“Breakdancing?” I can’t help it; the word comes out incredulous.
He flushes. “Yeah. The club meets at lunch on Mondays.”
“Cool!” I say quickly. I don’t want to make him feel bad with my surprise. But he’s never once shown an interest in any kind of dancing, let alone breakdancing.
“Thanks!” He scratches the back of his head. “So ...see you at lunch? Like usual?”
“Yeah!”
He shoots me finger guns and darts away, leaving me watching his retreating back. I’m no stranger to Jayden’s sudden hyperfixations; I guess this is the latest one. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. He’s not leaving us. He’s fine. We’re fine. The Halloween thing was just a weird blip.
That night, I lie on my bed after dinner, scrolling on my phone and feeling accomplished. I did my math homework and worked on my portion of the history group project. It’s due next week, and I’m not going to let myself fall behind again like I did with the English assignment. Now that my outline is in, the rough draft is next.
My phone buzzes, a text dropping in from the top of the screen. It’s Dad. I thumb open the message, my heart rate only speeding up a little bit at its appearance.
So, about that visit to Mount Rainier,he says.You game? Sunday, maybe?
It’s been a long time since I visited the national park, even though the mountain is a constant presence watching over the city. The last time I was there was with Mom and Dad, and it’s a barely there memory, a few snapshot images in my mind: bright green grass, wildflowers, a deer peering at me from within the trees. It would be nice to go back.
Yeah,I say.I’m game.
On Saturday morning, I stand in front of my closet, trying to pick out what to wear. Mom and Shar are both at an Al-Anon meeting, which means I don’t have to do the awkward work of explaining why I want to take public transit all the way to Jayden and Makayla’s house instead of getting a ride from one of them. Because I’m not going there. I’m going to the Queer Alliance work party at Forrest’s house.
I know I should tell them. But if I do, then Mom will ask me what my plan is for rescheduling my study session, and how I’m doing on my assignments, and if she finds out I already fell behind in English, I won’t get to go. And I need this. Queer Alliance makes me happy, and I need to feel happy.
I finally settle on a long-sleeve shirt with thin gold, orange, and pink stripes, faded flared jeans, my now-dry Billie hoodie, and my chunky sneakers. Since coming out as nonbinary, picking my clothes has been easier in someways and harder in others. I used to cycle through feminine phases followed by masculine ones, never comfortable in either, like something was wrong and I didn’t know what it was. LikeIwas wrong, and I didn’t know why. I didn’t feel what other girls seemed to feel; a sense that they were what everyone perceived them to be. But I didn’t feel like a boy either. In Queer Alliance, I got to know other nonbinary and trans people, and for the first time, I felt what cis people seemed to have: an anchor, grounding me without weighing me down. I realized that clothes could mean whatever I wanted them to, no matter how people saw me in them, and a lot of other realizations followed: I don’t like it when shirts cling to my chest, or when my silhouette is all box and no softness. I don’t think I want to try hormones, but I might want top surgery someday. I don’t want to be seen as a girl, or as a boy, just as a person, and I wish society would see that too. Right now, a lot of days are a balancing act between what I want and how other people might see me, and some days are easier than others.
Today is an easier day. I feel good about the way I look. And I’m going to hang out with people who seeme,not a gender. Yesterday’s QA meeting was the best one yet. I felt at home again, at ease, the way I used to feel before the presidency, and this time, Forrest was part of that feeling. Leading the meeting with him was effortless. I’m not even worried about seeing him today, which is nice. The longer this peace between us goes on, the more I get used to it.
The bus ride to Forrest’s is short. I make it to the stop just in time, and we rattle up from Rainier Avenue into theCentral District, where I get off across from a park and walk into the neighborhood. The houses get a little nicer as I go east, in the direction of Lake Washington. A few blocks in, I check my maps and take a right, then a left, and then I’m standing outside.
Forrest’s house is bigger than I imagined it, but not a mansion. The house is painted dark green, camouflaging it behind the hedge and the garden that line the walkway to the front door. I step onto the low, wide wooden porch and hear laughter from inside. It sounds like people are already here, which is fine. I kind of wanted to arrive first, but it’s OK.
I ring the doorbell and a chime sounds inside, followed by a bellowing bark. A moment later the door swings open, Forrest grinning at me as he restrains a whining, jumping golden pit bull.
“Come in, come in!” He backs away, dog in tow, and I edge inside. “I’m going to let him go, just turn around if he jumps on you and don’t give him any attention until he stops doing it!”
Before I can say anything, he releases Simba and the dog barrels toward me, whole body wiggling. I brace myself, but the jump never comes; instead, Simba knocks me back a few steps, against the wall, and buries his face in my hands as I bend to pet him.
“You are such a good boy,” I murmur, petting his short, soft fur as he settles, the wiggles subsiding, his weight leaning against my legs.
“Whoa,” Forrest says, and I look up to see him watching me thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen him calm down so fast. Did you grow up with dogs?”
“Nope,” I say. “We never had pets when I was a kid.”
“He must just like you,” he says. “You’ve got the Simba stamp of approval.”
My cheeks warm, and I smile. Forrest’s eyes glimmer, and we stand there quietly for a moment in the hallway. I don’t know why, but my chest is fluttery all of a sudden, and I’m nervous and excited at the same time.
“We’ve got snacks in the living room,” he says, taking a few steps away toward the rest of the house. I follow him, Simba trotting at my heels, my heart still racing.
The hallway opens up into a large, light-filled living room lined with soft-looking blue couches on a gray carpet. The walls are cream, and a fireplace, its bricks painted white, faces the couches. Riley is cross-legged on the carpet at the huge wooden coffee table, eating a cracker from the giant plate of snacks. Stef and Alexander lounge on one couch, and Anna sits at another, Nyx perched beside her.
“Sidney!” Anna jumps up and we hug.
A knock sounds and Simba zooms off toward the door, barking his head off. Everyone laughs as Forrest follows him, shaking his head. From the door, we hear voices, and Jayden and Makayla walk in to a flurry of hellos. They both spot me and Anna at the same time and beeline for our couch, Jayden settling on the floor in front of the table and Makayla sitting on Nyx’s other side. It feels like we’re warring families,my friends and Forrest’s friends facing off across the coffee table, but no one is fighting. Forrest smiles at me from where he’s standing behind his friends, and I smile back.
“So, what’s the vision?” Alexander says, pulling everyone’s attention. He missed the meeting yesterday, so we fill him in on the exhibit as he nods along. Forrest runs to a closet somewhere and comes back with a huge box of art supplies, Stef pulls some paints out of her backpack, and Jayden and Makayla dump out a bag filled with several packages of construction paper in all different colors. We spread out across the floor, divvying up the exhibit into small groups.
