Bill and his girlfriend Sarah laughed and joked the whole way over. They called it “Mission: Impossible” and played the theme song to the movie on infinite repeat.
I tried to control my nerves.
When we got to Ava’s street, we parked around the corner and I walked along the cracked sidewalk to her duplex. The early spring night was cool and dark. I zipped my hoodie and tried to look casual. We weren’t completely sure she would be able to get out. Her last textsaid she was waiting for her mother to settle in for the night.
I got to the corner and hung out, pretending to read my phone.
It buzzed.
I’m out.
My heart leaped. I hurried up the street to her house. She appeared from the side, a shadow in a sweater and a long skirt. She spotted me and ran in my direction.
I took her hand, and we dashed to Bill’s car.
I had her.
CHAPTER 9
Ava
I was out in the world without my mother.
Tucker held my hand as we ran across the damp grass, dodging a sprinkler. The spray caught us, and we stifled our laughs as we leaped over a small line of flowers and onto the sidewalk.
My notes told me I had friends once, when I lived in a different house, before the duplex. We’d go to a neighborhood park and hang out on the swings. Sometimes they would bring beer and I didn’t like it, but I would take swigs to be as cool as them.
I scoured my references to that time of my life. Had I had a boyfriend before? Had anyone kissed me before Tucker? If they had, either I didn’t write about it, or Mother found those notes and destroyed them.
But I was free again, walking down the sidewalk, headed toward a low gray car farther down the block.
“Are your friends in there?” I asked.
“Yes. You’ll meet Bill and his girlfriend Sarah. One thing to know about Bill—if we run into anyone he’sknown a long time, they might call him Jill. It’ll upset him, but it happens a lot.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“He was born Jill.”
“He changed his name?”
“Bill knew he was a boy all along. Now that he’s turned eighteen, he’s living it.”
“Okay. I’ll make sure to call him Bill.”
“He’ll understand about not having a supportive family.”
Would he? So it happened to others, too. “That’s good.”
He grinned. “Even so, I hope we can go on a date alone sometime.”
“When you can drive?”
“Two weeks until I hit the magic three months.”
We stopped beside the back door of a gray car. Two figures filled the front seat, locked in an embrace.
Tucker banged on the window, then opened the door. A light popped on. Tucker slid into the back seat and held out a hand to lead me inside.
