If I Was Your Girl (16 page)

“You know when I was a kid, the first time I watched
Star Wars
, it was like, I don't know, like my whole world opening up,” Grant said suddenly. I left my head where it was, enjoying the rise and fall of his chest. “It sounds stupid now but seeing those characters with their crazy outfits, those badass spaceships, I started to think that maybe there was more out there than football and playin' in dirt.”

I nodded, thinking of the first time I had watched the movie too. I had loved to escape into science fiction and fantasy for as long as I could remember, loved anything where the main characters didn't look like the people I saw around me, and especially anything with themes of acceptance and social injustice. But my relationship with sci-fi was a little more complicated than Grant's, because it was one of the things about me that was typically male. I knew that some girls had grown up reading comic books, and since my transition, I wasn't sure whether it was something I should hide, like my encyclopedic knowledge of every episode of
Deep Space Nine
might somehow out me. I loved that I didn't have to hide it from Grant.

“I don't know what I'm really tryin' to say,” Grant continued. “It helps to think about things other'n yourself, imagine that there's a different way to be I guess.”

I sat up and kissed him long and hard, to tell him everything I couldn't articulate—that for a guy who'd rarely received better than a C in school, for someone who thought the most value he brought was knocking guys over on a football field, he was one of the smartest people I had ever met.

I lay back down against him and we listened to the party go on without us, our breaths syncing. As I felt Grant's heart beat in his chest, a thought that both thrilled and terrified me snaked its way from my stomach to the tips of my fingers: I was falling in love with him.

 

19

“Sorry for skipping out on you last week,” I said, tying my hair up against the wind as I mounted the warped old plantation steps. Bee glanced up at me before returning her gaze to her camera's viewfinder.

“S'fine,” she said, scooting over to make room for me on the step. I brushed the papery leaves away and sat down. “I know how it goes.”

“Yeah. How are you holding up, by the way?” I said as I dropped my backpack between my knees and pulled out my chemistry homework.

“Fine,” Bee said, giving me a strange look when she finally noticed the note of concern in my voice. “Why?”

“Well, you and Chloe were a pretty big deal, weren't you?”

“I don't know,” Bee said, twisting a knob and pointing the lens out at the horizon. “Hey, I don't have any portraits in my portfolio yet.” She lowered the camera again and looked at me. “Mind if I take your picture?”

“I guess not,” I said, tapping a pencil against my notepad and looking down at the grass. “Chloe seemed to think y'all were pretty serious.”

“Yeah,” Bee said, scratching her temple. “That was the problem. She thought things were more serious than I did. If she were a guy I'd have bailed as soon as I realized she wanted more from me than sex and the occasional hangout.”

“How did her being a girl make it different?”

Bee looked up from her work to stare into the middle distance. “The first time we ever kissed she cried in my arms, because she'd spent her whole life trying to pretend those feelings weren't real. She told me she couldn't decide if she was disgusted with herself or proud that she'd finally had the strength to do what she wanted. She said she thought she was the only one.”

“That's so sad,” I said, trying to imagine Chloe crying.

“But obviously that just isn't true,” Bee went on. She pulled out her phone and looked at it for a moment before continuing. “So there's about seven thousand, four hundred people in Lambertville, and queer people represent about ten percent of the population. That's, what, seven hundred and forty people right there. Let's assume women are an even half of that, and you can assume there are three hundred ninety bisexual or lesbian women in this town.”

“That seems high,” I said, though I couldn't help wondering whether any other people like me lived here in secret as well.

“It seems high because queer people in the South are addicted to the closet,” she said, furrowing her brow and digging in her camera bag for a different lens. “Hell, even the straight people have enough skeletons in their closet to fill a tomb. Everybody's too afraid of going to hell or getting made fun of to be honest about what they want and who they are, so they can't even really admit what they want to themselves. It's sad.”

“Yeah.” I was nodding, but I wondered what Bee would say if I told her the truth—that I was one of those people who wasn't being honest. It struck me, in a way it hadn't before, that Bee was pretty brave, just for being herself.

“But anyway, I realized I was with her out of obligation, and that is absolutely not something I do, so I broke up with her.”

“But you must've realized that a while ago … you were together a long time, right? So why now?” I folded and unfolded a page in my textbook. “Was there somebody else?”

“Different subject?” Bee said, looking exhausted. “I know I hurt her, but she was gonna get hurt one way or the other. Just drop it, okay?”

“Sure,” I said, biting my thumbnail. “Sorry.”

“Make it up to me by sitting up straight and looking at that weird-looking tree,” she said, pointing across the clearing.

“That's a Bradford pear,” I said, squaring my shoulders. The camera stayed silent. “They're bred to have this beautiful vertical branch pattern, but trees aren't supposed to grow that way, which is why they look the way they do. They grow fast though, so real estate agents like to plant them to sell properties quick and then the trunks don't start twisting up and dying like that until a few years after.”

“Where the hell'd you learn that?” Bee said as the camera clicked away.

“My mom's a real estate agent.”

Bee smiled. “All right,” she said. “At first you looked like a robot, but I got some good shots there at the end.”

“I look like a robot?” I said, frowning.

“Not you, just that face. Try smiling.” I smiled. “Okay, wow, you look like somebody's got a gun on you just outside the frame. You're one of those people.”

“What people?”

“
Earnest
people,” she said, as if that should mean something to me. “You're just so repulsively honest that you can't even fake feelings when you want to.”

“I don't think that's true,” I said, thinking of my relationship with Grant, how sometimes it felt like I was telling him everything about me except the single biggest thing.

“Whatever,” Bee said. “I know how to deal with people like you.” She adjusted the lens and pointed it at me again. “The only way to fight earnestness is with earnestness. Remember back when we'd just met, and we played the honesty game?”

“Yeah,” I said, my mouth feeling suddenly dry.

“Well, my biggest secret isn't that I'm bi,” Bee said, leaning forward slightly. I cocked my head and listened. “I was raped in tenth grade.”

“Oh my God,” I said, covering my mouth. “I'm so sorry.”

“Whatever,” Bee said, waving my condolences away and snapping a few pictures. “It's not a … I mean, it was a big deal. I needed therapy and shit. But it's not why I am who I am or whatever. Anyway, that's not the secret.” She took a few steps backward and knelt, the camera still pointed at me. “The secret's coming.”

I nodded and looked away, off into the distance, where the wind rustled the grass like a gentle wave. By not looking at her, it felt like I was giving Bee privacy to tell her secret.

“So the guy who did it was a senior at one of the private schools up in Knoxville. His dad owns like seventy-five percent of this shitsburg, which is, I guess, why he was down here at the time. My folks told me I needed to go to the police. They got real mad at me because I was hesitating about it. But, like … everybody'd been calling me a slut since sixth grade when I had the bad luck to grow boobs first, and it felt like the son of a bitch's family had enough money that there was no point, and really I just wanted the whole thing behind me, so I went to therapy and got over it and moved on.”

“And then?” I said, wanting to cross the distance between us and hug her. But something told me she needed to keep going, so I stayed where I was.

“And then two years later he was arrested anyway,” Bee said, her voice brittle and distant. “He'd gotten four more girls after me. One was twelve.” She lowered the camera for a moment and rubbed her eyes. “And it's like, the rape was something I could put behind me, at least most days. I don't really think about it, anymore. But if I'd come forward, yeah, he might not've gone to jail, but it would've been in the news, and those girls and their parents would've had a chance of avoiding what happened. That's harder to get over.” She bit her lip and slowly started bringing the camera back up. “Therapy hasn't really helped with
that
.”

“Bee,” I said softly.

The camera clicked a half dozen times. Her hands shook. I wanted to comfort her, but there was nothing I could say. Everything that came to mind sounded empty. I wanted to give her something real, to show her that she was right to trust me, that I trusted her too. Only one thing came to mind.

“I came close to telling you something last time we played,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“Sure,” Bee said, still sounding a little shaken.

“It's serious though,” I said, raising my eyebrows. The camera clicked over and over. “Really. I'm not kidding. It's not about me being embarrassed, or worried what people will think. It's much bigger than that.” She looked up from the viewfinder and blinked. “If you tell people what I'm about to tell you, it will end me.”

“I won't tell,” Bee said quietly. The look on her face was the most serious I had ever seen her wear.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay,” I said, scooting back to my side and looking out at the grass shivering in the wind as it gave in to the inevitability of winter. I breathed cool air in through my nose, held it, and poured it back out between my teeth. Now was my chance to stop. But I didn't. “I'm transsexual.”

For a moment, Bee didn't say anything. Then she spoke. “Do I have your permission to take a few more photos?” she asked. “I have some questions, but the way you look right now is really important to me and I want to keep it.” I nodded. The camera clicked faster than ever and then suddenly stopped. I felt a wave of naked warmth climb up my neck and down from my shoulders as she lowered the camera and stared at me. “I've never met anybody like you,” she said.

“Most people haven't,” I said. I was surprised my voice wasn't shakier. I looked down at my hands and saw they were relatively still. “Or at least they don't know they have.”

“Okay,” Bee said, nodding slowly. “I've seen … what's the word? Transgendered?”

“‘Trans people' is best,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I've seen trans people in movies and TV shows, but judging by how unrealistic and shitty bi characters tend to be, I'm gonna assume I know nothing. So what's okay for me to ask?”

“Don't ask about my genitals,” I said, balling up my skirt and looking up at the clouds. “Just don't.”

“Wouldn't matter,” Bee said, shrugging.

“Thanks.” I bit my lip. “Don't ask about surgeries. Don't ask what my name used to be. That's pretty much it.”

“Okay,” Bee said. She put her camera away, folding the strap deliberately, her eyes locked on something just beneath the deck. “You didn't have to tell me,” she said.

“I wanted to,” I said, releasing my skirt and surprising myself with a smile. “I really wanted to.”

“Well, you should know I was just fucking with you earlier,” Bee said, “with the stuff about the robot.” She rubbed the back of her neck and I was almost sure I saw her cheeks redden before she turned to pick up something behind her.

“I figured,” I said, my smile widening. Seeing Bee vulnerable was almost as weird as seeing emotion from my dad.

“But you know you're gorgeous, right?” she said, shouldering her bag and turning back around. If there had been a blush there it was gone. I put my homework away and stood with her.

“Thanks. You know what happened to those girls wasn't your fault, right?” I said. I crossed the distance like I'd wanted to before and swept her into a hug. We stood like that, our arms around each other for a long while, longer, maybe, than I'd ever hugged anyone before. “Bee, I'm really glad I met you.”

“I'm glad I met you too.”

 

OCTOBER, SIX YEARS AGO

Marcus didn't save me a seat on the bus the first Monday after our sleepover.

We didn't always sit together but I didn't mind; he was really cute and smart, and he had a lot of friends, so he tried to spend time with as many of them as he could. That was why our friendship meant so much to me, really—he could have spent time with anybody, and he wanted to spend time with me. His friendship had been one of the best parts of seventh grade, maybe the only good part. But as I stared at the back of Marcus's head, I could tell something was off. He hadn't even made eye contact with me in math, and when I'd tried to flag him down after class ended and ask if he wanted to hang out again next weekend, he'd looked away from me and walked faster.

As the rolling hills outside the bus windows turned into perfectly manicured lawns, I stared straight ahead and tried to imagine what I could have done to upset him. He got off at the same stop as me; I would try to talk to him again when we were alone.