating Rose but kept shoving your lips onto Sam's?" I snap, furious just thinking about it. "I take it that's the 'misunderstanding' you're referring to?"

"I was confused, okay?" he snaps back. "I didn't know what I wanted. I didn't even know the gender of the person I was dating. I'm not trying to make excuses for what I did, because it was horrible. I'm just trying to make you understand--"

"Oh, I understand just fine," I scoff in a low voice. "You did a shitty thing because you're a shitty person, and I'm not going to let you forget it."

"Sam and Rose were the ones affected by it," Cody says defensively, meeting my eyes directly. "Not you. And they've both forgiven me."

"Well I'm not them," I growl. "And you're damn lucky that they're not me. They are better and nicer than me by miles, both of them are, and they can forgive you all they want. But not me. I don't ever have to forget what you did, and I'm not going to. I'll give you shit about it for the rest of time, and if you're going to keep hanging around us then you'll just have to deal with it."

Cody suddenly looks less apologetic and more curious. He stares up at me over his glasses. "You know what Dan? You're right. Sam and Rose are way better than you. Mostly because you're selfish."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"You're not pissed at me because you feel bad for Sam and Rose, and what they went through," he says declaratively, still giving me that over-the-glasses stare. "You just hate me because you liked Sam at the time, and you were jealous even back then. And it drives you crazy that I kissed him first."

I clench my fists underneath my desk. How fucking dare he? How dare he say something so awful, so malicious....so remarkably on-point.

"Not that I would ever use that against you, of course," Cody backs off, lifting his hands. "Because I'm not like that. I respect the fact that he likes you now, and that you guys are dating. In fact, I think you're good for each other."

"I don't give a shit what you think!" I accidentally yell, making half the class turn and stare.

"Hey," Mr. Green grumbles. "Do I have to separate you two?"

"Yes please!" I beg him, but immediately realize that was a mistake.

He just smirks at me. "On second thought, that wouldn't be helpful to either of you. It's important that you learn to get along with people you disagree with. I might even partner you two for this year's first assignment...."

My blood boils beneath my skin. I want to kill everyone in this goddamned room, particularly the teacher and the asshole sitting to my left.

Can this day get any worse?

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

Sam

Can this day get any worse? I think to myself as fourth period ends and I prepare to meet my friends and sister for lunch. First, I find out that my dad has been beating my mom, then Rose gets harassed by upperclassmen before school even starts, and first period is kicked off with a mocking picture of Rose being quickly spread over social media.

Then came second period, with all of our regular bullies that we've come to know and love. Edgar, Jackson, Kyle, and the rest spent the entire hour throwing little bits of paper in my direction. It took me awhile to even realize that there were words written on the papers, but when I read them I immediately wished I had never noticed them. On the bright side, they didn't do a goddamn thing to Rose for the entire class. As far as they seem to be concerned these days, she doesn't even exist.

I thought that gym would be the least painful part of my morning, since I got to see Dan and all, but we ended up spending most of the period fighting. And it all started because I forgot to wear long sleeves under my gym shirt.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Sam," he said when he first saw me coming out of the locker room. "How bad was winter break for you?"

At first, I was confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about these," he grabbed both of my hands and made my forearms face up towards the light, illuminating what was probably hundreds of faded pink and white lines.

"A lot of those are old," I said defensively, snatching my arms back. "I only had a few bad days over break, and that's because my parents kept fighting and my dysphoria was acting up, and--"

"And you couldn't just text me instead of turning to a razor?" asked Dan, sounding hurt. "You had your freaking phone back, didn't you?"

"For your information," I said in an angry, low voice. "I haven't cut one time in 2017."

Dan clapped his hands dramatically, pissing me off even more. "Well congratu-fucking-lations. What a grand achievement. You want a medal or something?"

I was close to tears at this point. "I'm sorry, okay? I know you don't cut anymore, and I'm glad you were able to quit so easily. But it's not that easy for me."

He was unable to respond, as our coaches called us to attention at that point, but we didn't speak to each other for the rest of the period.

Finally, to top off an incredibly shitty morning, Mrs. Carter decided that she was going to do assigned seating in English this semester. The girl who was assigned to sit next to me-- some bitch named Valerie Banks whom I've never even met before-- pitched a fit when Mrs. Carter listed our names together. She made a big show of asking the class if anyone would switch seats with her for twenty dollars, and of course there were no takers. Normally this type of thing wouldn't affect me much, but I had already had such a shitty morning that I consciously had to keep myself from crying.

At least it's over now, I think to myself as I stand in line to get lunch. And hopefully this day won't get any worse.

When I exit the lunch line, I head to what has become our little friend group's usual table and find Dan sitting there, his lunch looking untouched. He stands up when he sees me.

"What, did the queen just walk in or something?" I scoff at him, looking over my shoulder as I set down my lunch.

"No, but a prince did," he says with the smallest of smiles. He then nearly crushes me with a hug.

"Hey," I laugh, blushing from his comment. "What's up with this?"

"I'm sorry about gym," he says into my ear, still hugging me tight. "I didn't have to react like that. I had a really crappy morning, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I love you Sammy, and I care that you're okay."

My heart flutters like crazy just from feeling his breath on my ear, but my stomach lets loose a flood of guilt at his words. "Aw babe," I whisper, wanting to cry as I hug him back just as tight. "I'm sorry, too."

"You're not allowed to be sorry," mutters Dan. "I'm the asshole here."

"Hey, I'm just as much of an asshole."

"No, don't you fucking dare. You don't get to take this away from me."

I laugh out loud, pulling away so I can look at him. "Alright, fine. You're the asshole. You happy now?"

He flashes me my favorite smile of his, showing his perfect white teeth that are the best evidence that the boy grew up rich. "Exceptionally. As long as you forgive me."

"You're forgiven," I tell him, giving him a kiss on the cheek to prove it.

"Ew, PDA!"

I look around, ready to punch whoever said that, only to realize that it was Rose laughing as she takes her seat beside me. Cody follows right behind her, sitting at her other side.

"Screw you," I mutter to my sister, grabbing a grape from her own tray and throwing it at her.

"Sorry, couldn't resist," Rose giggles, picking up the grape from her lap and popping it in her mouth. "Anyway, I take it you've both had great mornings from how happy you look."

"Um, not exactly," I respond, joining hands with Dan as we both sit down. "Mine's been shit, actually. You?"

"Oh," says Rose, looking guilty all of a sudden. "Um, sorry to hear that. Mine's been....pretty good."

"No one else has given you any trouble about....you know?" I ask her quietly. I can't stop thinking about that Twitter post I was shown this morning, and wondering if it has circled back to her yet.

But Rose shakes her head. "Nope. I don't think anyone's noticed, actually. And if they have, no one's said anything."

I press my lips together, not wanting to be the one to break her spirit.

"But anyway, art was good," continues Rose. "Met this really cool guy who wants me to teach him how to draw people."

"Ooooh," says Cody, teasingly. "Do I sense a budding romance here?"

"Oh shut up!" Rose nudges him hard as she rolls her eyes, but can do nothing to hide her blush. "And then of course I saw this loser in English," she continues telling us, motioning to Cody. "Mrs. Carter assigned us to sit together, which was lucky."

"At least someone is happy to be sitting by me," Cody says, casting an only slightly-joking glance in Dan's direction. From the way that Dan avoids meeting his eyes, I can only guess that there was an unpleasant interaction between them in a class they had together this morning.

I'm quick to change the subject. "Well, I'm glad you've had a good morning, sis," I tell Rose honestly. "I don't really want to go into mine. I just hope life gets better after lunch."

"Hey, we have Journalism together after this," Cody reminds me, pointing his fork with a bit of pasta on it in my direction. "We'll get to see what that class is like."

"Oh yeah," I recall with a smile. "I nearly forgot we had that together. I can't wait." Then, remembering what Rose had said to me a few weeks ago about Dan's jealousy, I'm sure to give my boyfriend's hand a squeeze. "I'm even more excited to see you again later though," I whisper to him.

His smile, which had faltered for a second, returns in full force. "Same," he tells me, pulling me closer so I can lean my head on his shoulder and he can wrap an arm around my waist. I'm not sure, but I think I catch him glancing at Cody when he does this. "Though we really need to focus on bettering your math skills this semester. I don't want you to fail."

"Hey, I managed a C-plus last semester," I say defensively, emphasizing the plus.

"Well, let's try to do a little better this time around, yeah?" Dan's voice is gentle, and he brushes my cheek with his fingers as he sweeps a few strands of hair away from my face.

"Fine," I sigh in fake exasperation, wondering if he can hear how my heart takes off at his touch.

Rose makes a fake-barfing sound, causing Cody to laugh.

"I hate you both," I grumble at them childishly, while burying my face into the crook of Dan's neck and inhaling the scent of leather and peppermint. God, how does he always smell of peppermint?

"Seriously though, can we quit with the snuggling?" asks Rose. "I want to actually be able to eat my food before I have to go to gym."

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

Rose

And gym, it turns out, is where my day takes a turn for the worse.

Of course, I should have figured as much. Without Rose Parker here to keep me company and drive away bullies, it was pretty much guaranteed that my second semester of gym was going to be god awful. But I had no idea it would be this bad.

The good news: The locker room is no longer as scary as it once was. Mostly because the boys who used to torment me relentlessly now leave me alone entirely, something I thought for sure would change when they caught a glimpse of my bra while I changed. But while there were definitely stares and whispers, not a single person came after me directly. And I guess I have Rose to thank for that.

The bad news: Now, it has become apparent that the girls, who were never victims of Rose Parker's vigilantism, will be the ones to give me the most hell this semester.

"So I heard you're wearing a bra today," Fiona Hoffman says in an accusing tone, approaching me right after our warm-ups. She eyes my chest obviously, looking for a sign of the alleged bra. Luckily, I was smart enough to take it off and leave it in the locker room for the hour.

"Leave me alone," I say, trying and failing to sound confident.

"Isn't it funny how he didn't even try to deny it?" Fiona asks her friends, who cackle alongside her. "It's a yes or no question, Georgie: are you wearing a bra today?"

"Leave me alone," I repeat.

"You know that's fucked up and disgusting, right?" says one of her friends, whose name I think is Valerie. "What are you, some kind of cross-dresser?"

"Leave me alone." I don't know what else to say at this point. One of my resolutions this year was to stand up for myself more, but if this is the best I can do I almost wonder if I should even bother.

"I'll bet he is," another girl jumps in. "I'll bet he steals his mom's dresses and wears them in the dead of night."

They all cackle at this, but the girl's comment takes me back to the days in my early childhood when I used to do just that. ".....Leave me alone," I say, quieter.

"God, is that all you can say," laughs Fiona. "You really are pathetic, you know that?"

"Alright everyone, we're going to the weight room today," announces Coach Wheeler at the front of the gym. "Everyone please form two orderly lines, boys over there, girls over here."

"Which side do you belong on, Georgie?" Fiona whispers cruelly as she follows her friends to the girl's side. I watch them go, wishing that I could be honest about my answer.

"Wyatt, get the lead out!" barks Coach Hill, waving me over to where most of the boys have already lined up.

I trudge over there sadly, wishing I didn't have to. I'm so fucking sick of this game. I just want them all to know I'm a girl. I want everyone in this damned school, in this damned state, in this damned world to know that I'm not gay, I'm not a cross-dresser, I'm not some freakish boy in a bra. I'm a girl. I'm a girl.

I'm a girl I'm a girl I'm a girl.

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

I wish I could say that my day got better after that, but by the end of gym class my dysphoria is flaring up like an infected wound, impossible to ignore.

In math, Sam and Dan sit huddled together while I sit next to them, but with a couple of empty seats between us. Despite all of the jokes I make, I really do think those two are cute, and I'm happy for them. But I can't ignore the fact that sometimes, I'm a lot more jealous than I am happy. I wish I had someone to love me like those two love each other.

Throughout the class, I do a pretty good job at staying focused and manage to get my homework done early, as always. But all through the hour dysphoria plagues me. The bra beneath my shirt definitely helps with my top-half insecurities, but I'm feeling my bottom-half today worse than ever before.

I try everything to keep from feeling it. I sit with my legs crossed, then spread apart, then try sitting crisscross applesauce, as we called it in elementary school. But nothing helps. I can still feel it, so present and unwanted in between my thighs, and I want to throw up.

At one point during class, I feel my phone buzz.

SAM: You okay?

I look over to where my brother and his boyfriend are cuddling and going through the homework, and notice that while Dan is explaining something, Sam keeps casting furtive glances in my direction.

I type back, Dysphoria, which is all the explanation he needs. Of course, it's not like there's much he can do about it. Like always, I just have to wait it out. I have to ride the wave and try my best not to let its power drown me.

As soon as the bell rings at the end of math class, Sam rushes over to me. "You gonna make it through the rest of today, Rosie?" he asks in a low voice.

That's when it hits me: We don't have our last class together anymore.

"I'll be fine," I assure him, feeling like a liar. "At least I don't have to deal with Speech anymore."

"That's true," Sam laughs. "What do you have now again? Some nutrition class, right?"

"Actually it's, uh, Intro to Baking," I mumble, showing him my paper copy of my schedule. "Honestly, I just had no idea what else to take."

"Hey, that sounds like it might be fun," says Dan, clearly trying to lighten my mood.

I give him a small, fake smile. "Yeah." Then I leave before either of them can show anymore concern for me.

--------

The FACS classes in this school are all held in the B Hall on the first floor, which is about as far as you can get in this building from G Hall on the third floor, where I have math. I barely make it to Baking before the bell rings, and by then I am out of breath and clearly the last person to arrive.

"Just in time," comments a small, old woman standing by the classroom door. "And you're lucky, since I rarely accept tardies. Where did you come from?"

"Um, G Hall," I mumble, scanning the classroom for a place to sit. Nearly all of the tiny desks in the middle of the room-- all crammed together to allow room around the ovens and counters that line the walls-- are filled. Luckily the few empty ones are all in the back row, which is where I was planning on sitting anyway.

"Yikes," says the teacher as she shuts and locks the classroom door. "That's quite a long walk. You better learn how to hustle."

At that very moment, quite comically, someone on the other side turns the doorknob in a frantic motion, only to immediately find that it won't budge. Clearly panicking, the kid begins to rattle the doorknob frantically while also knocking on the door.

Sighing, the teacher unlocks the door and opens it, causing the kid who had been knocking to stumble forward.

I blink. It's Lucas.

"Sorry I'm late, ma'am," he mutters awkwardly. "My backpack wouldn't zip closed, and then I had to go to the bathroom, and then--"

"I don't care," says the teacher. "I'll give you a break since it's the first day, but I normally lock the door as soon as the bell rings. If you're tardy again, I won't let you in without a pass from the office."

"Yes ma'am," says Lucas.

"Alright, now both of you take your seats."

It's only at that moment that Lucas seems to notice me. "Well hey there," he says. "Didn't expect to see you again today."

"Nor I you," I respond, immediately surprised by my own words as they leave my mouth. That sounded like something Sam would say.

We grab seats next to each other in the back row as the teacher writes her name on the small white board at the front of the room.

"Good afternoon," she greets everyone. "My name is Mrs. Reeves, and welcome to Intro to Baking. I know this is a new class for all of you, so what I would first like to do is go around the room and have everyone introduce themselves."

"Oh, for the love of god," Lucas mutters under his breath, but just loud enough so a few people around us could hear him. They all laugh.

"I want you all to say your name, your grade, and one interesting fact about yourself."

I sweat as I try to remember the interesting fact I used the last time I was forced to play this game, but my mind comes up blank. I can only hope that, by the time she gets to me--"

"To shake things up a bit, let's start at the back of the room."

Shit.

Lucas groans dramatically. "Guess I'll go first." He stands up, and I immediately hate him for it. By standing up for his introduction, he just set a precedent for everyone who goes after him. Now people will expect me to stand too.

"My name is Lucas Santos," he says with a wave. "I'm a freshman. And I I just came over the border from Mexico with my family last summer. We figured we better get over here before Trump builds his wall, ya know? So yeah, I've only lived in America for about eight months or so."

Mrs. Reeves raises her eyebrows all the way up into her gray hair. "Really?"

Lucas immediately ruins his nonchalant demeanor by breaking into loud, convulsing laughter. "No, not really. I was born and raised here. Never even been to Mexico."

The entire room erupts into laughter.

"You're funny, Lucas," remarks a brunette girl in front of us, smiling at him endearingly.

Mrs. Reeves, however, is far from amused. "Ha ha, very funny. Don't think I'm going to let you get away with that. You have to pick another fact about yourself."

"Ugggggh," groans Lucas with needless volume, flipping aside his long hair. "Fine. Let's see, uh...." he looks around the room, as if expecting to find an interesting fact that he can use lurking in some corner. His eyes finally land on me. "Oh, I had advanced art for the first time this morning. I had it with this kid. I drew a tree. There, that's my fun fact." He sits down.

"Alright, fine." Mrs. Reeves turns her stare to me. "You next."

"Pass," I mutter. Surprisingly, this gets some laughs as well.

"No passing," say Mrs. Reeves.

Well, it was worth a shot.

I stand up slowly, my knees shaking. "Um, my name is--" my voice cuts off all of a sudden. I don't want to say it.

"Did you forget your name, or....?" Lucas jokes.

I ignore him, closing my eyes and trying to avoid a panic attack. I don't want to say it. That stupid name that I've always hated. It's NOT my name, it's not who I am. I can't say it. I don't want to. I can't--"

"George," someone mutters for me. My eyes fly open, and I realize how hot my face is as I lock eyes with the girl who spoke. She has kind blue eyes behind her thick-framed glasses, her blonde hair worn in a braid down her back. I don't know her, but I think she's in a couple of my classes. "He's a freshman. He doesn't like to talk."

"Okay George," says Mrs. Reeves softly, directly to me. "Can you think of something interesting-"

"I have a twin," I blurt. There is it, my go-to fun fact.

There are some murmurs of interest throughout the room from people who have never met me before, but it's clear that most people knew this already. Either they've had a class with me or Sam, or they went to middle school with us.

"Wow," says Lucas loudly. "So was it you that I met this morning, or was that your twin?"

"His twin's a girl," someone else says.

"So then they're identical, right?" a third person jokes, causing a few people (though not very many) to laugh.

I roll my eyes as I sit down. And there it is.

"Alright, alright," Mrs. Reeves settles everyone down. She points to the girl who had kindly spoken for me, sitting a few seats down from me and Lucas. "You next."

"I'm Faith. I'm a freshman. I like blue."

"Wonderful. Next?"

As Mrs. Reeves moves on, I meet Faith's eyes and mouth the words thank you.

She just shrugs, but I don't think she really grasps how uncommon it is for someone I don't know to be kind to me.

As the introductions continue, it's clear that this class is composed of mostly freshmen and sophomores, though there are a few juniors scattered about as well. I've come to really enjoy mixed-grade classes, as there often aren't a whole lot of people who know me, so I'm unlikely to be bullied as much. I'm surprised to find that I do recognize one of the juniors in here, however: Alicia Kincaid, the junior I met this morning when her boyfriend made fun of me.

She seems to recognize me too, as after her introduction ("Alicia Kincaid, junior class president, I'm also captain of the cheer squad.") she gives me a furtive but apologetic glance before she sits down.

"Great. Now that we all know each other," says Mrs. Reeves once introductions are finished. "I would like to spend a few minutes going over the rules of this class."

Deciding that it's safe to tune her out at this point, I pull my drawing book out of my backpack and flip it open to a blank page. I glance over at Lucas and see that he must have had the same idea several minutes ago, as he is well into drawing a very detailed tree.

"Do you draw anything other than trees?" I whisper.

It takes him a minute to realize that I'm talking to him, and when he does look up he blinks in confusion. "What?"

I roll my eyes. "I just noticed that you're drawing another tree. Do you not draw anything else."

"I draw grass sometimes," he responds in a completely serious tone. "I also draw bushes, flowers, fluffy clouds. Sometimes a happy little sun with a smiley face in the corner of the page."

I can't help it, I actually giggle at this.

Lucas grins as if in victory. "I'm just kidding. Of course I draw other things. Trees are just my go-to."

"I get it," I tell him with a nod, passing him my drawing book. "If you look through this, you'll see what my go-to is."

"Holy shit," Lucas whispers after looking at only three pages. "Dude, these are amazing. What makes you draw roses so much?"

I shrug. "What makes you draw trees so much? It's just what I do."

I hold out my hand for my drawing book, but he continues to flip through it in amazement. Finally he lands on a page that depicts one of the few drawings in the book that isn't a rose:

"Alright, that's enough," I mutter, snatching the book back from him. "That one is....bad."

"Dude, that was metal as fuck," Lucas says in awe. "What does it mean?"

"It's stupid," I respond, my heart pounding. All I can think about was how that was the last thing I could draw after homecoming night, before a straight month of not being able to draw anything. "Just some emo crap I did when I was younger. Doesn't mean anything."

"I thought it was awesome," says Lucas with a shrug, before returning to drawing his tree.

Meanwhile, I try to rebury the feelings that were revived just from seeing that drawing. The feelings of terror and trauma, the memories....

I shake them away, turning once again to blank page in my book. I could draw another rose, I guess, but a part of me really want to recapture everything I felt from drawing that beautiful girl this morning. I want to feel that pride, that happiness. I want to imagine that it's me on the page, or at the very least my future self.

Smiling once more, I being to draw the outline of a face.

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

Sam

Graphic design looks like it's going to pretty boring, but I'm okay with that. I spend most of the period texting Dan and Cody simultaneously. Dan and I discuss plans for getting together sometime this week, while Cody and I share funny memories from our fifth period class.

Journalism with Cody was interesting, to say the least. Our teacher is a short, balding man named Mr. Neely who eats Wheat Thins at his desk while he lectures, and the classroom is a large, conference-like room with a bunch of cushioned spinny chairs sat around a single, long table. Computers line the walls and there's a fridge and microwave in the back of the room. Apparently this is where the school newspaper is written, which Mr. Neely made clear when he spent the first twenty minutes of class talking up his editing team, and trying to recruit people to join.

As Mr. Yang goes on and on about the most basic functions of computers, I continue texting Cody about it under my desk.

CODY: I'm thinking about joining the newspaper staff.

ME: As if you couldn't assert your nerd status anymore.

CODY: I'm serious. I've always thought about being a journalist one day anyway. And I think you should do it with me.

I pause, considering this for a minute. During the stretch of silence from my end, Cody sends another text.

CODY: Come on man, at least think about it. You're an amazing writer, the newspaper would be lucky to have you. And we could have so much fun together.

ME: I don't know, Cody. It sounds like a lot of commitment. Plus, I've never really been the club-joining type. In case you haven't noticed, I don't really get along with people that well.

CODY: But I'll be there so you'll have at least one friend. And I know this doesn't mean much to you right now, but newspaper staff will look really good on your resume some day.

ME: You're right. That doesn't mean shit to me.

CODY: Still, there are tons of benefits. Will you at least think about it?

Our conversation is briefly interrupted when Dan finally texts me back.

DAN: Sorry, teacher almost caught me being on my phone. Anyway, so I was thinking Saturday?

ME: I'll still need to ask my parents. But they've both been pretty occupied lately, so I'm almost sure they'll say yes.

Not for the first time today, I find myself having to shake away the image of my mother's face this morning, absolutely caked with makeup, but still with an unmistakable purple splotch showing through her foundation.

ME: What do you want to do?

DAN: I dunno. I was kinda thinking we could just hang out at my place. I have some movies we can watch.

ME: That sounds awesome! I can't wait.

CODY: Hey, you there?

Aw crap, I still need to respond to Cody.

Again, I consider his proposal. It's not so much that I'm against joining the newspaper staff, because from the way Mr. Neely explained it, it actually sounds like it might be kind of fun. Especially for people who like to write. The part I'm opposed to is more the part where I'd be working with a bunch of upperclassmen I don't know, many of whom will probably detest me on sight. And even if I do make friends on the staff, that'll just be more people that I'll have to come out to when the time comes.

CODY: Pleeeeease?

I roll my eyes even though he can't see, but text back, I'll think about it.

--------

When the bell rings to signal the end of the day, I practically run to meet Rose in the commons. We hug tightly when we see each other.

"We survived the day!" I proclaim.

"Yep." She doesn't sound nearly as excited as me.

"What's wrong--oh. Oh yeah." I almost forgot that she had a dysphoric episode in math class. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Rose mutters. "Sam, we have to talk about this."

"About what?"

"Hey," says Dan, interrupting us as he appears out of seemingly nowhere. "You fuckers ready to go home?"

"Hell yeah," I breath with a smile. The two of us join hands as we exit through the front doors.

Rose follows a few feet behind, and remains silent for the entire walk.

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

Rose

Dan walks with us all the way to our front door, like he's been doing. Thankfully, Dad isn't here to charge out and yell at him this time.

I go inside first, allowing Sam and Dan time to make out or whatever it is they do when I'm not there. I go straight to my room, not wanting to wait around for Mom to ambush me and ask me how my day was.

Immediately after shutting my bedroom door, I take off my hoodie and V-neck shirt and stand in front of the mirror in nothing but jeans and a bra. It hits me like a brick: I survived a full day of wearing a bra to school. I want to laugh, but I'm too nervous about what I'm going to say to Sam when he gets up here. We have to talk about it.

I take some time to stare at myself, like I did this morning. Though my dysphoria is still driving me crazy by bringing all kinds of things that I can't control about my appearance to my attention, I make a legitimate effort to actually look like a girl, just standing here in jeans and a bra. I ruffle my hair up a bit with my fingers, pushing my long bangs in front of my eyes and tucking my overgrown sideburns behind my ears. (Maybe if I put in a couple of bobby pins, it'll look more feminine. I can try that tomorrow).

I move to grab the makeup kit from underneath my bed. God, it feels like it's been forever since I've used this. Grinning so wide it hurts my face, I shake some liquid foundation onto my fingers and take it in front of the mirror to apply it. I top it off with some powder, so that my face doesn't look so shiny. Not only does this stuff conceal my acne like magic, but it gives me the smooth-appearing skin of a girl. I can feel my true self starting to come together with this look.

Giddy from excitement, I dig through a small bag in the kit and pull out a brown eyebrow pencil. I use it to darken my eyebrows into the shape I want. Then, using that same pencil, I line lightly under my eyes like hundreds of YouTube tutorials have taught me. The brown supposedly brings out the flecks in my green eyes. I use slightly darker eyeliner for my top eyelid, finishing the eyes with some light mascara.

Finally, I complete the simple look with a touch of pink lipgloss across my lips. I smile wide at myself in the mirror.

Finally, still in just my bra and jeans, I back away from the mirror. I put my shoulders back, puff my chest out, and suck in my stomach as I put my hands on my hips in a Wonder Woman pose. I look like a girl.

I look like a girl.

Suddenly there's a knock at the door. "Rosie, you decent?"

"Uh, hang on." I quickly throw my shirt back on before telling Sam to come in.

He takes one look at me in my makeup and smiles. "Nice job there. You look amazing."

"I look like a girl, right?" I ask him, desperate for validation.

Sam responds the way he always does. "You always look like a girl, Rosie. Because you are."

I sigh. That's not good enough.

"Now, what was it that you wanted to talk to me about back at school?" he asks, dropping his backpack and flopping backwards onto his bed.

"Oh, right. Uh...." Shit, I'm not ready for this.

"If it's about Mom," Sam cuts in suddenly. "Then don't ask me because I still have no idea what we're going to do."

"Did you see her downstairs, by the way?" I ask him, sitting down on my own bed on the other side of the room. "I kind of rushed up here to do my makeup."

Sam shakes his head. "She wasn't down there."

"Really?"

"Trust me, I looked. Her car is here though."

Huh. Weird. "Then where is she?"

Sam and I must both get the same idea at the same time, as our movements to open the door are practically in sync. A little ways down the hall, past our Dad's office and the guest room, is Mom and Dad's bedroom. The door is shut, but the light is on underneath.

"Should we knock?" I whisper.

Sam shakes his head, putting a finger to his lips. We both stand there, listening for a moment.

And then we hear it: A quiet, muffled sobbing, seeming to be coming from someone who is trying not to make a sound. But we still hear it, and it's unmistakably our mother.

Sam storms back to our bedroom, with me following quietly behind. "That fucking bastard," Sam growls as soon as our door is closed. "There's no way I'm going downstairs when he gets home from work. If I see him, I'll kill him."

"Sam, calm down," I urge him. "Maybe we're blowing this way out of proportion. Maybe the bruise wasn't from Dad at all." But even as I say it, I know I'm fooling myself to think otherwise.

"Oh it was definitely him," says Sam in a sure tone. "And you know it, too. You saw the way she tried to hide it this morning. Our Dad is a fucking monster, and we need to report him."

"Sam, we can't do that! Not without talking to Mom first." I'm just as pissed at our father as Sam is, but also know what a huge risk going to the police would be. I don't want an abusive father, but I don't want a jailed father either. It may be in vain, but I'm honestly just hoping that we can somehow all work this out as a family.

Sam sighs in defeat, collapsing back on his bed. "I guess you're right. I'm just so fucking mad."

"I'm mad too, believe me," I assure him. "But if I could change the subject slightly....that's not exactly what I wanted to talk to you about."

Sam sits up and gives me a curious look. "Then what is it?"

I take a deep breath, summoning all the courage in my body to say the words I can feel bubbling up in my throat. Then I spit them out: "I want to come out tomorrow."

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

Dan

"You don't need it," I say aloud to myself, as I turn on my heel and cross the black-and-white marble floor for what feels like the hundredth time. "You're stronger than this. You don't need to do it. You don't need to do it."

I'm thankful that Gabriella is out grocery shopping right now, so there's no risk of her walking in and finding me pacing around the kitchen, talking to myself like a madman. She would report that back to my parents for sure.

Our kitchen, much like the rest of our house, is absolutely massive. A floor-to-ceiling refrigerator, state of the art counter tops, and a huge china cabinet holding a shit-ton of my parents' liquor that they're never even here to drink, are just a few things that line the shiny, tiled walls of this kitchen. It pisses me off, honestly, how big it all is. Two freaking people live here, we don't need all this space. All it does is make the place feel even lonelier than it already would with just me and the housekeeper.

I reach the fridge and turn again, once again facing the wall that displays my mother's collection of high-quality steel kitchen knives. I'm not sure why she bought them, seeing that she hardly cooks. I feel like everything in this stupid place was bought specifically for decoration, to make it look like an actual home instead of just a kennel for their son. Sometimes I wonder if they would've even bothered buying such a nice place for me to live out here if they didn't also use this house for photoshoots.

I reach the wall with the knives, get close enough to stare down my reflection in the steel blades, then turn again. "You don't need it. You're stronger than this. You didn't throw your fucking razors into the lake just to relapse again like a pussy."

But there's no denying it: the urge is stronger than it's been in a long time.

I don't know what makes me want to maim myself, really I don't. I'm not sure if any cutter could tell you exactly why they do what they do, but I definitely can't. I was bullied a lot in middle school, sure, but so were a lot of people. Yeah, I grew up with celebrities for parents who never gave me any positive attention, but I'm not the only kid in this predicament either. Plenty of kids with worse lives than mine get along just fine without slicing open their skin.

So why can't I?

I face the knives again, then turn, face the knives, then turn. Back and forth across the massive kitchen I pace, all the while muttering forced encouragement to myself. "You can do this. You don't need this."

Suddenly remembering how I gave Sam a hard time today for not just texting me when he needed help instead of cutting over winter break, I pull out my phone. Not like I'm not already a monstrous hypocrite, but I'd be an even worse one if I didn't take my own advice. I can feel myself about to slip up. I should text him before I....

But what the hell do I say?

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

Sam

"Are you fucking insane Rose?" I respond, making her jump. "What happened to waiting a little while? What happened to, 'we can do it anytime this year'? You're saying we should come out tomorrow?

"I told you Sam," she says in a low, nervous voice. "I'm sick of this. Every time I have to go into the boys' locker room, or introduce myself to new people as George, it hurts worse and worse. I can't take the pain anymore."

I just shake my head. I'm so incredibly shocked by my sister, I can barely speak. When did this happen to her? What the hell made her so hopeful, so brave? And why does her enthusiasm bother me so much? "I get that it hurts, Rosie. Believe me, I understand. But we can't be rash with this. We have to plan it. We have to--"

"Alright then," says Rose, flipping her hair as she takes a seat at her desk. "Let's plan."

"What? Ugh, Rose, that's not--"

"Who do you want to tell first?" she asks casually. "I'm cool with telling Mom, but I know she kind of has a lot on her plate lately. I was thinking maybe we can start with some teachers--"

"Rose, are you even listening to yourself?!" I shout, standing up. "You sound fucking crazy. Have you forgotten what that school is like? And you think our teachers are just gonna be all accepting?"

"I don't care if they accept it or not," Rose shrugs. "I'm just going to tell them how it is."

"What the hell has gotten into you?" I ask her, infuriated by her stubbornness. "It's not even two weeks into the new year, for Christ's sake! We need more time--"

"You mean you need more time," Rose cuts in, narrowing her eyes at me.

"You know what, fine. If you want to put it that way, yes. I need more time. I'm not ready to deal with the shit storm that is going to result from our coming out. And since we agreed to come out together, then you don't get to do it without me just because you're on this weird adrenaline high of self-acceptance. I'm sorry Rose, but you're just going to have to wait a little longer."

Unbelievably, Rose starts to get teary-eyed. "How much longer, Sam?"

"Gee, I don't know," I mutter, terrified of giving her a date. "More than two weeks into the new year, definitely."

"How long?" she repeats, angrily. She wipes the tears from her eyes in a frustrated motion, smearing her freshly-applied mascara. "And what, if I may ask, are we waiting for?"

I open my mouth, only to realize that I have no answer. I guess the most honest response would be, We're waiting for me to stop being a terrified little bitch, but even in my head that sounds bad. I guess if I stop and think rationally for long enough, it's not hard for me to realize that I'm being at least slightly unfair to my sister.

But I don't want to be rational right now. It's so much easier to just keep being angry that Rose is suddenly braver than I am.

"Exactly," says Rose, taking my silence as a good enough response. "There's nothing more to wait for. We can come out whenever the hell we want, we always had that ability--"

"And you were always the one who didn't want to do it," I remind her, stating exactly what's frustrating me. "What happened?"

"I....I rethought things," Rose answers, glancing to one side. "And like I've been saying, I just can't take all the hiding and secrecy anymore. I just want to be me."

"I do too, Rosie," I tell her, speaking slightly softer than before. "But I'm just not ready. I'm sorry."

For a split second, Rose looks furious. But it only lasts for a second, then her expression shifts into a strangely calm one. "It's fine," she says quietly. "Don't be sorry." In a casual manner, she pulls one of her many half-finished canvases from her closet and begins to set up her station to work on it. After a minute or so, she adds, "You can come out whenever you want."

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

Dan

Suddenly, I'm holding the big butcher knife in one hand and my cell phone in the other.

My phone is open to my exchanged messages with Sam, my thumb frozen just above the keys. What the hell do I say to him?

What can I say?, I suddenly realize as my mind continues to draw a blank. How can I ask my boyfriend for help right now when he doesn't even know I still struggle with cutting? When, as far as he knows, I've been clean for years and the only one struggling here is him?

My guilt from gym class earlier today returns with the force of a freight train hitting me in the gut. That shit he had said at the end of our argument, that comment he made about how quitting self-harm was "so easy" for me.....he had not idea how wrong he was.

And I don't want him to know, I realize as I click my screen dark. I shove my phone back in my pocket so that now, I'm only holding the knife. I realize that I would much rather relapse than admit to my boyfriend that I am not nearly as strong as he thinks I am.

I bring the knife in close to my arm.

"NO!" I shout suddenly, stopping myself. The urge to feel the blood ooze from my skin brings pangs of nausea to my stomach. There are no words for how badly I want this. Good god, I want it so fucking bad.

But I can't do it. I can't do it.

Not on my arm.

Suddenly, I hear the front door open. "Daniel?" says Gabriella in her unmistakable accent. "You okay?"

Shit shit shit I think in a nonstop internal monologue as I shove the knife under my shirt and run up the stairs. "Yeah," I answer, hoping she can't hear me rushing.

"You want to come help me with the groceries?"

I cringe with guilt. I always try to help her in any way that I can, I feel so bad that she's stuck working for my awful family. "Sorry, I can't!" I call back, reluctantly. "I....I have a lot of homework."

"Okayy," she says in that tone like she doesn't believe me, but luckily doesn't question me further.

I slam the door when I reach my room, breathing a sigh of relief as I pull the knife out from under my shirt and throw it onto my bed. I hope to God that Gabby doesn't notice that it's missing.

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

Rose

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Sam asks in response to my nonchalant comment. He sounds terrified. "We're not supposed to come out without each other, remember?"

"Hey, I offered you the chance to come out with me tomorrow," I respond with a shrug. "But you didn't want to. If I'm ready and you're not, I see no reason why I should keep waiting around so that you can decide when we come out. That's not fair."

"It's completely fair!" Sam argues loudly. "Rose, if you come out, that affects both of us. It would only be a matter of time before people figured me out, too. I told you, I'm not ready!"

I keep my eyes on my painting, pretending that I don't hear the panic in his voice. There's a nagging part of me, of course, that insists that I'm being just a little bit cruel to my brother by giving him this ultimatum. But a much larger part of me doesn't give a shit. I can't take pretending to be a boy anymore. I can't keep doing it, not even for one more day. I just can't.

"Sam," I say, keeping my tone assertive. "I'm coming out tomorrow, whether you do it with me or not. And there is nothing you can do to stop me."

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

Dan

ME: Sammy boy. You there?

I sent that text right after running up to my room to avoid Gabriella, five minutes ago. I have spent five, agonizing minutes waiting for any kind of response, with not the slightest idea of what I would say when it happens.

But it doesn't happen. The text hasn't even been read yet. He must be busy.

Sweating, I stare at the knife on the bed next to me. My reflection in the steel blade stares me down right back. I want it.

But you don't need it.

But I want it.

Don't do it, Dan.

But I have to.

You can't give up now.

But I want to.

You're a coward, Daniel.

I don't care.

You don't have to do this.

But I'm already doing it.

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

Sam

"Rosie, please!" I can't believe I'm at the point where I'm begging now, but I am. "Please don't do this to me! I'm not ready. I don't want them to know!"

"Don't want who to know?" Rose asks, throwing her paintbrush aside to look at me again.

"Mom and Dad, the teachers, the bullies--"

"You mean the people whose opinions you have literally never given a single shit about?" Rose asks, her eyebrows raised. "What happened to the big, tough bad boy, huh? What happened to the Sam who doesn't give a fuck?"

"It's all a lie, Rosie," I admit with a sob. "It's just an act. I'm a total phony, I always have been. I....I care what people think of me." It hurts to say, but it's completely true. I care. I care way too freaking much

Rose sighs, but I can't tell if it's out of pity or exasperation.

"Please don't do this, Rose. Not yet, and not without me."

"Please do it with me, Sam," she counters, not budging a single inch.

We stare at each other in silence, at a complete and utter stalemate, neither one of us willing to back down. Rose is still determined and anxious to quit this game we've been playing for our entire lives, to come out to the world, to be true to the person she really is inside. And I'm still one hundred percent terrified.

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

Dan

Exhaling loudly and with the same pleasure that a drug addict would feel from finally getting his fix after two weeks of painful withdrawal, I collapse backwards onto my black sheets. The knife falls from my hand to the floor with a clatter.

I take a moment to just lay there and enjoy the cold blood beading up to sooth my painful cuts. I have no idea how many I did, and I refuse to look down and count, but I can feel them scattered all across my ribs and sides. Some of them definitely drip red down onto my sheets, but I don't care. That's exactly why they are black.

My phone disrupts the peace when it dings into the silence.

SAM: I'm here. What's up?

I sigh deeply. You're too late, Sammy Boy. Mere moments too late.

ME: Nothing. Just making sure that you're okay.

I click my phone off again and place it on my bedside table. I sit up, wincing from the pain of it.

I take a moment to listen to the silence. I breathe a few times. I cry a little bit. Then I shower to wash away the blood and pain and guilty lies.

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

CODY

"This is all your fault!" My mother's shriek travels all the way up the stairs from the kitchen, creeping into my room through the crack in my door, causing me to flinch from the cold of it. "You and your shitty health insurance! Couldn't even afford a good hospital! Now we're in debt thousands of dollars, and our daughter is still going to die."

"I've done all I can, Sheila! You know that." My dad's voice, full of agony and hoarse from crying, comes in after my mom's. His voice, somehow, hurts even worse than hers did. And it's his voice that makes me shut my door all the way.

Unfortunately, this does nothing to keep me from hearing them.

"Well you should have done more!" Now she's crying, too. "Because of you, we're about to lose our little girl."

"We don't have to lose her," Dad responds, his voice just short of begging. "I'm telling you, we don't have to disconnect her life support. She could wake up one day."

"You're bullshitting yourself, and you know it. It's been a year--"

"She could still wake up! We don't have to lose her!"

"WE'VE ALREADY LOST HER!" Mom screams, making goosebumps rise to my flesh. "Do you honestly think that empty, blue husk of a human in the hospital bed is our daughter? She isn't THERE, Brian! She's a BODY. She's NOTHING. And it's all YOUR fault!"

"YOU KNOW I WASN'T THE ONE WATCHING HER WHEN SHE FELL DOWN THOSE STAIRS!" Dad finally screams in response.

WHACK.

I flinch. There it is.

"Don't you dare blame our son for this!"

"I wasn't blaming him," Dad almost laughs. "I was blaming YOU!".

I put in my headphones and search for rain sounds on YouTube, turning the volume all the way up. This is my only coping skill.

I wish it was raining right now.

But more than that, I wish I wasn't here right now. I wish I was lying in that hospital bed instead of Sunny, a frozen statue like her, cold and alone, a pale and unfair powder blue like Sunset.

All your fault.

I wish that I was the blue one. The one with brittle hair and cold, rubbery skin, while she was the one with bright eyes and colorful cheeks who got to be awake and okay, perhaps even crying about me and writing poetry about the peculiar color of my skin.

All your fault.

Sunny was a wonderful poet. Sometimes it felt like she was teaching me instead of the other way around. She taught me that I didn't always have to rhyme, that I could be free and careless with my expression. She taught me that poems didn't have to be about beautiful things to be beautiful. She taught me that I could write a poem about a rusty tin can that she found in the street on her way home from school, and that it could still be magical. All I taught her, really, was how to write in cursive.

All your fault.

I wish I was the blue one. I wish that Sunny was still here, still writing amazing and funny little poems that always made adults smile because Oh, she was just so cute! But I was the only one she ever told their real meanings to. I was the only one she told everything to. We stayed up so late some nights, talking and laughing, sometimes crying together. The girl was wise beyond her years.

But she doesn't speak anymore. She doesn't laugh anymore.

And she doesn't cry anymore. Not since she shut her eyes and never opened them again, and I'm sure that by now they're all crusted shut with the amount of time they have been closed for. She's so quiet now. She's so blue.

All your fault.

I wish I was the blue one. I wish I was blue and cold and dead in a hospital, while she was still here laughing and crying and writing poetry.

Sunny did lots of other things, too. She liked to ride her bike up and down our street, all year round, even when it got so cold that the wind stung her face. She just loved the outdoors so much. Her favorite season was fall, because she liked to jump in the big piles of leaves that Mom and Dad always made me rake. I couldn't even be mad at her when I had to do all of that raking again, because her cheeks were so pink from the cold and from laughter, and she looked adorable in her purple winter coat and magenta scarf, her silky blonde curls flying everywhere when she jumped around. She was anything but blue back then.

All your fault, all your fault, all your--

Sunny loved to color, even when the other kids in her class told her she was too old for it. She did all kinds of things others thought she was too old for, like collect stuffed animals and watch cartoons on Saturday mornings, but she never tried to hide that she did these things. Sunny was proud to be who she was, and encouraged me to feel the same. Sunny was the first person to tell me that love is love, and that it didn't matter who I married one day, I would always be her big brother and she would always love me.

I wish I was the blue one. I wish Sunny was the one sitting here right now, crying and with a lump in her throat, listening to rain sounds to drown out Mom and Dad's fighting.

Sunny loved the rain. Sunny also loved the snow, and the sleet, and the sun. She loved that my middle name is Rain and hers was Sunset, and she loved hers so much that she never let anyone call her Helena. Sunny drank hot chocolate in the winter and lemonade in the summer, and loved walking to the gas station with me after school to buy gummy bears with her allowance, that we would then eat together on the way home so Mom wouldn't find out that that was what she was spending her money on.

She never liked how there were no blue gummy bears in the generic bag. She thought it was unfair.

The rain sound video ends and I rip out my headphones. The sore eyes and the rawness in my throat tell me that I've been crying for several minutes, without even knowing it.

I wish I was the blue one. Or that I was blue next to her. Either way, I would give anything to not be alive right now.

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

Rose

"So what are we going to do?" I ask softly.

It's been quite a long stretch of silence between us, long enough that I think we've both managed to cool off. Now, we're laying down in opposite directions on the floor of our bedroom, staring up at the ceiling.

"I don't know," Sam responds, just as softly.

"What have you been thinking about?"

Sam sighs. "Dan, honestly. He texted me while we were fighting, asking me if I was there. I responded a good ten minutes after he sent it, and he said that he was just checking on me."

"Do you think he was lying?" I ask him.

Sam shrugs.

We lay in silence some more.

"You know something, Sam?" I ask, disrupting the quiet again.

"What?"

"I....don't really care about coming out," I admit quietly. "Not in the literal sense, anyway. The only things I care about are my name and the way I look." I notice him turn his head towards me in my peripheral vision, but I keep staring at the ceiling, and I keep talking. "I don't really have a desire to proclaim the words 'I'm transgender' all dramatic-like. I don't need to physically tell people that I'm a girl. I just want to be able to wear what I want, to present myself how I want. And I want people to call me Rose. That's really it."

Beside me, I hear him sigh. "But the name. You wouldn't have to say you're trans for people to connect the dots if you make them start calling you Rose."

I sigh as well. "I know."

We're quiet for a bit longer, and this time I am determined to not be the one to break the silence. I want Sam to tell me what he wants.

"Rose," he finally whispers. "Do you think we can make a deal?"

Curiously, I look over at him. "What kind of deal?"

"Bring me the trashcan from the bathroom."

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

Dan

The scalding water does nothing to wash away the sorrow I feel. I want to be dead right now.

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

Sam

"What do you want this for?" Rose asks, after complying.

I don't respond right away, pulling the trashcan over towards my dresser. I grab my scissors from the top drawer and undo my hair from it's bun one final time. "I don't want to make a mess," I finally say.

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

Cody

My parents don't stop fighting. They'll never stop, and it won't do a goddamn thing to help their comatose nine-year-old. Nothing will. I want to be dead right now.

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

Rose

"Here's our deal," Sam explains, before I can get too excited. "We're not coming out. Not technically. We aren't changing our names, and we're not revealing our genders."

I frown, disappointed, and I am about the argue when Sam holds up a hand.

"However," he continues running his fingers through his tangled locks nervously. "We aren't going to put on a show anymore. We can dress how we want, you can wear makeup, and no longer will I bear the weight of this stupidly long hair." He scowls at his reflection in the mirror above his dresser. He turns to look at me, holding out his hand that isn't holding the scissors. "Do we have a deal?"

I pretend to think it over for a minute, but it honestly sounds great to me. Sure, I'm pretty bummed that I have to keep calling myself George for however-the-fuck long, but I guess it'll ultimately be better for both of us if me and Sam can do the actual Coming Out as a team, just like we originally planned.

I shake his hand. "Deal."

"No name-changing. Not yet."

"No name-changing," I agree.

He lets go of my hand and faces his reflection once more. "Damn," he mutters, lifting a chunk of his hair. "I'm gonna pay for this later, aren't I?"

I give him a sad smile in the mirror. "Of course you are. When don't you?"

Sighing, Sam proclaims. "Here I go." And closes the scissors on that first chunk of hair.

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

Dan

I want to die.

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

Cody

I want to die.

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

Lucas

I want to die.

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

John

I want to die.

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

Sam

In reality the deed only takes about twenty minutes, but it feels like ages.

The beginning was easy, and I enjoyed the act of moving the scissors across my neck, hacking away at the hair I've always hated. I even laughed a bit. It felt great, like asserting my gender always does, but even more so because this was something I've wanted for so long, but had always been too afraid to do.

The hard part came when I had to move the scissor to the sides of my head, and figure out what the hell to do there. It was at that point that Rose had to help, pulling up some YouTube videos and seeing if she could match the work of a hair stylist. In the end, we still managed to make pretty short work of it.

"And there," says Rose as she makes the final cut. "I gave you some bangs. Um....I think."

I stare at myself in the mirror. The haircut is far from perfect. It's choppy and uneven, and a bit longer on the sides than I would like it to be. Definitely not my dream look. But it's not a total disaster, either. In fact, it could have turned out a helluva lot worse.

"What do you think?" asks Rose, cringing as if awaiting a bad reaction. Or maybe because she thinks it looks terrible, I don't know.

But I beam up at her. "I love it," I say. And I honestly do. The haircut itself is alright, and I can always get it fixed at a barber shop some day after school. But the act itself-- the fact that I did it, that I cut my hair-- is what is making my heart swell with pride in this moment.

"Are you lying?" asks Rose.

"Maybe a little bit."

She laughs. "Jesus, look at this mess," she comments after a glance at the floor. "Half of your hair didn't even make it into the trashcan."

"We'll worry about it later." I can't stop staring at myself in the mirror. The way my new hair frames my face, I look....damn, I look like a boy.

"You know something, sis?" I grin as I kneel down to the floor to help her pick up as much of my hair as we can gather with our bare hands. "I think that everything might just be okay."