Beast(41)

“If you’d been listening and had picked up on what Wretched was saying about how well my dad was doing with my transition and how Hannah was asking me about adjusting to my new hormone schedule, then you could’ve easily read between the lines,” she says. “It’s my deal, I’m the only one who decides how it’s told.”

“But why couldn’t you cut to the chase and say, ‘Hi, my name is Jamie and I was born a boy’?”

Her eyes ignore mine hard. “I’ll never say that because it’s not true. I was assigned male at birth, but my gender is a girl.”

“Look, I know it’s bad form for people to barge in with questions, but you can’t say we’re all a bunch of dummies because we can’t read your mind.”

“That’s so far from reality, it’s stupid,” Jamie says.

“Why did you never mention anything about being trans? Like, ever?”

“I was as out with you as I was comfortable with,” she says. “I’m pretty low-key about it, to be honest. Most of the time I have other things on my mind. Did I forget my lunch money? Why did my dog pee by the back door when she just went out ten minutes ago? Things. Thoughts. You know, life.”

“All I’m saying is a little clarity is a good thing.”

“When was I unclear? Was it what I wore, every word I ever said? The pictures I took? The stories I told? Being happy being out with you? Who I frigging AM? Because I thought I was opening up to you, more than to any boy I’ve ever met before. So please, you’re so smart, when was I ever hiding who I really, truly was?”

My mouth shuts. I didn’t realize it was open.

The timer buzzes. I hop over to the oven and get a mitt. Tray in hand, I let the door slam shut and rest the baking sheet full of deformed patties on top of the burners. I hop backward and we both stare at them, for they are very sad.

“It’s fake crabmeat,” I say.

“Hmmm. Like our so-called relationship.”

Burn. “The diabetes thing,” I point out. “That was a lie.”

“By omission.”

“Why lie about that?”

“Because when you followed me onto the bus, I was scared. You’re very big. And we were alone. I didn’t want to get into my personal medical business with a virtual stranger, because I don’t have to. Ever. And didn’t want to risk getting beat up again.”

“That other guy knew?”

“Yeah. His name was Colin and he knew. Just like I thought you did.” Jamie wanders over to a crab cake and pokes it. She pries off the half-charred corner and nibbles it. “Not bad. But yeah, I used to rule my old school with all the girls I hung around with. We were the law of the land. They thought I was their gay BFF, but I wasn’t. I was me pretending to be a gay BFF.” She looks at me. “Isn’t that nuts?”

“Why is that so crazy?”

“Because as long as I was the catty gay boy who was all, yaaaaas, mama, WORK, you are so fierce,” she says, snapping her fingers in a loop, “and went shopping with them and did their hair and makeup, and teased Colin, just like they did, it was fine. Like, normal even to be all, ‘Oh girl, would you look at what my favorite piece of meat is wearing today? I see trade!’ and then they’d think it was hilarious. Queens of the eighth grade, the five of us.”

“I’m afraid to ask, but I need to know. What’s trade?”

“Straight-looking dudes who bang gay guys for money,” she says. “You’d be rough trade because you’re bulk goods.”

“Oh.” Now I know. “It sounds like you were a very fabulous stereotype.”

“Not a stereotype; I copied this guy I knew from a continuing-ed class where we learned how to use a darkroom. All the chemicals and stuff. He was the most phenomenal human being ever, completely fearless. I admired him so much. After that, I began to act like him too.” She shrugs. “I feel bad I had to steal his personality, but it helped cover up my own. So…yeah.”

“You always knew you were a girl trapped in a boy’s body?”

“Nope.”

Every clip I researched on YouTube has lied to me. “But…that’s what everyone says.”

“That’s fine for them, but I say something different. I had very cool parents growing up. They never minded buying me nail polish and whatever. For them it was like a point of pride. But when I was twelve, I started to realize I wasn’t a boy who liked glitter and had crushes on boys…I was a girl who liked glitter and had crushes on boys,” she says. “That’s when things started to go downhill.”

“I get that.”

“It was the scariest thing I’ve ever known,” she says in a light voice. “It’s very practical being with popular girls—they make the rules. They protect you from everything, and that’s how I adapted. But then I just couldn’t do it anymore. The depression…It was bad. So I started wearing clothes I liked and wearing my hair the way I liked. And I started living life the way I felt good. How I felt right. The girls were okay-ish. Two of them did everything they could for me; we’re still close. Two of them broke away. One girl even said I couldn’t ‘do this to her’ because it ruined ‘her balance.’ I mean, what? We don’t talk.”