prose by Enya Thompson
I spent that day like any school day, ignoring people, glaring at those who looked at me to discourage awkward eye contact, and talking to friends.
But then I went to math class.
A guy with swoopy brown hair and big brown eyes who wasn’t in my class before was one of the last people to walk in. He wasn’t new, because he nodded in acknowledgement at some guys in the class. He kinda gave off popular vibes, but his Undertones shirt told me he was cool.
With all the empty seats in the room, I assumed he would sit with his “friends.” That didn’t happen. Apparently the seat that was next to mine looked like the best spot to him. The back of the classroom is the prime location for seats, so I can’t blame him, but I really didn’t want some random guy sitting next to me.
Once the teacher started her boring lesson, I completely zoned out. Until the guy next to me nudged my arm.
“Does this teacher always talk about herself this much during class?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Yup, she talks more about her own education than worrying about ours,” I sarcastically replied.
“I really shouldn’t’ve switched classes.”
“Welcome to hell.” The teacher shot a glare our way as I spoke a little too loud. I think there’s still visible scars from where her eyes bore into my skull.
We tried to suppress our laughter and spend the rest of the period silently so our teacher wouldn’t murder us for interrupting class yet again. I wouldn’t put murder past her, to be honest.
I was surprised at how at ease I felt around the guy who sat next to me. I’m awkward sometimes, although I hate to admit it, but our personalities just clicked.
“Bye! Hope you have an amazing weekend,” my science teacher exclaimed after finishing her boring lecture about genes or whatever.
“Have an amazing weekend,” I mimicked her high pitched voice under my breath. Since the classroom was dead silent when I said that, my teacher looked up. Thankfully, she couldn’t tell I had made fun of her.
As I walked out of the classroom, I saw a familiar face in the sea of teenagers, the math class guy. I hadn’t seen him in this hallway before, but he was probably here because of his schedule change.
I walked up behind him and, realizing he didn’t notice me, smacked the top of his overweight backpack. He looked around to see who had done it and looked down to see me. We made eye contact for a second longer than normal friends would. My posture sank lower than usual. It’s just my heavy backpack, I thought as a blush crept onto my face.
“Hey,” he stated and started walking to class. I walked with him because I didn’t feel like going to my next class yet.
“I bet you thought I was going the other way, but I’m not,” I nagged him. I definitely felt comfortable enough around this guy to use a tone I only used when I was jokingly taunting my sisters. He went along with my “jab.”
“Oh yes, I’m clearly stupid,” he flashed his signature smirk at me. I really couldn’t be in a bad mood around this guy.
We got to his class all too soon and parted ways.
“I’ve never met a girl like you before,” the math class guy said to me as we walked out of school at the end of the day.
“Huh?” Being called a girl caught me off guard. It took me a second to process what he was saying.
“Well, you’re cool and have good taste in music and stuff. I was wondering if you’d wanna get ice cream this weekend with me or something,” he stuttered, sounding nervous.
“Uh yeah, that’d be fun,” I replied. “Uh, my ride's here so I gotta go.”
“Oh okay, see you tomorrow,” he said. His shoulders slumped, which surprised me because I’m usually the one with the bad posture, but I walked away anyway.
He thinks I’m a girl? I thought. Do I really look like a girl? I felt insecure. All I’ve wanted since middle school is for people to see me as what I really am, a boy.
Should I tell him I’m transgender? What if he’s not into guys? What if he’s transphobic? What if I ruin everything?
After a week of debating whether or not to tell math class guy that I’m transgender, the Friday before our plans arrived. There was no other time to tell him. Well, that’s how it felt.
I’d been in a bad mood the whole week, except when I was around the math class guy. I had been especially mouthy to the adults in my life. It bothered me that a boy was affecting me this much, but then again, I’m already very moody.
The day was slow until math class. I was one of the first people in the room, as usual. When the guy walked in, I looked everywhere but at him. Wow, math teachers really like dumb math posters. ‘Have a slice of pi?’ Really? Oh no, here he comes.
“Hey,” was his greeting, as always, but he smirked at me this time. I wonder what was so amusing.
I just nodded at him because I didn’t trust myself to speak.
We spent the period sending each other looks every time the teacher yelled at a kid or said something about her Yale education. He always had that stupid smirk on his face. He may not be as talkative as I am, but he has one of those faces where you can tell how he’s feeling and what he’s thinking.
We walked out of the classroom together like we always did, but this time I was surprisingly quiet.
“So,” I said. I figured I should just rip off the band-aid. “I’m actually a boy. I’m transgender.”