None of the Above(32)

“‘It would be ridiculous to talk of male and female atmospheres, male and female springs or rains, male and female sunshine . . . how much more ridiculous is it in relation to mind, to soul, to thought . . . to talk of . . . male and female schools.’”

I couldn’t stand the word female. It gave me PTSD or something. When I heard the word, a jolt of electricity went down the back of my neck and turned into a ball of stress in my stomach. It was like, when Mr. Morris used the word, he wasn’t just saying “female.” He was saying “not Kristin Lattimer.”

Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore and got up for a bathroom pass. As I walked out, someone stage-whispered, “Is that for the girls’ bathroom or the boys’?”

Their laughter rang in my ears as I hurried to the bathroom. I rushed into the first open stall, which ended up being the same one where I had tried to scratch off Vee’s name what seemed like years ago. I stared at the door, wondering how long it would take for my name to make it up there.

A toilet flushed in the stall to my right, and as the person went to wash her hands someone else walked in.

“So, what’s up with the fishnets, Jenny?” I recognized the voice of Marissa Sweeney, one of the junior cheerleaders.

“I dunno,” said Jenny coyly. “Maybe I’m just swimming around ready to bump into some newly available fish in the sea.”

Marissa laughed. “OMG, are you talking about Wilmington?”

I felt like throwing up.

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Jenny. “My mom always said you gotta get the hot ones when they’re on the rebound.”

“Wait, doesn’t doing it with a tranny make him gay?”

Jenny thought for a minute. “No, I think it means he might be bi. But with a butt like that, who cares?” They laughed, and changed the subject to some other guys they had their eyes on, but at that point a buzzing in my ears overwhelmed me and I curled my knees up against my chin to stop the crushing feeling in my chest.

It took forever for the bathroom to clear out, so I stumbled back to my seat in history just before class ended. I dawdled while packing my book bag, and didn’t get up to leave until everyone else had left. I put in my earbuds, the better to drown out the whispers, and slipped out.

As soon as the bell rang in study hall, I flashed my pass and walked the empty corridors to Ms. Diaz’s office. I hadn’t been there in ages. Because I’d been recruited, I’d gone through the whole college deal early, and Coach Auerbach had guided me through most of the process.

Ms. Diaz greeted me like an old friend. I remembered how we’d bonded my sophomore year because she’d been a discus thrower in college. She was pushing fifty now, and maybe a little thick around the waist, but you could still see the strength in her arms. It made me feel strangely comfortable.

“Kristin, so good to see you again. Sit down, make yourself at home.”

Her office had two seats—a fluffy armchair set off to the side of her desk, and a wooden captain’s chair directly across from her. I choose the wood, and rubbed my fingers against the smooth grain for a few seconds before looking up at Ms. Diaz.

She leaned in just the slightest bit. “I heard you had a bit of a rough morning.”

I nodded, cringing at the understatement.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

I shook my head, still fingering the arm of my chair.

“I respect that,” Ms. Diaz said, with the tiniest of sighs. “But I wanted to bring you in to remind you that if you ever need a safe place to talk things out, I’m here. Everything you say in this room is completely confidential. The more I know about the situation, the more I can help.”

I looked up. My words came out slowly, driven by morbid curiosity more than anything else. “My situation. What do you know about it?”

Ms. Diaz took a deep breath. “Well, I gather that there is a medical issue such that there’s a question about your gender.”

Close enough. I nodded.

“I can understand how things must be very confusing right now,” she went on. “And truly upsetting, too, the way your classmates have reacted. Kristin, it breaks my heart to see you the target of such cruelty.”

Ms. Diaz’s face blurred as the tears welled up in my eyes.

“There are a lot of things we can do to help. Regular counseling sessions, peer education. First of all, though, I want to make sure you have a good support system. Are there any other students you feel comfortable talking with?”

“Yeah,” I sniffled. “Faith Wu.”

“She’s a sweetheart, isn’t she?” She handed me a tissue. “How about adults? Are you okay with my calling your father to—”

“No!” I almost leaped out of my chair. Ms. Diaz gave a little start. “Please leave my dad out of this. He has enough to worry about. Please, please don’t make him upset.”

“Of course not, Kristin,” Ms. Diaz said soothingly. “You’re eighteen. We don’t have to involve your father if you don’t want to. But would you mind giving me permission to speak with your doctors so I can get more information on your diagnosis in order to . . . educate our faculty and staff at least?”

I agreed—I’d do anything as long as they didn’t call my dad—and wrote down Dr. Cheng’s information.