Young Writers Society

I stood in front of my burgundy locker and tried to fight the nausea.

The dysphoria was really bad today, even with my binder, a t shirt, and my favorite, perfectly flattening hoodie on, my packer stuffed neatly away into my jeans. I had even thrown on a beanie before leaving the house for good measure, hoping the masculine feel the beanie usually provided me – God, it usually gave me such gender euphoria - would help curb the wrongness permeating my bones. Examining myself in the mirror that hung on the inside wall of my locker, round face, almond shaped eyes and all, I was disappointed to see with an internal groan that today, I was afforded no such luck. Despite my tough appearance, usually okay but feeling over-the-top today, I still wanted to claw my skin off. My chest felt like putty strapped uncomfortably to my skin, stuffed beneath the itchy, sweaty binder I wore every day I left the house. It didn’t belong. I could feel the fakeness of my packer, the empty spot it was supposed to be filling only amplified and looking down at all made me twice as nauseous. My body felt empty and uncoordinated, not my own, as if I was mentally eight blocks down the street while my flesh prison walked about the hallways of Roseman High.

At least I have group today, I thought bitterly, the fact doing nothing to brighten my mood. Tuesdays was usually my favorite day of the week thanks to the support group my dads had found for me to go to after coming out. Now, I felt too awful to face anyone, even my friends.

“Rhys,” someone shook my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. I looked up to see Ethan, my brother and captain of the soccer team, staring at me with concern. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I muttered, pulling away from his touch. “Just having a bad day.”

Someone bumped me on their way by, the word ‘dyke’ tumbling loudly into the quiet space around us. I closed my eyes as Ethan stiffened, his mouth twisting into an angered grimace.

“Leave it,” I pleaded. “Please don’t make a scene.” The voices in my head told me to let him go, let him cause a scene, let him wreak havoc. I shook my head to clear them away.

Ethan grit his teeth. “You’ve been out for almost a year now. When are bigots going to get the hint?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Ethan’s hand ghosted over the fading bruise that adorned my cheek. “It is a big deal.”

I pulled away with a scowl. “I told you, I got that in a fall last week.”

“Then why did I hear Brandon talking about how he ‘punched a tranny in the face so hard its teeth almost came loose’?” Ethan growled. “You should have told me he put his hands on you.”

“I told you,” I began to put my books into my locker, just so I could avoid Ethan’s gaze. “It’s not a big deal.”

A beat of silence passed. I could feel the anger emanating like heat from the sandy-haired, long-limbed teen beside me.

“It’s not a big deal because it happens so often?” Ethan supplied slowly, his gaze boring into me. I didn’t look up from placing my textbooks methodically onto their shelf.

“You should have told me, Rhys,” Ethan hissed, his palm banging my locker door so hard I flinched. “Wait until I see that fucking bastard.” He slapped the locker again before taking off down the hall, his stride punching the floor in his anger. I looked after him helplessly, wanting to call out something to make him stop. Instead, I readjusted my beanie, zipped my backpack shut, and closed my locker, ducking my head as I made my way to my next class.

Even after a year of being out, I still wasn’t used to the stares. I felt as though every eye were on me, watching me pretend to read my book during the twenty minutes of silent reading. Every gaze devouring my appearance, gauging whether or not I passed, whether or not I was worthy of my pronouns. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and tried to make my mind focus on the words in front of me, praying that the last few minutes of silent reading would pass by already. When Mr. Black turned on the overhead lights – we usually spent the twenty minutes of silence reading by fairy lights, one of my favorite things about Mr. Black’s class – I sighed inwardly in relief, slumping back in my seat as the overhead projector whirred to life.

We were covering Hamlet, one of my favorites. We were about halfway through it; I tuned it out, having read the book in its entirety about a year ago (right around the time I decided to come out, actually; the book, in fact, was a huge contributor to that decision. To be, or not to be, in regard to your true self?). I closed my eyes, letting my mind drift away.

“Hartman,” the voice sounded distant, as though coming from the opposite end of a very long tunnel. “Mr. Hartman?”

My eyes snapped open to find Mr. Black staring at me intently. I blinked and sat up straight, clearing my throat.

“Yeah?”

“Class was dismissed a few minutes ago.”

I sat up a little more and looked around; true to Mr. Black’s word, the seats around me were empty, chatter drifting in from the crowded hallway. I must’ve fallen asleep or something. Mr. Black arched an eyebrow at me.

“Oh,” I muttered, my cheeks beginning to burn. “Right. Sorry.”

“Is everything okay, Rhys?” Mr. Black’s olive-brown face was etched with concern, his gaze lingering heavily on me. I couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes.

“It’s fine.” I managed to mutter, staring at the floor.

“That’s about the fifth time you’ve fallen asleep in class in the last few months, Rhys.” Mr. Black sighed heavily. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, Mr. Black.”

Mr. Black nodded slowly. I scanned the room. The hallway was mostly empty now, the previous class having been the last one of the day. I swallowed.

“I appreciate the concern, Mr. Black.” My phone chose that opportune moment to ring, and I let out a silent thank you to whatever god might be out there. I fished it out of my pocket and glanced at the screen: it was Ethan. Shit. Group. I stood hurriedly, grabbing for my backpack. “I’ve gotta go. See you later, Mr. Black.”

I rushed out of the room before he could stop me, my half-run turning into a sprint down the hallway towards the student parking lot exit. I was panting by the time I yanked open the door of Ethan’s orange Camaro.

“Where the hell have you been?” Ethan growled, but there was no anger in his voice. Instead, he grinned at me as he pulled out of the parking spot.

“Fell asleep in Mr. Black’s again.” I muttered, pulling off my beanie to rake a hand through my hair. “He held me back for a ‘talk’.”

Ethan frowned. “You fell asleep again?”

I shrugged as we pulled out of the school and into the main road. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay, you’ve really got to stop saying that.” Ethan sighed. “You can’t keep falling asleep in class, man. They’ll hold you back.”

“I’ve just been tired lately.” I replied.

Ethan glanced at me. “Still not sleeping well?”

I lit a cigarette from the pack I kept in Ethan’s car and stared out the window.

“You can talk about these things, Rhys.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I snapped. “Just because I can doesn’t mean I fucking want to.”

We sat in silence for several minutes. I cracked the window to let the smoke out, flicking my ashes.

“Maybe the rest of us want to talk about it,” Ethan said quietly. “This has been hard on us too, you know.”

I snorted. “How? How has it been harder on any of you than it has been on me? I’m the one that has to deal with the dysphoria, with the misgendering, with the hate – “

I went quiet, feeling as though I had said too much and becoming ashamed of my outburst. Ethan stared at me, until the light turned green and the car behind us honked at us to go.

“So you admit then?” Ethan said as we pulled up to the counseling center. “Those fucks have been beating you up?”

“I’ve gotta go or I’m gonna be late for group,” I muttered, stubbing my cigarette out in the Camaro’s ashtray and opening the door.

“This conversation isn’t done,” Ethan called after me as I strode towards the counseling center. I swung open the door without looking back in reply.

I settled into my usual seat and sat my backpack beside my chair as the rest of the group filtered into the conference room. I kept my eyes locked on the floor until the arrival of someone new caught my attention – she had bright green hair, several lip and eyebrow piercings, and wore a beautifully ratty band tee with knee-high combat boots. She popped her chewing gum and slumped into the seat beside me; I tried not to stare but was doing an undoubtedly bad job at it. She smirked at me, making me blush an ungodly shade of red, before looking around. I went back to staring at the floor.

“So,” Miranda, our group moderator, said as she settled back into her own seat. “Since we have a newcomer today, we’re gonna go around the circle and have everyone say their name and pronouns. My name is Dee, and I use she/her pronouns.”

And so we went: a tall, broad-shouldered community college student called Scout, using they/them pronouns; Janine, a lanky, six-foot-three basketball player, she/her; Brynn, a wiry, nerdy looking fellow, he/him; Jimmy, nothing but shaved head and a black, leather, patch-studded jacket, xe/xem/xir; Me, in all my five-foot-three glory, my chest heaving beneath his binder, he/him. Then it was the new girl’s turn.

“Leah,” she met everyone’s eyes in turn except for mine, still trained resolutely on the floor. “She/her. New to town.”

We settled into a semi-comfortable silence as everybody examined one another; I pulled off my beanie and ran a hand through my hair, not looking at anyone or anything but the floor or the wall. Miranda cleared her throat.

“You seem to have a lot on your mind, Rhys.”

I shrugged silently, feeling every eye in the room turn to scrutinize me. I realized after a moment that they weren’t going to look away until I gave a reply.

“I’m fine,” I muttered reluctantly. “Just having a bad day.”

Miranda nodded slowly, her gaze piercing me. “Want to talk about it?”

Her tone implied I didn’t really have a choice. I leaned back and sighed, pulling my beanie down lower over my brow.

“I’ve just been having bad dysphoria lately. Kids at school are mean and it gets to me sometimes. My dads still slip up on pronouns, and it’s just…it’s just hard.”

I slumped back in my seat and pulled my hood up over my beanie, indicating that I wasn’t going to talk any further. The room dissolved into quiet chatter as I retreated further into myself, everything in my brain fading to silence.

“Hey,” Someone kicked my chair, yanking me from my mental blackout. I realized that I had slipped away from conscious reality yet again, losing all track of time. I looked up to see the blue-haired new girl, Leah, staring down at me.

“Meeting just ended. You okay?”

“Yeah,” I pulled himself to my feet and shouldered my backpack, sauntering towards the door without looking at her. Stepping outside, I shivered, looking around desperately for Ethan’s Camaro in the chilly November air.

“You can wait for your ride in my car, if you’d like.”

I turned to see Leah smiling gently at me.

“I was gonna smoke a cig.”

“You can smoke in my car,” she smirked, taking her own pack from her sweatshirt pocket and flashing it at me. She led me to her baby-blue Subaru, which was plastered in stickers and political magnets. Unlocking it, we got into the front seat. I looked around. Leah’s backseat was scattered with several pair of Vans shoes and a small tarp over the backseat, upon which rested mud-caked boots. On the other backseat was what looked like very expensive weather equipment; on the floorboard in front of that was a pile of jackets and several empty cigarette packs. I turned to her with a grin as she started the car and turned on the heat.

“You’re a storm chaser?”

“Yeah!” Her eyes lit up as she lit her cigarette. “You chase, too?”

“I dabble,” I lit my own. “Hitch rides when I can, but the second I get my own car I’ll be chasing all the time. You’ve got some nice ass equipment.”

“About seven years’ worth of collecting,” she nodded, casting a satisfied eye at the backseat. “Thousands of dollars to boot.”

I took an appreciative draw off my cigarette and stared out of the foggy window.

“Who’s picking you up?”

“My brother Ethan,” I exhaled smoke slowly. “But he’s always late, so I’m used to it.”

“Ah,” she nodded slowly, looking me over. “Were you okay in group? You seemed a little out of it.”

“Yeah, I do that a lot,” I muttered, still staring out the window.

“You just…black out?”

“Sometimes,” I turned to her with a shrug. “Ethan says it’s really weird to witness, my eyes glaze over, my jaw goes slack, sometimes I mutter stuff.” I shrugged again and took a long draw.

“Alright, Bates.” Leah muttered with a chuckle, turning the heat up.

“Bates?”

“Like Norman Bates? Bates Motel?” She gazed at me in disbelief as I shook my head. “Dude, you are missing out. It’s a dope ass show.”

“I’ll have to watch it,” I chuckled, looking out the window just as Ethan’s Camaro pulled up to the outside curb of the counseling center. I finished my cigarette, crushing it with the heel of my boot as he stepped out of the Subaru.

“Thanks for letting me chill in your car,” I flashed Leah a smile. “I’ll see you later?”

“Sure,” she smiled and waved. Closing the door, I made my way towards the Camaro.