The Names They Gave Us(38)

It’s a morning full of lake antics—flashes of orange life jackets in the air, yells that the noodles are not weapons, and only one instance of crying after an unintentional belly flop. The sun shows no sign of mercy, and D’Souza returns with an economy bottle of sunblock. While doling it out, I notice that Thuy’s hair is still dry.

“You sure you don’t want to get in?”

She nibbles at her lip, shaking her head.

“What if we went to the other side?”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t swim? Well, that’s okay. You have a life jacket on.”

She shakes her head more adamantly, and I glance up at D’Souza, who shrugs.

“Okay,” I tell her. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

By the end of our time, I’m exhausted in the way that only water can make you feel. Wrung out, like my muscles have turned gelatinous. Something about it makes a cool, dry bed sound like heaven. We towel off at the end of the pier, passing the life jackets to the Green Team.

“Was that the best ever?” Anna calls. A few of the older kids still have energy to whoop, while the little ones pout that our turn is over.

Anna’s wearing nylon running shorts and the most appropriate T-shirt after last night: a s’more diagram, labeled “GRAHAM, ’MALLOW, CHOCOLATE, GRAHAM.” I’m entirely sure it’s a gift from Tambe, connoisseur of the graphic tee.

As we trudge back up, I gather the heavy strands of my wet hair into a pile on top of my head. I’m not intentionally listening to the Blue Team boys chatting behind me, but a name jumps out when one says, “Someone told me Anna, like, used to be a boy or something.”

“What?” the other says. “Anna’s not a boy. She’s a girls’ counselor.”

“Well, she swims in a T-shirt and shorts.”

“So? Lots of people do. My mom hates swimsuits.”

“But Anna doesn’t sleep in the cabins.”

That much is true—she has her own little room in Rhea’s house on the edge of camp. But only because when her parents wanted her to attend Daybreak, Anna’s one condition was a private room—no waking up to panic attacks in a cabin full of strangers.

A surge of protectiveness rises in me. Anna, who took me in without hesitation. I spin on my heel.

“Hey.” I stare down at both of them, stopping dead. “Anna’s a girl, not a boy—understand? We don’t speculate like that.”

Their little mouths snap shut.

“Sorry, Hansson,” one whispers.

“Yeah, sorry,” the other says. “We just didn’t know.”

“It’s okay. But no more talk like that, okay? People are what they say they are.”

They nod, running off in front of me, and someone touches the back of my arm. It’s D’Souza, complete with an approving look.

“Not bad, Hansson. A lot of first-time counselors shy away from conversations about trans issues.”

“Trans?” I repeat.

“Yeah, because—” she says, taking in my confused expression. “Because nothing. Forget it.”

I rearrange the pieces of my brief conversation with the campers, but there’s really only one thing Souz could have meant. “Because . . . Anna is trans,” I guess.

“Right. Whew, you knew. Oh my gosh, I thought I might have just outed her. I mean, I know you guys are friends, and she’s out at camp, but I still shouldn’t have said that.”

Trans. Huh. The questions flood in: Should I have known? I mean, I completely unloaded my life story to her that very first night. I thought I knew her really well. Is she not sure she can trust me? But mostly I feel so, so guilty that I know something she didn’t want me to.

D’Souza is watching my eyes as if she can see all the questions swimming behind them. Crestfallen, she mutters, “You didn’t know.”

“Well . . . no. But, it’s cool.”

She covers her face with one hand. “It’s not, though. Do me a favor and don’t mention that I told you?”

I shift my weight, surprised that she’d ask me to lie to Anna. “I’m not really comfortable with—”

“I mean, let me tell her, so I can apologize.”

“Oh. Yeah, no problem.”

D’Souza smiles, but it’s more of a grimace—so clearly frustrated with herself. “Thanks, Hansson. You’re okay.”

Am I? That night, I stare up at Keely’s bunk as I try to fall asleep, wondering what I should say to Anna if it comes up. I think about Declan, a trans guy in my grade. We chat in class, but I don’t really know him well. He’s part of the tight-knit debate team friend group. Still, it was a big deal when we were in middle school. Parents can be even crueler than kids—there were meetings, arguments about bathroom policy. I remember being surprised when my mom—never one to criticize grown-ups in my presence—called those parents bullies.

I want to be the same type of friend for Anna that she’s been for me. Safe and thoughtful, ready to listen. Not for the first time, I curse the lack of cell signal here at the lake. The Internet would have tips for this, probably. Or, at least it would have some terminology I could learn.

The night before my first day of freshman year, I remember praying: Please help me make good friends. Please. I don’t think it ever occurred to me to say the prayer I think tonight as I close my eyes: Please help me be the good friend.