Beast(59)

I don’t want to be called sir ever again. “You shouldn’t be selling me this beer because I’m only fifteen years old.”

“Right. And I’m the pope.” She snorts with laughter. “Eight dollars and seventy-five cents?”

“Your Holiness.” I throw down a ten, grab the beer, and crutch as awkward and fast as possible out of the store.

Jamie sneaks outside right behind me. “One more store?”

“No. I’m done.”





TWENTY-FIVE


There is a sun setting above us and we do stare at the wonder of it all, but it’s been entirely silent between us. The incident at the store looming large. I’m afraid of bringing it up, because what if she says she doesn’t want to hang out anymore? The longer we don’t talk, the more nervous I get, and I’m starting to wonder if we should just call the whole thing off and get her home before it gets any colder out.

I make one last shot.

“Knock, knock,” I say as we walk through the chilly streets, glass bottles clanking in our backpacks.

“Who’s there?” she answers. The first words we speak in like twenty minutes.

“To.”

“To who?”

“To whom.” She laughs and I do too.

“Cheesy goodness,” she says.

Then it’s quiet again.

“I think…” My voice breaks across the cold air. “I think you’re a really brave person.”

“Ugh.” The groan comes from her gut and goes way long. “You sound like that girl who stopped me in the lunchroom at my new school and was all like, “I think it’s great you’re trans. You are so brave,” and all I could think was, I am so hungry and you are blocking me from my food.”

“I can’t think you’re brave? That you’re a warrior?”

“A warrior? Have I been drafted into battle or something? Where’s my cool armor; who’s at the gate?” she busts out. “Seriously, Dylan. You don’t have to hurt yourself. I’m not mad at you.”

“You sure acted like it in the store.”

“No, I didn’t. I wanted to just enjoy myself a little. Is that so crazy?” She stops dead on the sidewalk under a frigid tree. Tiny drops of mist and rain collect and drop on and all around us. Winter will be here soon. The rain threatens. “Maybe…,” Jamie says, not looking at me. “Maybe I like it when a guy gives me a compliment. Even if it’s a creepy dude saying gross things like how he wants to lick me like a lollypop.”

I wince in disgust.

“I know! It’s ick times infinity, I know. And I know I shouldn’t say anything like this because it’s conceited and all the rest of it, but…I’m pretty. And I like hearing it.”

“But did that guy say you were pretty?”

“Not verbatim, but it was like—hey, I find you attractive and I’m going to inform you in only the most gross way I know how.”

“Jeezus, Jamie.” Bubbles simmer. “That’s so wrong, I can’t even.”

“And you’re the expert? You have the inside scoop on what to do when someone says you’re hot? Because I’m thinking no one’s ever—” She stops herself.

The gravel under my feet. It’s all I can study right now. There are no books.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, that came out really wrong.”

I look at her. “I just don’t want anyone to hurt you.”

“Why is that the only thing I hear from everyone?”

“Because we read the news. Because I have a ‘transgender’ Google alert now, and shitty things are always in the feed. Because people are crazy.” Because we care about you.

“I have the same Google-fu as anyone else, and the majority of the stories are good. Trans professors, teachers, parents, lawyers, actors, actresses, models. You name it and all totally conquering the world. I am happy being me. My glass is half-f*cking-full, I do not exist to be your tragedy,” she says. “I’m not stupid. I knew what to do. If that guy hadn’t taken no for an answer, I would’ve hung out next to the girl at the counter until he left.”

“But what if he was waiting for you outside? What if he had friends with him?”

“You’re worse than my mom,” she says. “She worries all the time. It’s all I ever hear. ‘What if, I’m just saying, you’re not thinking…’ Look, you see these boots?” She tips her beat-up knee-high leather boots my way. The same ones she was wearing when we met, back when they were shiny and new. “I’m wearing the heels down from stomping all over town because when I’m frustrated or mad or whatever, I’m off. I walk. I clear my head. I bump into people. I make eye contact. I go on my way. I do it alone. When I walk, I feel free.” She puts her foot back down with its twin. “Let me enjoy being myself.”

“Okay” is all I say.

We start moving again.

“Maybe it’s different for you because—”

“Because I’m ugly as f*ck?” I spit out. “Maybe it is.”

“No, no, no. I wasn’t going to say that, anything like that, I swear.” Jamie holds my arm. Her fingers are freezing, I can feel them through my coat because her touch is electric. “Maybe it’s just you’re so big, you don’t need to be afraid.”