“Sir,” I said, trying to stay calm and respectful, “could you please ask Ms. Turner not to refer to me with female pronouns?”

“Well,” he said, “we have to use some pronoun or other. Perhaps one of the English teachers can recommend a good gender-neutral pronoun.”

---

A House Divided

by Trismegistus Shandy

Part 6 of 7

---

Monday was as bad as I’d feared, or worse. Dad was sleeping late before going to work in the afternoon; Mom had the day off. She hesitated about letting me go back to school so soon, but I said I felt fine, my bruises were mostly better. That was an exaggeration; it still hurt a little to sit normally — but I figured the sooner I went back to school, the sooner I could start correcting the rumors about me before they had too much time to spread and mutate.

“I’ll call Dr. Borenstein’s office to make an appointment as soon as they open,” she said just before I went out to catch the bus. “If she can squeeze you in today, I’ll call the school and tell them to pull you out of class and I’ll come pick you up.”

“I’d rather have a whole day at school,” I said; “I want to talk to people, tell them I’m not actually a girl whatever they might have heard, stuff like that.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard. Remember how tired you got Saturday... They’d better excuse you from P.E., but if your regular classes are wearing you out too much, have them call me and I’ll pick you up.”

“Bye,” I said.

As soon as I walked into homeroom, Mrs. Jessup said: “Jeffrey? Are you feeling all right?”

“Lots better,” I said. I could feel everybody staring at me.

“Ms. Turner sent me a note saying you might be out sick, but if you did show up, to send you to her clinic first thing.”

“I’m really okay,” I said, but I went to the clinic. So I didn’t have a chance to talk to anybody in homeroom, and I wouldn’t see Arnie again that day unless we happened to run into each other in the halls. I hoped he’d contradict any false rumors about me he heard, as I’d asked him to, but I wasn’t sure.

The nurse, Ms. Turner, looked surprised to see me.

“Did your father take you to the emergency room Friday afternoon as I recommended?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It was like you thought, lots of bruises but no broken bones or concussion. Thanks for taking care of me,” I made myself add, though I was starting to dislike her.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said. “I can excuse you from P.E. for as long as necessary... do you have any paperwork from the emergency room or your doctor?”

“Um, no. I can ask my Mom or Dad for it and bring it in tomorrow.”

“Thank you. I’ll send Coach Renfrew a note — let’s say you’ll be out of P.E. through Wednesday at least, and longer if your doctor says you need to.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I turned to go, hoping I could talk to Arnie and other people in homeroom for a few minutes before first period.

“Wait,” she said, “there’s something else. In view of your change, I think it’s appropriate that you use the girls‘ locker rooms and showers when you return to P.E., and the girls’ bathrooms at other times.”

I hesitated, trying to find the most polite way to say “No way in hell,” and came up with, “I don’t think that would be appropriate, ma’am, and my parents agree.”

“Do you have a note from them to that effect?”

“No. I can get one tomorrow if you want.”

She pursed her lips, maybe wondering how far to push it. “I’ve spoken with the principal,” she said, “and he agrees with me. There’s precedent — we have another boy, former boy I should say, who was in the same change-region as yourself — she’s a senior, and the principal and her P.E. teacher ruled that she should use the girls' locker rooms and bathrooms.”

That was probably Latisha’s brother. “That’s interesting,” I said carefully. “Did the girls put up a fight about having a guy shower with them, or letting him in their bathroom...?”

“Briefly,” she said. “The girls in her P.E. class saw the need as soon as she changed clothes in front of them; I spoke with some other girls myself.”

“Have you been talking to people about me that way?”

“Only the principal, Coach Renfrew, and your other teachers.”

“Good. Because you don’t have as many people to apologize to when you go back and tell them I’m not actually a girl.”

Her eyes widened for a moment, then she bared her teeth, and said: “Come with me.” I followed her, reluctantly, to the principal’s office.

“Come in,” the principal said absently, and looked up at us from the paperwork on his desk. He was a Smyrna wolf, and after seeing my Dad and the wolves at church wearing less and less formal clothes as more time passed since the changes, it was surprising to see him in a suit, though it was probably of a looser cut than the ones he used to wear before he grew fur.

“Nan,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“This is the boy I mentioned to you Friday afternoon. Jeffrey Sergeyev. He’s an Athens neuter, but he was keeping the fact concealed until last Friday.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Yes, we have a couple of other Athens neuters among the student body. One was a girl, so there were no particular issues affecting her interaction with other students, but her older brother...” He turned from us to his computer and tapped several keys, probably switching windows to a student database, I figured.

“Hmm,” he said. “Coach Watson and some of the other students in his P.E. class fussed about having him shower with the boys, and we decided he should shower with the girls. And use the girls' bathrooms, too, — more for consistency than anything else.”

“Exactly. I told Jeffrey that was the policy, but she doesn’t accept it and says her parents disagree as well.”

There she was, not only saying I should use the girls' bathrooms but calling me “she” and “her”. Somehow, illogically, that made me madder than anything else.

“Sir,” I said, trying to stay calm and respectful, “could you please ask Ms. Turner not to refer to me with female pronouns?”

“Well,” he said, “we have to use some pronoun or other. Perhaps one of the English teachers can recommend a good gender-neutral pronoun.”

“I still identify as male, sir, although I’ve lost my male parts. I certainly haven’t gained any female parts, so there’s no reason to consider me a girl.”

“She has a vagina,” Ms. Turner put in. “That makes it inappropriate for her to shower with the boys. She urinates sitting down; it makes more sense for her to use the girls' restrooms where there are more toilets.”

“A pseudo-vagina, the doctors in Athens say. It’s not a vagina because it doesn’t connect to a womb, which I don’t have, and there are other differences too.” I was blushing bright enough as it was without going into details about those differences.

“It’s a vulva, anyway,” Ms. Turner corrected herself, scowling at being caught in a mistake. “It’s the external anatomy that’s relevant in this situation; in a case of Complete Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome, for instance, when someone has male genes and female external anatomy, they’re always considered female for purposes of using showers and restrooms even though they have no womb or ovaries.”

“Yes, exactly,” the principal said. “Jeffrey, I’m sorry, but this is school policy and I don’t see a good reason to make an exception. If your parents have an issue with it, I welcome a dialogue with them.”

“I don’t look like a girl at all, except with my pants down,” I added desperately. “If I walk into a girls' restroom they’ll scream and yell at me to get out, before I have a chance to duck into a stall or explain or anything.”

“We had some incidents like that with the other student I mentioned, but they were transitory,” he said. “Once the other girls learn your situation, they’ll be sympathetic and understanding — most of them, and the ones that don’t will hear from me personally about it. I guarantee that. That is all.”

I was so angry and frustrated that I didn’t think of asking the principal, or Ms. Turner, for a note to explain why I was late to Algebra. I explained to Ms. Tang after class, and she just nodded. “I had a note from Ms. Turner saying she wanted to examine you before first period, and you might be late to class, if you weren’t absent entirely due to your injuries. I’m glad you’re well enough to return to school.” She didn’t say anything about me being supposedly a girl, and I was glad.

Latisha had waited in the hall for me while I was talking to Ms. Tang. I walked with her as far as Ms. Killian’s biology class.

“The nurse wanted to see you again before school?” she asked.

“Yeah. Supposedly to examine me, but she didn’t actually look at my bruises again — she just laid down the law about me using the girls' restrooms and showers.”

“Sorry. My parents just found out about the school making Lyndon use the girls' showers and bathrooms, and Dad said he should have put up a fight about it, but Lyndon said there’s no point now. I guess he might be right, but that doesn’t mean you can’t fight it.”

“I did, and the nurse dragged me into the principal’s office and then he told me the same thing. They said Lyndon was a precedent, and also talked about somebody a few years ago, I’m not sure who, with some disease that makes you have a boy’s genes and girl’s body? Anyway, we argued about it and I lost.”

We parted when I got to Biology and Latisha continued on to her second-period American Literature class. I had a minute to talk to Will before class started, but we didn’t say much; I didn’t have time to tell him about the business with the nurse and the principal. It was hard to concentrate on the lesson, as interesting as Ms. Killian always made it, when I could feel people staring at me and hear them whispering about me. Ms. Killian interrupted and reprimanded a couple of people, but the staring continued.

After class, Ms. Killian asked me to stay for a little while.

“Ms. Turner sent me a note,” Ms. Killian said quietly when everyone else had gone. “She said you might be out of school a few days, from your injuries last Friday.”

“They weren’t as bad as we thought,” I said. “I’m still sore, but I can walk around and stuff.”

“She also said you were an Athens neuter.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry I lied to you about that. I didn’t tell anyone; it wasn’t just you.”

“How can I trust you? You’re doing this project on the Huntsville telepaths, and you lied about your relationship to them —”

“Not in the paper itself, ma’am. I just talk about what the people I interviewed said, and what the scientists studying the telepaths are saying. There’s nothing in it about what happened to me.”

“Hmm. Tell me about your study group — how is that going? Latisha is researching the Athens neuters; are you helping her more than just suggesting ideas for research?”

“No, ma’am. I just pointed her to some things to read, and reviewed her list of interview questions, and suggested some people she might interview. She did a lot of the same things for me and Tyrone.”

“Well... I’ll be looking at both your reports very carefully. I’m disappointed in you, Jeffrey. Don’t disappoint me again.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I won’t. Is that all?”

“You may go.”

The second bell for third period had rung by the time I left, and the halls were mostly deserted as I walked toward study hall. I needed to pee, and nobody was around to care which restroom I used; I did my business the boys' room, maybe for the last time.

At lunch, I got my tray and went to sit in my usual place; Tyrone and Lindsey were there, but not Latisha.

A minute or two later, Latisha came over, dragging her brother Lyndon by the hand.

“You two should talk,” she said. “I told Lyndon how you’re not giving in to them.”

“Is it doing any good?” he asked. He and Latisha sat down.

“Not yet,” I said. “But my parents said they’d support me — I’ll bring a note from them tomorrow, and one of them will probably go talk to the principal when they’ve got a day off work.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Good luck with that.”

“Why didn’t you fight over it?”

“There didn’t seem to be any point. I mean, I knew the girls would act weird about me showering with them, but how was that different from how the guys were treating me?”

“Um. I don’t know. I kept it secret until last Friday, from everyone but a couple of friends. And since it got out... I haven’t seen most of the guys I have P.E. with. In my other classes, people are just staring at me and whispering about me so far, nobody’s made fun of me out loud yet...”

The staring and whispering was going on even now; kids further up and down the table from us seemed to be listening with great interest to our conversation.

“Give it time,” he said, and laughed, a sharp cynical bark. “We’re not guys anymore, there’s no use pretending.”

“But we sure aren’t girls,” I argued.

“No, but everyone’s going to treat us as one or the other. Nobody knows what to do with us otherwise. Probably things are different in Hartwell and Athens, but around here they want to put you in the pink box or the blue box, and once they’ve seen you naked they can’t imagine putting you in the the blue box anymore.”

He got up and left us. Latisha told me that was the most he’d said in her hearing about it since they went back to school. We talked a little more during lunch, but I was so uncomfortable feeling all the eyes on me and seeing people stare at me that I couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying. Keisha and Wanda came by with their trays while Lyndon and I were talking, but they glanced at each other and kept walking, sitting down somewhere else with some other wolf girls. Tyrone and Lindsey didn’t talk much; only when we were done, Tyrone said: “Keep your chin up, man,” as he got up to take his and Lindsey’s trays back to the kitchen, and Lindsey gave me a shy smile.

It was the same for the next couple of classes; people stared at me and whispered, and one or two of them asked me questions about what happened to me, but not many. I told the truth to anybody that asked, but I couldn’t work up the nerve to break into people’s whispered conversations and tell them they were full of shit.

Between fifth and sixth periods I needed to pee. I decided to press my luck, and went into the boys' room near my American History classroom. I was opening the door of a stall when a Smyrna wolf who’d been standing at one of the urinals zipped up and turned around. It was a sophomore, I think, nobody I knew.

“Hey!” he said, looking at me. I ignored him and started into the stall. He grabbed me by the shoulder, right on one of the bruised places, and I yelped.

“What are you doing in here, cunt?” he said. “I heard about you. You’re really a girl.”

Another couple of Smyrna wolves, both taller than me, were at the sink; one turned to look at us and the other looked at us in the mirror while he washed his hands.

“No, I’m not,” I said. “Let me go.”

“So why’s a girl coming into the men’s room?” he said. “You want some of this...?” He was still holding me by the shoulder; with his other hand he started to undo his zipper.

“Leave him alone, Carl,” one of the guys at the sink said. “Long as he does his business in the stall, it don’t matter what he’s got or don’t got.”

“'Sides, she’s not pretty enough for you, is she?” said the other, fastidiously drying his hands and looking at us in the mirror rather than directly. “All hairless and flat-chested. I heard she’s hairless down there, too. Ugh!”

The guy who’d been holding me by the shoulder pushed me away. “Get out,” he said, and growled.

Instead of leaving the restroom, I ducked into the stall, slammed the door and locked it. I didn’t drop my pants yet, though; I crossed my legs and held it as long as I could, hearing the wolves arguing and laughing, wondering if the big guy would try to climb over or crawl under the wall. The voices finally faded as they left the room, and I could finally relieve my bladder.

I was late to American History; Mr. Meredith might have excused me if I’d said I’d run into some bullies — I knew he was serious about that kind of thing — but I’d have had to tell him I’d been in the boys' room against the principal’s orders. I decided to keep quiet about it.

I told Will some of it on the bus on the way home; he commiserated with me but seemed kind of distracted. The jouncing of the bus made my bruises hurt worse, and by the time I got home I was ready to lie down on my stomach for a while. Mom wanted to know how my day went, though.

“The school nurse wants a copy of the paperwork from the hospital,” I said, figuring I’d start small. “And I need a note from you or Dad about using the boys' restrooms and showers and stuff.”

“I can do that.”

“It might also help if you go to the school and talk to the principal. He sounded like he’d made up his mind and wasn’t going to pay any attention to a polite note, but he might listen if you threaten to go to the school board with it or something.”

“Oh...? Did you talk to him, or just hear what he’d said?”

“The nurse wanted to see me as soon as I got to school. Then she took me to see the principal, and he told me it was school policy for guys like me to use the girls' restrooms and showers, and he wouldn’t listen to anything I said, but he said you were welcome to come talk to him.”

“Guys like you... Are there other boys at your school who were in Athens that day?”

“One other guy, a senior. I’ve met him a couple of times, but I don’t really know him.”

“Do you know if he and his parents objected to this policy?”

“He didn’t put up a fight over it, or even tell his parents, apparently, until a couple of days ago.”

“Really? How do you know that? I thought you said you didn’t know him...”

“I know his sister; she’s in my biology study group.”

So then Mom wanted to know about Latisha, how well did I know her and when I’d met her — she could tell she wasn’t a casual acquaintance or she wouldn’t have told me that about her brother.

“Are you interested in her?” she asked me.

“Well... not like that. We’re friends, we’re the only Athens neuters in our grade, but she’s not, like, my girlfriend. That wouldn’t make sense.”

“How did she feel when she found out you’d been lying to her?”

“I wasn’t — not for very long. I told her just a few days after school started back.”

“Hmm. So she’s a closer friend than some of the guys you’ve known for years, it sounds like — you didn’t tell them until you had to, did you?”

“Just Will.” I didn’t remind her that Will had already known I was going to spend that weekend in Athens.

“Well, I’m glad you’re making new friends in spite of all this trouble. How are other people treating you?”

I told her some about people staring at me and whispering, but I downplayed it, and I didn’t say anything about the bullies in the restroom.

“They’ll gossip about it for a few days, I expect, and then they’ll move on to some other scandal. Be patient. I’ll go talk to the principal tomorrow, probably, just before I pick you up for your appointment with Dr. Borenstein.”

“When’s that?”

“Tomorrow at two.”

---

Tuesday, I went to study hall after Biology. I was summoned from there to the office; Mom was waiting for me in the outer office.

“I’ve signed you out,” she said; “we’re running late for your doctor’s appointment. Let’s go.”

“Did you talk to the principal?” I asked as we left. “Oh — how are we getting there?” Mom was as strong as she was going to get, but we still didn’t have a car whose driver’s seat she could fit into.

“On the bus.” One of the new county bus routes stopped right by the school, but we had to change buses in downtown Marietta before we got to Dr. Borenstein’s office.

“I talked to the principal,” she continued as we got to the bus stop. I sat on the bench; Mom continued standing. “He... I think he made some good points.”

“Mom! You said you were going to stand up for me!”

“I know, honey, but — it wouldn’t be honest to just go to him and tell him I insisted on you using the boys' locker room and bathrooms, without listening to what he had to say.”

“What did you decide?”

“Nothing final. I said you felt uncomfortable using the girls‘ showers or bathrooms, and he said it was more important whether the boys or girls would be more uncomfortable having you shower with them. There’s going to be some awkwardness either way, we can’t avoid that. And — I said you were biologically no more a girl than you are a boy, now, so there was no reason the school should make you use the girls’ rooms, they should let you use whichever you’re more comfortable with. I thought that would give you more flexibility, if you change your mind later —”

“I won’t.” The bus pulled up in front of us, and we got on.

“Well, it seemed like a good idea to keep your options open. After a while you might decide the boys are too hostile to you showering with them and you want to take your chances with the girls.”

“It’s not going to be easy, I guess, but I need to stick to my guns, or people won’t take me seriously.” I thought about the bully in the bathroom yesterday, and whether that was going to get more common or less; I had no idea.

“Anyway. He agreed that I was right about the basic biology of it, but disagreed that it was relevant — he said your external anatomy is all the school cares about, and that’s basically feminine, even if you can’t have children. He said they didn’t inquire into whether other staff or students were fertile, just — um — what plumbing they have.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said yesterday.”

“So he didn’t give way, and I didn’t have anything more to say, but I didn’t want to give up, so I repeated myself a couple of times, and he repeated himself a couple of times, and then I saw what time it was and said I needed to take you to the doctor.”

“Okay... Thanks for trying.” I didn’t say much else for a while. I wondered if I would have been better off having Dad argue with the principal instead; maybe so, but it would have meant waiting several days, maybe until after I’d already gone back to P.E., before Dad would have another day off and could go meet the principal. Dad still thought of me as a boy, and fully agreed with me that I ought to be using the boys' showers and bathrooms, while Mom — I wasn’t sure. I suspected she thought I was wrong but was humoring me anyway, that she thought of me as a girl who hadn’t figured out she was a girl yet. Or maybe she was just more realistic about what it meant for me to be a neuter, neither the one nor the other — that would make sense of her saying I should keep my options open.

When we got to the clinic, I told Dr. Borenstein’s nurse, Mindy (a centaur), about falling in the shower Friday, and what the doctor at the emergency room had said. Mom gave her a copy of the discharge paperwork from the emergency room, and said: “Jeffrey needs a full physical, too. He hasn’t been to the doctor since Valentine’s Day.”

“Where were you then?” Mindy asked me.

“Athens,” I said.

“Athens, Georgia?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll let Dr. Borenstein know.” She finished checking my vital signs and left us alone for a while.

“Jeffrey,” Mom said when we’d been sitting there quiet for a minute or two, before I could focus again on the section of my algebra textbook I was trying to wrap my brain around, “Dr. Borenstein is going to need to examine your new parts.”

“Oh... yeah. I guess so.”

“Do you want me to stay in the room for that, or leave?”

I wasn’t sure. “Um... what’s it like?”

“I’m not sure it will be the same for you, exactly, but...” She explained what was involved in a pelvic exam, for an old-style human woman, and I blushed red enough to give Joe McCarthy a heart attack. I dithered for another minute or two about whether it would be more embarrassing to have her with me, or more scary to go through it alone, and finally asked her to stay.

Dr. Borenstein turned out to be an Allatoona otter. She walked in looking at the papers from the hospital, and she asked me some questions about the accident, and how I’d been feeling since then; but also about all sorts of other things — everything she would ask about every time I came to see her — and about the Athens change. Then she finally started examining me.

As it turned out, the (pseudo-)vaginal exam was both worse and better than I expected. Worse, because Dr. Borenstein was constantly muttering under her breath about how odd and fascinating my nethers were. Better, because I don’t think it lasted as long as it would have if I’d had everything she would have needed to examine if I’d had it. The pseudo-vagina was just a shallow cavity that didn’t connect to a womb, and it didn’t have the complex structure she expected a girl’s parts to have. And I’m not as sensitive down there as a girl is — or a boy, for that matter; maybe that’s why it didn’t hurt like I expected.

The rest of the physical was about like usual, except that she did some extra tests of my reflexes and stuff to make sure I didn’t have delayed symptoms of a concussion, and she spent extra time checking the bruised areas too. She said I could go back to P.E. next Monday, which gave me more time to argue the school into letting me use the boys' showers.

I asked her if she could write a note to the school saying I wasn’t actually a girl and didn’t have any business using the girls' restrooms or showers.

“Hmm,” she said. “You still think of yourself as a boy, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am. Sort of. I mean, I know I’m not a boy, biologically, but I still think like one, and I’m certainly not a girl either.”

“Well... I can write a note saying that you’re neither a boy nor a girl, medically speaking, if that’s what you want. And I could say that you identify as a boy and ought to be treated as one... but that might sound more convincing coming from a psychologist or psychiatrist than a general practitioner.”

I looked at Mom. “I don’t think I need a psychologist,” I said, “but if it would help convince the principal to let me use the boys' showers and bathrooms, I guess it would be worth it.”

“Maybe it would help,” Mom said slowly. “Some counseling about the things you’re going through at school might do some good — you mentioned people staring at you and gossiping about you in the last couple of days. Dr. Borenstein, could you write us a referral?”

“Sure,” she said. “Do you have someone in mind, or do you want me to recommend someone?”

“Yes and yes,” she said. “I know someone at church who’s a clinical psychologist and does counseling, but if you can recommend someone too, I’ll check with our insurance and see if either or both of them are in the network.”

We changed buses twice on the way home; the last bus stop was at the entrance of our subdivision, and we had a fair way to walk to get home. I was tired long before Mom was, mostly I guess because I was using a lot of energy to heal from those bruises. The suspension on the county public transit buses were better than on the school buses, but they still hadn’t done my back any favors; I crashed as soon as we got home, reading my history textbook for a few minutes and then falling asleep.

---

I took Dr. Borenstein’s note to the office next morning before going to homeroom. The receptionist asked if I needed to see the principal or just wanted her to give him the note; I figured there wasn’t any point in confronting him again, since he’d already conceded what Dr. Borenstein said in her note, and didn’t think it mattered.

I got to Algebra early enough to talk to Latisha for a couple of minutes. “Where were you yesterday?” she asked.

“I had a doctor’s appointment,” I said. “Following up with my family doctor after the emergency room visit last week.”

“Oh. What did they say?”

“The bruises are healing fine, and there’s still no sign of a concussion.” I kind of wanted to talk to her about the exam, and about being referred to a psychologist, but not in front of other people.

When I saw Will in Biology, I didn’t say anything about being referred to a psychologist; I told him my parents were arguing with the school about me using the boys‘ or girls’ restrooms and neither side had backed down yet. Latisha and I talked again at lunchtime, but not about anything important.

I was thinking I’d call Latisha or IM chat with her that night, but what with taking half a day off school the day before and not helping with the homebound ministry for the last few days, I’d forgotten what day it was; Mom and I went to church that night, and I didn’t have time to talk to Latisha — or Will — privately until Thursday after school.

In spite of the principal’s edict, I kept using the boy’s restrooms, and for a few days nobody reported on me. Some guys gave me dirty looks, and a couple of times they made fun of me, but there was nothing as bad as the bullies I’d run into on Monday.

Thursday evening, I ate supper with Dad — it was the first time I’d seen him since Sunday, with him sleeping until I was gone to school and being at work until after I went to bed. We talked about school and the principal’s stupid policy and Dr. Borenstein referring me to a psychologist.

“It might be a good idea, but you should be prepared to take it seriously,” he said. “You want someone to tell the school they ought to let you keep using the boys' showers and bathrooms, but a good psychologist, like Dr. Ceccato at church, isn’t going to just rubber-stamp what you’ve decided to do — he’s going to dig into your thoughts and motivations and help you figure out what you ought to do, whether you like it or not.”

“And you think maybe he would agree with the principal — and Mom?”

Dad flattened his ears. “I don’t know. Your mother and I both want what’s best for you, but — maybe Henry Grady High just isn’t it. I’m afraid trouble with the boys or the girls or both is going to be inevitable, if you’re the only one like you at your school. Would you want to go to school in Athens, if we can work it out?”

I gaped at him. “You mean, we’d move there? Close to Uncle Mike?”

“Maybe. It depends on various factors, whether your mother or I or both can find jobs in Athens over the summer, and whether Athens has good enough public transit for your mother’s needs. We probably can’t afford a car customized for her build, not if we’re moving this year. But another possibility — I talked with your uncle about it this afternoon — is that you could live with him during the school year, and come back to live with us in the summer. We’d visit often on weekends, of course, one direction or another...”

“I don’t know. It would be... It would avoid a lot of trouble, I guess, but all my friends are here; I don’t know anybody in Athens except Uncle Mike.”

“Let’s think about it more later, then. See how these issues at school work out. And if you think it would help to talk to someone other than us about it, we’ll find someone — Dr. Ceccato or somebody just as good.”

A little later, after I’d gone to my room and done some homework, Latisha came online and we chatted.

scribbler371: have your parents talked about moving to hartwell or athens or somewhere around there?

obsidian14: a little, yeah. but there aren’t as many jobs in hartwell. that’s why we moved here when i was little.

scribbler371: my parents are talking about sending me to live with my uncle mike next year. or moving the whole family there if they can find jobs in athens. so i won’t be the only athens neuter boy in my classes.

obsidian14: that might be good for you. but i’d miss you.

scribbler371: i’d miss you too. and will, and arnie, even though arnie doesn’t have much time for me lately with his new friends. all my friends are here.

obsidian14: so tell them you want to stay. even if you lose this fight with the principal and have to use the girls' rooms, that wouldn’t be as bad as losing contact with all your friends, right?

scribbler371: ...probably not.

obsidian14: what’s the worst that could happen?

scribbler371: i dunno. people get used to seeing me going in and out of the girls' restrooms and start thinking of me as a girl?

obsidian14: that bad, huh?

scribbler371: be serious!

obsidian14: i am.

scribbler371: but no, it could be worse. i didn’t tell you yet about that wolf who threatened me monday

obsidian14: what???

scribbler371: in the guys' bathroom, monday afternoon. this wolf grabbed me and called me a girl, and bad names for girls, and asked if i wanted to have sex with him, and stuff. there were a couple of other wolves there, maybe his friends. one of them told him to leave me alone, and he did after a minute. the other was making fun of me too but didn’t hit me or anything.

obsidian14: omg! what did the teachers do when you told them?

scribbler371: i didn’t. i don’t know the guys' names.

obsidian14: you’ve got to tell somebody next time.

scribbler371: sure, if they do worse than call me names.

obsidian14: even if it’s just that. promise me.

scribbler371: i’m not sure it’s a good idea. i don’t want to get a reputation as somebody who runs to the teacher whenever something bad happens.

obsidian14: promise me. at least if they touch you, even slightly. much less grab you like that, or hit you.

scribbler371: ...okay. anyway, nothing that bad has happened since then. eventually i figure they’ll get used to me, probably, and stop picking on me when they see i can take it like a man. but if i start using the girls' rooms like the principal wants...

obsidian14: some girls are going to pick on you too. call you a peeping tom or whatever.

scribbler371: yeah, and the guys, too, worse than before.

obsidian14: you just have to stand up to them, guys and girls both.

scribbler371: yeah.

obsidian14: in athens or hartwell the bullies wouldn’t pick on you for the same reasons, but you’d have to make new friends from scratch. and you might get picked on for being new in town or being geeky or anything else.

scribbler371: yeah. might not be any better. i’d rather stay here.

obsidian14: i hope you do.

scribbler371: so, i told you i went to the doctor

obsidian14: yeah, they said you’re getting better right?

scribbler371: yeah. the bruises are healing, and still no sign of a concussion. it was a routine physical, except. um.

obsidian14: ?

scribbler371: it was weird and embarrassing but i sort of want to talk to somebody about it and maybe you don’t mind...?

obsidian14: what?

obsidian14: ...oh. i see.

scribbler371: so, yeah. the doctor poked around between my legs and muttered about how fascinating it was. i don’t think she’d ever seen one of us before.

obsidian14: probably not. i haven’t been to a doctor since the changes. i don’t know if it’s going to be worse or better than last time. i’m sure it was worse for you than usual.

scribbler371: yeah. it was like, i’ve gotten used to sitting down to pee and that doesn’t bother me much anymore, i can still think of myself as a guy, but now my doctor is poking around inside me as if i were a girl, in ways she couldn’t poke around if i were still a guy, and... i don’t know.

obsidian14: you still act like a guy. that’s the important thing, i think.

scribbler371: thanks.

obsidian14: and she couldn’t poke around very deep, like she would on a real girl.

scribbler371: thank god. yeah, it could have been even worse.

obsidian14: don’t i know it.

obsidian14: what i think is, we’re something new, and we shouldn’t let people tell us that we’re girls or guys, or assume that we want to be girls or guys just because we used to be. but we can be if we want. it’s cool if you want to keep being a guy, as much as being a guy is about how you act instead of what parts you have. does that make sense?

scribbler371: yeah. thanks, i needed to hear that.

obsidian14: it’s like, the wolves can’t digest anything but meat now. like we can’t have kids. and for some of them, like vegetarians, that hurt a lot. but mostly, they haven’t let that get them all depressed. and being wolves doesn’t say who they are, it’s not like all wolves have to be aggressive because they’re carnivores or something.

scribbler371: yeah. i mean, lyndon and i didn’t react to this thing the same way, and my uncle mike is different again, and all the other guys in athens or hartwell or in between reacted to it a little bit differently.

obsidian14: but it’s not just reacting. it’s deciding who you want to be.

scribbler371: yeah. — i asked my doctor to write a letter to the principal saying i was still a guy inside — in my head, you know what i mean — and she said she wasn’t sure she should, she’s a family doctor and not a psychiatrist. or is it psychologist? but she wrote a letter to our insurance company saying maybe i should see one. one of those.

obsidian14: oh

scribbler371: she didn’t say i was crazy or anything, just that it could be good if i talk to somebody like that about the way kids at school are treating me and stuff. i haven’t gone to see one yet. mom and dad are figuring out who to send me to.

obsidian14: i hope that goes okay.

scribbler371: thanks.