Another Day (21 page)

School is brutal the next day. All the whispering. All the stares. All the talk. Some of it ridiculous. Some of it true.

Everyone in this building has gone years without caring about me. Now I do something wrong, and suddenly they care. It’s disgusting.

There’s no email from A when I wake up, and I don’t check again. I feel I need to navigate this alone. A can’t help me here. I need friends like Rebecca and Preston to help me.

It is amazing to me how many people are fine with calling me a slut to my face. Girls say it low and guys shout it out.

Justin has made it clear to my friends that they have to choose, and that he’s the one who’s been wronged. He doesn’t care about Rebecca and Preston, which makes it easier for them. Stephanie, though, says she’s going to have to keep her distance when Justin’s around. Steve, too. She says she hopes I understand. I tell her I do.

“You’re too nice,” Rebecca says, overhearing this.

“No,” I say. “I don’t think niceness is my problem.”

It’s like it’s not entirely real to me. There’s a piece of me that’s still calling out for Justin, that thinks we’re still together, and meant to be together.

I can fix this,
that piece believes. When, really, it’s the broken part.

It also asks,
You gave up Justin for what, exactly?

I don’t know how to answer that.

I check my email quickly before third period. There’s a message from A, saying he’s on his way. I write back:

I don’t think today is really a good day.

But I’m not sure the message will get to A in time. A’s probably already kidnapped whoever’s body he’s in. I can’t stop it.

I tell Rebecca that I’m going to skip lunch. I know she’s going to offer to join me, but I tell her I’d rather be alone, to try to process everything. Mostly I want to hide, and it’s easier to hide when you’re just one person.

“Are you sure?” Rebecca asks.

I tell her I’m sure.

“Remember, this is the worst of it,” she tells me. “The first day is always the worst.”

This is a little less than credible from a girl who will no doubt now go find her boyfriend and sit with him at lunch. But I resist telling her that she’s not allowed to talk to me until she cheats on Ben and he dumps her.

I don’t know where I’m going to go after Rebecca leaves me. Some dark corner of the library should be safe. I’ve never seen a librarian turn a girl away because the whole school is calling her a slut.

I’m about to head there when a voice behind me says, “Hey.”

I am not in the mood for someone else to give me an opinion on my behavior. I turn around and look at the person stopping me. It’s a boy, I think. Maybe a freshman. Also maybe a girl.

I’m confused. Then I look in his/her eyes and am not confused.

“Hey,” I say. “You’re here. Why am I not surprised?”

I know I should be more excited that A’s made it. But honestly? This is one more thing than an already hard day needs.

“Lunch?” A asks.

I guess I might as well. It’s not really the hiding I’d planned, but I don’t know how to explain that.

“Sure,” I say. “But I really have to get back after.”

“That’s okay.”

We walk down the hall. And you would think that maybe some people would be staring at the stranger next to me, a person they’ve never seen before. Maybe not the same guy I am rumored to have had sex with in the gym (there’s no mistaking him for that), but still—someone different.

But no. I’m still the main attraction.

A’s picking up on this, too. He sees them looking at me. He sees them turning away.

“Apparently, I’m now a metalhead slut,” I explain. I genuinely don’t care who overhears. “According to some sources, I’ve even slept with members of Metallica. It’s kind of funny, but also kind of not.” I stop talking for a second and look at A. “You, however, are something completely different. I don’t even know what I’m dealing with today.”

“My name’s Vic. I’m a biological female, but my gender is male.”

A says it like this is obvious. I sigh and tell her, “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Well, it means that her body was born one way, but her mind—”

This is not what I want people overhearing. I interrupt, “Let’s just wait until we’re off school grounds, okay? Why don’t you walk behind me for a while? I think it’ll just make things easier.”

I feel like a jerk asking this. But I also feel I need space. Just a little space.

I take her to the Philip Diner, which is like an old-age home that serves food. Nobody from school except the most die-hard hipsters ever eats there. And I figure I can take my chances with the hipsters. They have enough problems of their own to care about mine.

The waitress treats us like we’re spies about to take away her Social Security. It’s not until she’s gone that we can talk.

“So how is everything?” A asks.

“I can’t say Justin seems that upset,” I reply. “And there’s no shortage of girls who want to comfort him.”
Thank you, Lindsay.
“It’s pathetic. Rebecca’s been awesome. I swear, there should be an occupation called Friendship PR—Rebecca would be ace at that. She’s getting my half of the story out there.”

“Which is?”

“Which is that Justin’s a jerk. And that the metalhead and I weren’t doing anything besides talking.”

“I’m sorry it had to all go down like that.”

“It could’ve been worse. And we have to stop apologizing to each other. Every sentence can’t start with ‘I’m sorry.’ ”

I should be sorry for snapping this out. I just don’t have the energy. Especially with someone so complicated sitting across from me.

“So you’re a girl who’s a boy?” I ask.

“Something like that.”

Oh, great. Now A’s snappish, too.

“And how far did you drive?”

“Three hours.”

“And what are you missing?”

“A couple of tests. A date with my girlfriend.”

I can’t help it. I ask, “Do you think that’s fair?”

“What do you mean?” A asks.

“Look,” I tell A, “I’m happy you’ve come all this way. Really, I am. But I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I’m cranky as hell, and this morning when I got your email, I just thought: Is all of this really fair? Not to me or to you. But to these…people whose lives you’re kidnapping.”

“Rhiannon, I’m always careful—”

“I know you are. And I know it’s just a day. But what if something completely unexpected was supposed to happen today? What if her girlfriend is planning this huge surprise party for her? What if her lab partner is going to fail out of class if she’s not there to help? What if—I don’t know. What if there’s this huge accident, and she’s supposed to be nearby to pull a baby to safety?”

“I know. But what if
I’m
the one that something is supposed to happen to? What if I’m supposed to be here, and if I’m not, the world will go the wrong direction? In some infinitesimal but important way.”

“But shouldn’t her life come above yours?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re just the guest.”

It comes out sounding harsher than I mean it to be.

I go on, “I’m not saying you’re any less important. You know I’m not. Right now, you are the person I love the most in the entire world.”

“Really?” A sounds skeptical.

“What do you mean,
really
?”

“Yesterday you said you didn’t love me.”

“I was talking about the metalhead. Not you.”

The waitress brings our grilled cheeses and our French fries.

“I love you, too, you know,” A says once she leaves us alone.

“I know.”

“We’re going to get through this. Every relationship has a hard part at the beginning. This is our hard part. It’s not like a puzzle piece where there’s an instant fit. With relationships, you have to shape the pieces on each end before they go perfectly together.”

Relationship. I want to know if that’s what this really is. But A is not the right person to ask.

Instead, I point out that A’s piece changes shape every day.

“Only physically,” he argues.

“I know.” I eat one of the fries. I’m tired of talking, but don’t know how to get out of it without making A feel bad. “Really, I do. I guess I need to work on my piece more. There’s too much going on. And you being here—that adds to the too much.”

“I’ll go,” he says. “After lunch.”

“It’s not that I want you to,” I try to assure him. “I just think I need you to.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” I make myself smile. I need to change the tone. “Now tell me about this date you’re going on tonight. If I don’t get to be with you, I want to know who does.”

Then I sit back and listen as he tells me about this girl named Dawn who this boy-born-a-girl, Vic, loves like oxygen and needs like nothing else in the world. It’s a love story, pure and simple, and I find myself glad that someone in the universe gets to have one.

Even though I’m only meeting Vic this once and I’ve never set eyes on Dawn, I think about them after A leaves. I imagine the shit they must have to steer through to be together. It’s the first thing today that feels perfectly timed. I have it bad, sure. But people can put up with a lot to get to the place they need to be.

I need to remember that.

After school, Rebecca, Ben, and Preston take me for ice cream. They want to know more about my Mystery Man—that’s what they call him, and I don’t know that they’re far off.

I don’t tell them much. They respect that. But it’s also clear that their curiosity is going to continue, and I’m going to have to either invent some further lies or break up with Mystery Man pretty quick.

I am sure to make it home on time for dinner. Over chicken and potatoes, I tell my parents that Justin and I are over. To my extreme mortification, I start to cry. Even though I know it’s the right thing, and even though I know it’s my fault, saying it at the dinner table makes it more real than it’s ever been before. I don’t tell my parents about any Mystery Man. So the full story is that Justin and I are no longer together.

I know they’ve never liked him. I know they’re not going to tell me to try harder, to make it work. I am grateful for that. My father says, “There, there.” My mother says she’s sure it’s for the best. Then they just sit there and watch me cry. They wait for me to put myself back together. They change the subject, and ask me how Rebecca is doing.

I calm myself down as I tell them about an invented weekend—basically, I take the night with Rebecca and spread it out over two days. Lots of movies. Lots of talk. Lots of memories.

Justin isn’t mentioned again.

I know that I owe A some kind of communication. Later that night, I send an email.

A,

Today was awkward, but I think that’s because it feels like a very awkward time. It isn’t about you, and it isn’t about love. It’s about everything crashing together at once. I think you know what I mean.

Let’s try again. But I don’t think it can be at school. I think that’s too much for me. Let’s meet after. Somewhere with no traces of the rest of my life. Only us.

I’m having a hard time imagining how, but I want these pieces to fit.

Love,

R

After telling so many lies to so many other people, it feels good to be honest with someone, and to know that honesty will be appreciated. If A is going to be the one true thing in my life, I have to keep it true…even as I wonder if I can make it real.

I am ready to meet him wherever and whenever I have to. But when I finally get an email from A the next morning, it’s to tell me he’s woken up in the body of a boy whose grandfather has died. He has to go to the funeral today. There won’t be any way to meet.

I want to type back that I’m sorry for his loss. But it’s not
his
loss, of course. I actually feel bad for the boy whose body he’s in, because he won’t get to attend his own grandfather’s funeral. It’s not A’s fault. But it’s still not fair.

I don’t know why the fact that I won’t be seeing A sends me on a spiral, but it does. I should be used to it. I should know this is always going to be part of the plan—or the part that derails the plans. But with everything else such a mess, I was relying on it anyway. And now I’m feeling stupid for relying on it.

Going to school doesn’t make it any better. I feel a distance from everything. Maybe this is self-defense—I can still hear people talking about me, can still see them looking at me like I’m awful. But I also know that nobody here can understand what I’m going through. Nobody here is in love with someone who may or may not show up on any given day. Nobody here doesn’t know what form his or her love will take. And instead of feeling superior to them—instead of feeling smug because I have what they don’t have—I find myself envying them. I want the same stability that Stephanie and Steve have. Or Rebecca and Ben. Which isn’t stability—there are still fights and disagreements and bad days and good days—but it’s at least more stable than the great unknown I’m not-quite-dating.

I am sixteen years old,
I find myself thinking.
This is way too much.

The one thing I’m not doing is wishing it were a few weeks ago, and that I was still entirely Justin’s. But even that is shakable. Because when I see him for the first time since the gym, it sends me spiraling further. He’s coming out of math class, and I am just another body in the hall. What I see isn’t pretty. It’s much more sad than angry. He has always hated being here, and now he hates it even more. I’m sure, if he saw me, the hate would be shot in my direction. But since he doesn’t see me, there’s nowhere for it to go. Instead, it loops in on itself, chews on its own tail.

A week ago, I would be rushing over to comfort him. I would be trying to unknot that anger, that hate, to get him to breathe. That was what I did. That was what he needed, and what he always resented.

I turn away and move in the direction I know he won’t be going, even though it’s not the direction I need to go. It’s bad enough already. I don’t want to make it even worse.

The next day, A says he can see me. But it comes with a warning.

I’m not sure this guy is your type. He’s pretty huge. I just want to prepare you, because the last time you saw me, it wasn’t like this.

Type. Suddenly A is worried about my type. I don’t want him to be thinking that way. It will only make it harder for both of us. And since I really keep thinking of A as a “he” now, I almost want to tell him that at least he’s got half of my type right, if he’s a guy. But what does that even mean? How wrong am I to think that way?

Love the person inside,
I remind myself.
This will only work if you love the person inside.

The problem is—and I think about this all through school—I have a mental image of the person inside. When I picture A, I picture him as this attractive guy, shimmering like a spirit or a ghost, jumping from body to body. That is the person I am in love with. And in my mind he’s a guy, and in my mind he’s white, and in my mind he has dark hair, and in my mind he’s lean. Not buff. Not superstar beautiful. Just an ordinary attractive. I can even see him smile.

This mental picture should make it easier for me, should make A more real to me. But it only makes it harder, because I know the mental picture is about what I want, not what A is.

He is waiting for me outside the Clover Bookstore after school. He’s dressed up in a button-down shirt and a tie, which I appreciate. But there’s no way around it—he’s big. Really big. And that’s hard for me to deal with. Not because he’s ugly. There’s actually something sweet about him, in that tie. But he’s just so much bigger than me. I’m intimidated. And, yes, it’s really hard for me to adjust from seeing A in Vic-the-girl-who’s-a-boy’s body one day and this body the next time I see him.

“Hey,” he says when I get closer. I guess that’s our code word now. Our greeting. But it still sounds weird coming in this voice, so low.

“Yeah, hey,” I reply.

It’s even worse when I’m next to him. I feel miniscule.

“What’s up?” he asks, like this body is no different from any other.

“Just taking you all in, I guess,” I say. It’s like a test.
Let’s make A as different as possible from last time, and see how you deal.

I’m not in the mood to be tested. I’ve been tested enough.

“Don’t look at the package,” A says. “Look at what’s inside.”

I get it. I do. But still, I don’t like the assumption that this is natural.

“That’s easy for you to say,” I tell him. “I never change, do I?”

God, I don’t want to be fighting.
I think this even though I’m the one who’s being fighty.

And then I take the thought one step further, and think,
It’s like it was with Justin.

No. It’s not. With Justin, I fought because he backed me into corners.

A is not doing that.

Like now. A could easily say,
Yeah, sure you change—the girl I met was really nice, and the girl talking to me right now is acting like a bitch.

But the thing is: A wouldn’t say that. Which is why I’m here.

Instead of confronting me, A says, “Let’s go.” Taking it forward instead of getting stuck here.

“Where to?” I ask.

This gets a smile. “Well, we’ve been to the ocean and to the mountain and to the woods. So I thought this time we’d try…dinner and a movie.”

Ha. Not what I was expecting. But much better than trying to find a desert.

“That sounds suspiciously like a date,” I say, smiling myself.

“I’ll even buy you flowers if you’d like.”

I like the sound of that. “Go ahead,” I tell him. “Buy me flowers.”

I’m both joking and not joking. And he’s serious, because instead of going into the bookstore, he finds a florist and buys me a dozen roses. It’s a little crazy, but this whole thing is a little crazy, so I accept it.

He gives me options from the movie theater down the road, and I say if this is a date, then we have to go see one of those superhero movies that seem designed for dates—enough action for the guys and enough banter for the girls. Of course, as soon as I say this, I realize that this equation doesn’t take into account people who are neither boys nor girls—and also makes some pretty big assumptions about what guys want and what girls want.

A doesn’t call me on it, though. Instead, he tells me it’s something he wanted to see, without telling me why.

When we get to the theater, it’s mostly empty. The only other people there on a Thursday night are a posse of teenagers who clearly don’t care about homework or school tomorrow. I can see them staring at us and making sniggering comments—maybe because of A’s size, maybe because I’m this girl going to the movies with a bouquet of roses, like it’s Valentine’s Day or something.

It’s funny because A is clearly having a little trouble navigating in this guy’s body. It makes sense—he’s not used to being this big, and he has to adjust. He barely makes it into the chair next to mine—and even though he does, it’s clear I’m not going to have any part of the armrest. He tries to move his arm around me, and it’s awkward—I’m basically stuck in his very active armpit. But honestly? I think it bothers A more than it bothers me. By the end of the previews, he’s given up, and moves one seat away so we can have some breathing room. But that’s not exactly what you should do on a date.

To make things better, he moves his hand to the seat between us. I know what this means. I move my own hand there, too, and as the movie starts and the world is threatened with destruction, we hold hands. It’s nice—but not as nice as before. Partly because his hand is so much bigger than mine. Partly because of the angle. Partly because it’s sweaty, and because he keeps shifting in his seat. Eventually, I give up, and he doesn’t try to get me back. I would be okay leaning against him—his body would be really good for leaning. But he’s moved too far away. So we just sit there in our separate spaces for most of the movie. I don’t mind, but it doesn’t feel like a date.

After the movie, we head to an Italian place. I still don’t know what to do with the flowers, and wish I’d never asked for them. In the end, I put them under my chair.

He asks me again about how school is going, and I give him the update. I also tell him about letting my parents know, and about Rebecca calling him Mystery Man.

“I hope that’s not how you think of me,” he says.

“Well, you have to admit you have more mystery to you than the usual guy. I mean, person.”

“Like what?”

“Like why you are the way you are? Like where you come from? Like why you do the things you do?”

“Yeah,” he says, “but don’t we all have those same mysteries? Maybe not where you came from—but do you really know why you are the way you are? Or why you do the things you do? I don’t know why I was born this way—but you don’t know why you were born your way, either. We’re all in the dark. It’s just that my dark is a little more unusual than yours. For all we know.”

“But there’s more about me that’s explainable. You have to admit that.”

“You can drive yourself crazy looking for explanations for every single thing. I can’t do that. I’m happy to let things just be what they are. I don’t need to know why.”

“But you have to be curious!
I’m
curious.”

“Well, I’m not. And if this is going to work, I need you to take it at face value.”

“Face value? Really?”

“Okay. Bad choice of words. Inside value. Soul value. Self value. Whatever you want to call it.”

“What do
you
call it? What do you think you are?”

“I’m a person, Rhiannon. I’m a person who happens to go into other people for a day. But I’m still a person.”

Chastised. I feel like I’ve disappointed him. I’ve fallen into the same trap as everyone else. I haven’t understood.

We stop talking to eat. But I can’t help watching him. Searching.

“What is it?” A asks, catching me looking.

“It’s just that…I can’t see you inside. Usually I can. Some glimmer of you in the eyes. But not tonight.”

I’m not sure if this is his fault or mine. The connection needs to be plugged in on both ends, and maybe it’s loose in me tonight.

“I promise I’m in here,” he says.

“I know. But I can’t help it. I just don’t feel anything. When I see you like this, I don’t. I can’t.”

“That’s okay. The reason you’re not seeing it is because he’s so unlike me. You’re not feeling it because I’m not like this. So in a way, it’s consistent.”

“I guess,” I say. But it’s not what I want to hear. I’ve never heard him disown one of the bodies before. I’ve never heard him say,
This isn’t me.
Is it because he feels that way, or is it because I’m making him self-conscious? He knows I’m uncomfortable, and it’s making him uncomfortable. He, who can adapt to everything, and has been doing it for as long as he’s been alive, is seeing himself through my eyes, and because of that, he’s finding himself lacking.

I need to stop. But what am I supposed to do? Try to not see him as this huge guy? How can I ignore that? How can I not feel different relative to that?

All of these thoughts, and I can’t say any of them aloud. Because that will only make it worse.

So instead we talk about the movie. The food. The weather.

This is disturbing. Disturbing because we’re not talking about us. And also disturbing because I realize that when you’re sixteen and in love, there isn’t much to talk about besides yourselves.

This isn’t about the body you’re in,
I want to tell A.
It’s about where we are.

He doesn’t call me on it until we’re walking to get our cars.

“What’s going on?” he asks me.

“Just an off night, I guess.” I try to smell the roses, but the scent is worn out. “We’re allowed to have off nights, right? Especially considering…”

“Yeah. Especially considering.”

It’s not the one thing, it’s everything. If he were in the body from the cabin, I would be kissing him good night. If he were the girl-boy from the other day, I wouldn’t be. Or if he were Ashley with her Beyoncé looks. Or if he were Nathan from the basement. I wouldn’t be. And if he were the picture in my mind, this night would have been different. Right now would be different.

It’s not how it should be. But it’s how it is with me. At least until I can get more used to it. If I can get more used to it.

I couldn’t even kiss him goodbye if I wanted to. Not lightly. Not without him coming down to my level.

So instead of trying for that, I raise the roses up. I let him breathe them in instead of a kiss. I try to make it a nice goodbye that way.

“Thanks for the flowers,” I tell him.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“Tomorrow,” I say.

He nods. “Tomorrow.”

We leave it at that.

But is it enough?

We keep saying tomorrow. We keep promising it, even though there’s no way to promise it for sure.

My parents are already asleep when I get home, but the quiet house gives me too much space to think. Dinner and a movie. The most basic elements of a relationship, of dating. But we failed it, didn’t we?

I think maybe I’ll feel different in the morning.

I don’t.

I lie there in bed, wondering where A is and what he looks like.

I imagine having to think that every morning. Maybe not for the rest of my life. But even for the rest of high school.

It feels like too much.