“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.