Rose

My brother and I invented Code Red in the fall of our seventh grade year. It was one of those days when both of us were feeling extremely dysphoric at the same time, which always made it really hard for either of us to help the other. It was already destined to be a bad day.

But then it happened, the event that made it the worst day of Sam's life up to that point.

We were in math class, Sam and me. We were doing our work quietly in the back of the room when all of a sudden I heard Sam gasp. I looked over to see my brother staring off into space, wide-eyed like a deer staring at the end of a rifle.

"What's wrong, Sam?" I asked, but he ignored me. He asked to be excused to the restroom.

This was my first clue that something was wrong, because we NEVER used the bathrooms at school if we could avoid it. It was so humiliating, not being able to use the right ones.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Sam didn't return. I texted him and he didn't respond.

I started to panic. Something was definitely wrong.

After asking to be excused myself, I began to hunt the school for my brother. I checked all the girls' bathrooms, telling any girls I encountered that I was "looking for my sister". Then I checked all the boys' bathrooms, and it was in the one by the science wing (the least-used one) that I heard the sobbing coming from the big stall at the end. I recognized the crying immediately.

I ran up to the door and pounded on it, begging Sam to let me in, but he ignored me. I finally had to crawl through the gap under the door to get in.

And what I saw nearly made me scream.

There, curled up in a ball next to the toilet, was my twin brother with his arms covered in cuts and a piece of glass from the broken mirror in his hand.

"Why did you make me this way, God?" he was sobbing. "Why the fuck did you do this to me? Just kill me why don't you? Please God just let me die!"

It didn't take me long to guess what had happened, but I knew better than to try to make him talk about it. I just cleaned up his arms (luckily, the cuts were fairly shallow) and then wrapped him in a hug and let him cry all over me, forgetting my own dysphoria because my brother had just gotten his first period.

That day was one of the few times in our lives when I was the strong one. It was me who snuck into the nurse's office and stole some sanitary pads out of her cabinet, because Sam was just too embarrassed to ask. It was me who told the rest of his teachers for the day that "she went home sick" when in reality HE spent the rest of the day in that same stall in the boys' bathroom, too scared to leave. 

And it was me who, at home later that day, told Sam that we ought to have a code for situations as severe as this, so that I could know to go find him. 

We agreed on Code Red. It was short and simple enough to remember, and it would keep him from having to describe what was happening and trigger himself even further. I made him promise to text those two words to me whenever he felt like cutting or killing himself, and I would always go straight to the big stall in the boys' bathroom by the science wing and help him. Ever since we agreed on this, he's only used Code Red twice.

Three times, counting today.

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Sam

It isn't until I get that text from Rose that I realize how long I've been hiding in this bathroom. I even ditched fourth period, I've been so busy crying.

I texted Rose Code Red because I could hardly breathe and I honestly felt like dying, but I suddenly wish that I didn't. She probably thinks I'm slitting my wrists in here.

Oh well. It won't take her long to find me. Lucky for us, the high school also has bathrooms right by the science wing, which has always been my unspoken hiding place.

Sure enough, the door bursts open just a few minutes after I sent the text. I recognize her shoes as she marches right up to my stall and knocks rapidly. "Sam?! Sam??!" Her frightened voice makes me jump and I open the door quickly.

"Rosie it's okay! I'm alright-"

She sighs with relief and throws her arms around me, only to pull back immediately and smack me in the arm.

"Ow!" I yell. "What-"

"You know better than to use Code Red on me like that unless it's serious! Good god Sam, I thought you were dying!"

"I felt like I was dying," I mutter, and Rose immediately softens.

"What happened?" She asks, and I tell her all about gym class. Or, what little of it I attended, anyway.

Rose snorts. "Kylie Donner is so conceited, she assumes that everyone within a two mile radius is staring at her boobs."

I smile, even though I don't really feel better. "That was just so humiliating," I say. "Everyone already thinks that I'm a lesbian. How am I supposed to undress in front of these people every day?"

"I don't know Sam," she admits. "I have gym next, and I don't know how I'm going to do it either."

I cringe. I totally forgot that Rose has to deal with the exact same thing, only it's probably going to be even worse for her. The guys in our grade are so cruel.

"Are you going to be okay?" I ask, suddenly forgetting my own troubles.

"I'll live," she responds with a shrug, but I can see the terror behind her eyes.

"You could always fake an injury," I say, my mind rushing with possible solutions. "Or an asthma attack. Or-"

"Sam, it's okay," she interjects. "I'm going to have to deal with it eventually."

I nod. She's right. I just wish neither of us had to.

"Come on, let's get out of here before you're caught," Rose says, pulling me to my feet just as the bell rang. I immediately feel guilty.

"I'm sorry I made you miss lunch, Rose," I say.

"Don't be stupid," she says. "You're way more important. You didn't cut yourself, did you?"

"No," I say, rolling my eyes. I've only cut myself a few times since the day I got my period in seventh grade, but she still always asks whenever I'm upset. I guess that's what I get. Seeing me with blood all over my arms that day must've traumatized her for life.

I drop her off by the gym and wish her luck, then head to my own next class, trying not to think about the fact that I probably have two additional write-ups for the classes I skipped, bringing me to three detentions on my first day of school.

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

Rose

The locker room is just as bad as I expected, if not worse. Edgar and his buddies are all in my class, of course. I count ten homophobic comments directed at me before I even change into my gym clothes, and I'm tripped by three people before I leave the changing room. I can tell this is going to become routine for me.

In addition to my classmates, I can tell Coach Hill is going to be a total dickhead. At the beginning of class, while blabbing about how he's going to push us to our limits this year, he brings me and Edgar up to the front

"Good hard work can turn you from this-" he points at me "-into this." He gestures to Edgar, who flexes his muscles to emphasize the point. 

I can tell he means it as a joke by the way he pats me on the shoulder as I go sit down, but little does he know it's not the least bit funny to me.

After he finishes his lecture he gives us a free day, which I spend hanging out near the bleachers by myself, and staring longingly at the girls playing volleyball on the other side of the gym. I just wish so badly that I can be like them...

Towards the end of the period, Warren Hawk catches me staring. "Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer," he says, laughing. 

I just look at my shoes, warmth flooding my face. Warren Hawk is an enormous brute of a teenager, similar to Edgar in his viciousness, only not quite as clever. He's almost worse though, because his torment is more likely to get physical. And sexual.

"If I didn't know any better Georgie," he continues with a cruel smile. "I'd say you were just drooling over those girls out there. But of course, I do know better. Bet you wish you had a cock in your mouth right about now, actually."

I ignore him, turning away to go hide under a different set of bleachers. It's a pretty common assumption among the kids in my grade that I'm gay, and honestly, I haven't done much to correct them. It's better they assume that than know the truth.

"Holy shit....are you wearing a necklace?"

I freeze. Sam's necklace. I didn't take it off when I changed because it makes me feel safe. It is my femininity, my lifeline. Now, of course, it has made me the exact opposite of safe.

"Jesus Christ, you are!" Warren grabs the exposed chain, pulling me along with it and cutting it into my neck. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He's laughing, but he also seems genuinely curious. "Do you like getting the shit beat out of you or something?"

I say nothing. I just yank the necklace out of his grasp and try to get away from him, but he grabs me by the shirt.

"Whatsa matter, faggot?" Warren growls, holding my shirt tightly. "You suck so much dick last night that you can't talk?"

I say nothing. I learned early in my public school career that absolutely no good comes from talking to your bullies. It just humiliates you further, and gives them more ammunition.

Not that they need much when it comes to me.

"Hey Edgar! Wanna play Make the Faggot Talk?"

God dammit, I hate this game.

Suddenly I'm surrounded by guys much bigger than me. They form a circle around me, shoving me from one person to the next, laughing and throwing insults.

"Come on Georgie, don't you got anything to say?"

"Nah man, faggots don't speak English."

"Aren't you gonna defend yourself, you little sissy?"

I manage to glance through the throng of bodies and over in Coach Hill's direction, only to find him reading a magazine in his chair, paying no attention to whats going on on the court.

The guys are closing in on me, and suddenly I can't breathe. Sweaty bodies form a wall separating me from anyone in this gym who could possibly care enough to help me. They back me into a corner. Their ugly words attack my eardrums like buzzing wasps. They're so loud and their hands are all over me and they're laughing.

"Look at the little faggot."

"Aww are you gonna cwy?"

"I'll bet his dick is so tiny."

"I'll be he doesn't even have a dick!"

Somebody yanks on my gym shorts and almost pull down my underwear. Luckily, I'm quick to squirm away and yank them back up. But still they bust out laughing.

"Aw man, do it again I didn't get a picture!"

I'm going to die here....

Suddenly the bell rings, and just like that I can breathe again. The bullies have dispersed as fast as they had formed the circle, obviously not wanting to get caught, but feeling safe knowing that I would not breathe a word of what happened to anyone, even Sam.

And of course, they're right.