I clenched and unclenched my fists as I followed him down Main St. We met with the realtor who would help us find a house, a middle aged lady called Mrs. Hyde. Dad introduced me as just Charlie, and this caused the woman to stare at me for quite a few long seconds until she dismissed me. For the rest of the walk she had as bright a smile as though she were about to profit off of a multimillion dollar home purchase, instead of renting us a run down house in the middle of town.

The whole town was so small that we were easily able to walk to the first house we were seeing.

I burst out laughing as soon as I saw it. And it was definitely not the good kind of laughter.

The thing was crumbling. Shingles were shaved off. Shiplap was hole-pecked by termites, no doubt. The one tree in the front yard had casually dropped a full branch on top of the house that nobody had bothered to remove, and there was a crack that ran across the front porch like a scar and unhinged the front door.

I must have been looking at a mirror. The inanimate representation of who I was. That was what was so funny.

"I love it," I said, wiping the tears off my cheeks. "It feels just like home."

Dad glared at me even as the lady smiled at me with a lot more cunning in her eyes than I expected.

"It is true that the house is a shambles, but it's right on Main St. and if you were to restore it you would definitely gain the favor of the city and its residents." She swept a strand of hair behind her ear as she looked at my dad. "And that would be helpful for the CEO of Bernal Oil Industries, right?"

Smooth, I thought to myself. My jaw slackened mug seemed to amuse her, but meanwhile my dad betrayed nothing.

"Well, let's look at it from the inside."

We did. I was honestly impressed with Mrs. Hyde as she led the way in and expertly navigated through the house avoiding the spots in the floor that looked like they could cave in under her feet. We saw a second house right after. It was smaller and smelled of a suspicious combination of humidity and smoke, and it was a block closer to the school.

As we walked down the front steps back outside, Mrs. Hyde said, "And that's it."

Both my dad and I looked at her in shock.

"That's it?" I asked.

Dad swept his eyes up and down the street as if expecting sudden signs of For Rent to pop up in people's lawns.

She laughed as though this was the best joke she'd heard all day. "It's not like Silver Grove requires a booming real estate market."

My dad stuffed his hands in the pockets of his North Face vest and said, "That'll change once I'm done here."

"And I'm counting on it," she said, sweeping her arms out. "But for now, this is it. So, which one will it be, Mr. Bernal?"

As dad gave me a side glance I had the sudden feeling that I knew exactly which one he would pick. This was the problem between us, precisely. We thought too alike.

"Excellent!" she declared as dad spoke his choice of the shitty wreckage that was once a home to somebody who had zero fucks to give for it. "I'll begin to pull up the paperwork. I'm sure the owner is going to be so pleased."

He folded his arms and asked, "And may I know who the owner is?"

"Why, but it's me," she said.

Dad stood there, staring like an idiot. And for the second time that day I let out an ugly laugh. It wasn't often I saw him bested by somebody, especially not an unassuming little lady out for blood with a charming smile.

Now grumpy he said, "The terms will have to be favorable to both of us."

"Absolutely, this is business."

We walked back together as they begun discussing said terms. I looked around at the street. It was pretty enough, lined by cute little houses and big trees that made a colorful canopy over the road, just before it turned more into the only commercial strip of the town. This was where we'd found the small grocery store last night as well as the diner. We followed Mrs. Hyde to her office, which turned out to be her home. Which turned out to have a sign outside that said, Margaret Hyde, Realtor and Attorney At Law.

She shrugged once we pointed this out. "You see, the town also doesn't require a lot of lawyers and the two professions come in handy to me."

She ushered us to her living room as she went over to get a sample contract.

I cleared my throat as I looked around. The place was simple enough, the kind of home everybody in North America had, with knickknacks from trips and a lot of family portraits. I peered at the closest one, where a cute little boy smiled up at the camera with a missing front tooth and a wicked glint in his baby blues. I wondered if he gave his mom more work than her two professions combined.

A loud thud directly above us had the entire house shaking all of a sudden, and dad and I jumping in our skins.

Mrs. Hyde came rushing out of a room, a wad of papers in her hand as she peered up the stairs and screamed, "Dean, are you okay?"

A burst of hysterical laugh followed, and a boy's voice called out, "He's fine, Mrs. Hyde!"

She visibly relaxed and shook her head, muttering something about boys being boys. I looked around the pictures more closely, because the voice had definitely sounded like a teenage boy's. But the smiley boy in the pictures looked no older than 10 and all the friends he seemed to pose with were his age.

The woman joined us again and as she started speaking legal mumbo jumbo that went over my head, I heard the sound of feet stomping down the stairs like a tornado was descending upon us inside the wooden box the house was.

And then my jaw slackened.

I looked back at the portrait on the table next to the couch. It was undoubtedly the little boy, Dean, who stood across the room, facing me. He had the same eyes the blue of a clear sky, the same dimple in his chin and a certain curl to the blond hair atop his head. Except he was definitely not 10 years old. More like a Greek god who was about my age. Or a Canadian god?

I realized I had my mouth open when his eyebrows went up, and I felt exactly like I'd made the waitress feel at the diner with just that look.

I looked away, straight at another teenage boy who would have delivered the same impact to my gut if I hadn't been stunned speechless by the first one.

Mrs. Hyde turned around and sighed. "This is my son, Dean," she said as she pointed at the blond one and then at the next boy. "And that's his best friend, Pace."

Pace hoisted a duffel bag on his shoulder. "Sorry, we didn't mean to interrupt."

His friend, her son, looked at me for another second before shifting his attention to my dad. "Buying or suing?"

Dad grunted. "Renting."

His mom piped in there with a glare. "Excuse the kids. They don't teach them much manners at St. Andrews, it seems."

"Boys will be boys, huh?" dad said with enough bitterness that it seemed out of place. When this caught their attention dad added, "My son here will be right at home, then."

I fought to remain composed even as I felt the weight of the lie crush my wind pipes. That was the moment it was official. I was doing this. For his sake, and not really for mine.

I realized that they both misshapen gym bags and sticks. Hockey sticks, because aye Canada. Figuring that if we were going to be school mates, I'd rather make a good impression, I decided to ask, "Are you guys going to practice?" 

Then the woman turned back to me. "How about it, would you like to join them?"

"No!" my dad exclaimed. Which, naturally, made me want to change my mind.

"Sure," I said.

"Carl-" He caught himself just before he said my name and amended it to my preferred moniker. "Charlie, you've never played hockey."

I shrugged. "But I do play contact sports."

"Do you?" the Dean guy asked in a way that I didn't appreciate very much. I tilted my head at him and narrowed my eyes. He was cute, but the condescending note in his words was not appreciated. He must've guessed at my flaring temper because he shrugged. "It's just that you don't look that big for a contact sport guy."

Guy.

Shit. That reminded me that I was supposed to be acting like a guy now. Never mind the fact that I had long hair. I looked down at myself for a second. I'd never been the paragon of feminine beauty, but until now I'd never straight up been confused for a boy by so many people. It must be the big winter clothes I was wearing and the name Charlie being bandied about what was enough to fool people.

Well, you know what people say. New country, new life... new gender identity, huh?

I jumped to my feet in a show of bravado.

"If you must know, I do boxing, you dweeb. You want a taste of my knuckle sandwich?"

The Pace guy burst into the same laughter we'd heard earlier as he nudged his friend with his elbow. "Dude, he just called you a dweeb."

My dad stood up and put a hand on my shoulder. It felt more like a vice. "This isn't a good idea."

I pretended to look hurt. "But dad, don't you want me to make friends?"

We looked back at the two boys. They were big. I was tall for a latina, a whopping 5'8'', but these guys must be at least 6'2'' each. And what I'd just said was not very conducive to friendship, but boy, was dad the most uncomfortable I'd ever seen him today and I wanted to stretch the feeling of hysterical glee for as long as I could.

"Alright," the Dean guy said with a lazy nod of his perfect head. "Let's see what you got."

"Great," Mrs. Hyde said, trying to casually mask the relief that was oozing off of her in waves. "You guys have fun. The grown ups have to draft a contract and we could use with some peace and quiet."

Dad looked between me and the papers on the coffee table before him and sighed. "Don't do anything reckless."

I put my hand on my chest in a who, me? way and followed the boys outside. Ready to do something completely reckless, because I didn't even know the basics of hockey.