Breaking Free Read online

  Looking like her normal, perfect self once again, she strode into the class with the same confident air she always had. People did a double take as she walked straight up to me and took the seat beside mine.

  She smiled at me coyly, and I returned the favor. Yep, if I’d had any hope of staying in the closet, it was shattered right then and there as whispers filled the room. And it only got worse when Brad strolled in surrounded by his normal group of brutes. Clare and I quizzed each other in preparation for the test, trying to ignore Brad. He was calling our names, along with a lot of the other students.

  I gritted my teeth and turned over the next flashcard. Thankfully, the teacher walked in. She whirled around like a crazy bird all over the classroom, reminding us of all the material that was going to be covered on our test.

  I can honestly say that taking that test was a total and complete relief. I shot out of the Spanish classroom the minute the bell rang, Clare and I went to our respective second period classes alone. I avoided Brad and Cam for the rest of the morning, dodging them whenever possible in the halls. It wasn’t easy, and it was clear that the word about Clare and me was very much common knowledge by fourth period.

  By the time lunch came, I was ready to collapse in relief next to Freddie. He held out a chair for me and then stood up and pulled one out for Clare. I seriously wanted to cry. He smiled reassuringly at both of us, and I saw the sadness in his deep brown eyes. I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about Cam. I saw her with Brad last night. It’s stupid of her to pick him over you. Really stupid,” I murmured.

  He shook his head. “No, I mean it makes perfect sense. He’s Brad Heartman, and I’m just me. I’m not an athlete or popular. But she’s happy, so that’s all that matters.”

  Clare cleared her throat from behind me, and I turned, surprised, in my seat to face her. She was smiling a bit awkwardly. It was the most out of place I had ever seen her look.

  “Erm, I don’t mean to intrude, but you’re wrong, Freddie. She’ll think she’s happy with him for a little bit, but then she’ll realize what she’s gotten herself into. And it’s hard to get away from him if he really wants to keep you. Believe me,” she said solemnly.

  Freddie just looked at her for a minute before nodding slowly in understanding.

  And at that exact moment, the two of them walked in. Cam was draped over Brad like a toga on a frat boy. He had an arm around her waist possessively.

  Freddie recoiled as if he had been hit. I felt bad for the poor guy.

  Cam sneered at us from across the room as Brad whispered something in her ear. She smiled and tilted her head ever so slightly in response, never once breaking eye contact with Clare and me. They started strolling across the cafeteria like a royal couple on processional. They were perfectly in sync as they took each step. As they drew even with our table, the two of them paused like a well-practiced routine.

  Time slowed to a standstill as Cam reached into her back pocket and drew out a can of something. Clare and I didn’t even have time to react as she pointed at us and let loose, spraying us with silly string. It was sticky, clinging to my hair and clothes. Cam was pretty good at evenly distributing the goo between Clare and me.

  I screamed like a total girl and was completely caught off guard.

  Freddie rushed to get napkins as Clare and I shook off all that we could. I let it fall to the floor, each florescent string trailing like the accusations they were. Without speaking, I reached over to get a long string off of Clare’s head.

  I was still carefully picking it out of her hair as Brad snarled, “This is what happens when you’re a useless fag.”

  Without looking away from Clare’s hair, I knew Brad had walked away because I could hear the click of Cam’s boots against the cold tile. Freddie hurried back with more napkins. It was mostly futile at this point. If it was going to come off, it already had. And if it hadn’t… well, I hear silly string is the new black.

  No one in the cafeteria said a word. They all just went back to eating their meals in silence. I didn’t have it in me to be offended. I was too busy, and I was too tired. Anger is a useless emotion, anyway. Although right then, it would have felt pretty damn good.

  CLARE AND I went home without talking to each other. After school, I didn’t look back as my car rolled out of the student parking lot. She was at cheer practice, and there was no one worth looking back at.

  The night was a blur of homework after the teachers suddenly decided it was a good time to start assigning mountains of work. It was a good distraction, though. Especially when a series of six messages came through on my phone from a blocked number. I deleted them without looking.

  Fourteen

  IT WAS a late night of homework. So much so that when I finally lifted my head from my math, the first rays of sunlight were beginning to brave the frigid landscape. I sighed as my hands flew to my face. I was to that point of sleep deprivation that it was hard to believe my face was still attached. Fascinating face. Just fascinating.

  I staggered into my shower, the warm water flowing easily down my body. I felt my muscles begin to relax, tension knots from bending over countless textbooks starting to loosen. I washed my hair slowly, savoring every moment of escape I had in this little oasis. I sagged against the tiled wall when I turned the water stream off and shook my hair out softly.

  The hum of a heater somewhere in the distance echoed against my foggy shower door. I stepped out one foot at a time. No need to rush it. I was exhausted, anyway.

  But when I looked in the mirror, my tired mind began to sharpen in the haze of humidity. I find that unpleasant memories have a way of coming back to me, no matter how I try to avoid them. No matter how I felt or what had happened lately. The memories found a way into my head regardless of whether or not I wanted them to.

  I sighed, my thoughts drifting back to before my transformation. It had been absolutely awful. I shivered, thinking about the first time I had looked in the mirror and realized that it shouldn’t have been a boy staring back at me. I had just stood there and cried until I accepted it. And it had been hard.

  For the longest time, I was angry. I would date girls just to prove to myself that I was a guy. I’d make out with them to show myself how manly I was. It made sense at the time, I swear.

  When that didn’t work, I turned to a razor and to pain to show myself that I had control. But the only control I had then was the control to stop, and I didn’t. Not until my mom walked in on me, passed out from pain pills. She took me to the hospital, since my dad had been overseas on business. My little brother had been there when I woke up, and he asked me why I was so sad and why Mommy had been crying. I’d shrugged.

  It had all been in the suicide note I left on my chest for my parents to find. Little did I know that my mom had been up all night researching gender reassignment and therapy to help me get into the body I belonged in.

  I stared into the mirror now, putting a hand to my face to feel that it was all still real. The memory of that morning after was too vivid for me to ever forget. And I never wanted to.

  My mom had strode in, coffee in both hands. She told my little brother to sit outside until we were done talking. She had smiled at me, given me my drink, and stroked my hair. Her fingers had been gentle but no gentler than before. And she had matter-of-factly explained how my father had set aside a $100,000 trust fund for me last night, even though he was still in Germany. She told me that I was going to see the best doctors in the country, and that we were going to get through this together.

  She had looked me in the eyes and said, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t give birth to you in the right body. But we’re going to take care of it, and don’t you ever dare think this is something bad or to be ashamed of. We are who we are, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else says. Always be you, and your father and I will be here for you.”

  I swear she must have rehearsed that with a psychologist because it completely calmed me down, and I never worried about bei
ng afraid of myself again. I didn’t really think it was rehearsed—I honestly just think my mom is that great. My dad had always been a little wary of how to treat me once I started hormone therapy and surgery, but I knew he loved me. And that was enough.

  Here’s the thing about gender that most people don’t seem to understand. It’s not about what body you’re in or what body you’re attracted to. It’s about what’s in your head. So, your genetics could say one thing, but how you act, how you think, how you were supposed to be, might say something very different.

  I was lucky to be born into such an accepting family, but I didn’t dare question it. Everyone has a different journey to take, but in the end, it doesn’t matter how you get to where you’re going. That’s what I said at support groups, anyway.

  I finished getting ready for school that morning in thoughtful silence. Because as much as I was beginning to love this new town and starting to fall for someone, it still nagged at me. Clare didn’t know about the whole being born a boy thing. I wanted to tell her. Except something magical happened. It was like someone had sewed my lips together. And I wasn’t in a hurry to break free either.

  I guess there’s more than one way to be trapped.

  Fifteen

  SLEEP DEPRIVED and with a very large cup of coffee in my hand, I walked into Spanish. I couldn’t help but laugh. There was a message in sharpie hastily scrawled on my desk.

  Dyke sits here.

  Original. I rolled my eyes as Brad snickered. I took the seat without trying to clean it up. Instead, I took out my classwork, shrugged, and said, “Hey, Brad. So tell me more about how it feels to be so sexually frustrated. I mean, that must suck. Seriously, man, I feel bad for you.” I nodded sympathetically at him.

  The class stared at me. And then they stared at Brad. Obviously looking for his next clever comeback or lack thereof.

  Brad nodded, a slow and very ugly smile sliding over his lips. “You know. It’s a good thing you aren’t a guy; otherwise, you would be laid out on the floor right now,” he growled.

  I barked out a short peal of laughter. I was just opening my mouth to snap at him when Clare breezed in, coffee in hand. It was clear the homework monster hadn’t been limited to the juniors last night.

  She sighed heavily at Brad. “Don’t worry, everybody. He’s just trying to make up for his exceptionally small dick. Really, all his posturing and bravado is just overcompensation. I wouldn’t take it too seriously.”

  Clare never broke pitch. It was as if she had just told us what the weather was like outside and all of that was perfectly normal to say. I thought Brad was going to explode. So, in other words, I was really amused.

  “Yeah, you would know!” Brad shouted at her before thinking. Immediately, a dark blush started to seep into his cheeks. The class snickered despite his nearly Cro-Magnon growl.

  Clare took her seat next to me and winked. We hadn’t gotten even with him, but that had felt good. I know, I know. Higher road, blah blah. Be the bigger person, blah blah. The bottom line is that karma can be quite entertaining if you aren’t on the receiving end of it.

  The day flew by, a mishmash of tests and laughter barely concealed about Clare and me. I ignored it as best I could, and I have to say, Freddie helped. He walked us to our respective classes without complaint or wavering. It was a small blessing, but a blessing, nonetheless. I slogged through my homework that night and Thursday, a constant grind of more and more projects.

  I think what surprised me the most was how quiet the situation with Brad stayed. There were no more big showdowns, no more big displays of an assertion of power or disapproval. It was quiet. Spooky, almost.

  I made it all of the way through Friday, thinking things had finally taken a turn for the better. The students had seemed to have started their process of coming to terms with us, letting go, and eventually a state of normalcy. And by normalcy, I mean not giving a shit about anyone else’s problems. Normal is good. So I had deluded myself pretty effectively when I was leaving late again after helping out in art. Then I heard it.

  Like some sort of twist on the past, I heard her crying. Her breaths were short and labored, covered by stifled sobs. I would have recognized her voice anywhere.

  I broke into a sprint down the hall, bursting through the only, ironically, possible place the sounds could be coming from. She was in the book room, wedged in a corner between two very empty and very dusty bookshelves. Her face was hidden behind her hair, successfully concealed from anyone walking by. Her long limbs were folded in around her brokenly.

  I dropped my bag carelessly on the floor, my thoughts focused solely on Clare. She was sobbing so hard she didn’t even know I was there until I put a hand on her knee.

  Her face turned up to meet my gaze. Puffy eyes, chapped lips, and a runny nose met me. Her mascara was only barely smudged, but it seemed that she had scrubbed off all of her eyeliner in the process of losing it. She was a total train wreck, and it still took me a minute to shake off the shock of how pretty she was. Her eyes were even bluer when she cried. It just wasn’t fair.

  I squeezed her knee. “Hey. What’s wrong?” I murmured, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

  She made a distraught sound at me but didn’t utter a word.

  I took her chin in my hand and made her meet my eyes. “I’m right here. Talk to me.”

  I nearly lost my balance when she threw herself on me. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she let loose with a semihysterical scream. I hugged her tightly, not letting go as I maneuvered her to rest more comfortably against the cold, cinder block wall. She cried for a while, maybe five more minutes of heart-wrenching sobs that eventually abated to only an occasional hiccup.

  When she was finally composed enough, I tried again. “What’s wrong, Clare?” I didn’t have even the slightest idea what was up. If Brad had laid a single finger on her, I swear to God—

  “Bigot parents have bigot children,” she mumbled shakily. Her voice was froggy and cracked. But it was hers. There was at least ice to break now. I nodded, putting another piece of hair behind her ear as she pulled back from me and leaned heavily against the wall.

  “Well… yeah,” I mused.

  A half smile crawled over her face. “Guess who finally got involved? The loving parents of Little. There’s a joke in there somewhere.”

  Aww, jeez. I let my fingers lace familiarly through hers. She squeezed them briefly before letting go. I heard the clock ticking loudly in the background as I waited for her tell me the rest in the empty room.

  “Some of the parents of the other girls on the cheerleading squad have requested that I be kicked off. Put on probation. Boiled in holy water. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. The message is that they don’t want devil’s spawn around their perfect, angelic little darlings. I guess they’re afraid the gay will rub off on them.”

  Her words were so angry, so poisonous I actually had to lean back a little to absorb them.

  She smiled cynically at me. “Isn’t this town just great? My mom is probably so bent right now she wouldn’t remember my name. No, she might know my name. Maybe not who I am, though,” Clare spit out, letting it all sink in around me.

  I shook my head, a fire starting to burn in my stomach. “They can’t do this! The school board would get sued into the next century, and we would all be on the six o’clock news. They won’t go through with it.”

  Clare just nodded, completely passive. I almost didn’t recognize this Clare, so drained of her fight. I put my arm around her, not allowing her to wiggle away this time. I kissed her on the cheek. She tasted like salt. I laid my head in between her neck and head.

  “Coach told me that my parents might have to get involved. She’s trying to keep that from happening. I think she’s on my side. I hope she is. She told me that I’m her head girl, and that I’m not going anywhere. I even believed her,” Clare murmured.

  I could feel the vibration of every word through her throat. “So why don’t you believe her?�
�� I echoed hollowly.

  “Because I heard some of what the parents are saying. They’re talking about going to my father, the pastor, and suggesting that I be sent to a special facility. I think it’s supposed to pray the gay away.”

  Giggles erupted from deep down in my belly. I couldn’t help them. This stupidity reminded me so much of my own upbringing that I found it genuinely funny.

  “And while you’re there, make sure you find a good Christian boy to marry so you can get started on your family. Gotta get cracking. You might have to get cured again if the gay is really strong in you. Kinda like a possession,” I said in my best southern drawl.

  Clare hiccupped a few choked gurgles of a laugh out. Another big sigh from her raised my head up momentarily, but then I settled back onto her neck. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Rain, do you know what would happen if my dad found out? I can’t even begin to fathom…. If he couldn’t pray the gay away, then I would be a liability. And he would take care of it. Send me to a mental institution, get me medication, disown me, for God’s sake. And, even if my mom could find a way to cope with it, that would require being sober. Not her forte.”

  The air grew warmer around us as she spoke, but cold sleet started pinging down against the roof. Sounds and senses filled my mind. The room smelled like oak and cedar. Clare smelled like sweat, tears, and something sweet like vanilla. Sleet and her breathing are what filled my ears along with the rush of my frantic heartbeat pounding against my eardrums. I wanted to curl up in a ball and take Clare with me to protect her from everything. But the only thing I could give her were words and promises I might not be able to keep. And secrets. I could give Clare a lot of secrets.

  “Well, you could always come live with us. My mom would flip for a little bit about staying in separate rooms, and then she’d be cool. She’s out of town on business now, but she’ll be back Monday. I’m sure we could—”