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“So how did you figure out you were trans?” Matt asks.
Andrew glances at him.
Matt would swear he’s engaged in this discussion, even if he looks just as blank as ever. And anyway, he’s gotta be bored. He, like Matt, is waiting for their professor to show up. The man is consistently 13 minutes late. They’ve got ten minutes to go. "I'm bored. Tell me a story."
Andrew looks forward again.
O-kay. Maybe not, then. Matt won’t ask twice.
“It went like this,” Andrew says.
I’m about to meet my twin brother, for the first time, and I’m nervous.
I did a lot, for this brother. Gave up my family. Went to juvie. Tossed my whole fucking life away, to protect him. I should have the upper hand, here, but—really, I never do, and Luthor had to run for an emergency, and I’m here alone, and there won’t even be anyone here to mediate this meeting, this move-in. And now I’m going to meet him, and I’m not what he expects. I’m not what anyone expects.
So.
If I can’t have some fun with it, what’s the point? He’s going to be disappointed with me regardless. And if I can’t think about something else for a little while, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.
I’ve seen him once.
I know exactly what he looks like, right down to the hairs that were out of place.
What if I just… show up, looking exactly like him? Truly his twin.
Oh, that would be fucking funny.
Exactly like him. I could do that.
How to flatten my chest? I don’t have a binder. It didn’t exactly come with my post-juvie package.
Sports bra. Too-small sports bra, tank top with a built-in bra, it won’t be perfect but it’ll work.
He’s not home, yet. I have time.
Scissors are in the kitchen; I grab them, head for the bathroom, hack my hair off in fistfuls—it’s not perfect, but I trim it a little, even it out. Still not perfect.
Still not perfect.
Still.
But.
I look in the mirror.
No. Not yet. I head for my little bag of stuff. I don’t have much, but here’s what I do have: A sports bra, purchased pre-juvie. A tank top with a built-in bra. And a t-shirt.
I layer them all. Smooth my front down.
I look in the mirror.
I look like him. Like Aaron.
I like it.
I turn away. I don’t know what to do with that thought. Who’s got time for this? Who’s got room for this? No one. And I don’t care anyway.
I sit by the door instead. Watch out the window. Wait.
And I watch as the neighbor across the street’s door opens.
The world’s hottest guy walks out.
Ooooh, he’s hot. Oh, he’s hot. Hot. Curly hair, a flash of teeth as he smiles, moving with a confidence that I’d really like to see up close, please and thank you, he’s hot. “I’m so gay,” I mutter, watching him walk down the driveway. So gay. Holy shit.
Gay?
Gay.
Oh.
Okay. Okay. Okay. Can’t be gay if I’m not a man, but who says I can’t be a man? Could I be a man? Sure. I’m gay, aren’t I?
Okay. Fuck. That’s fine. Who cares? No one cares. I’ll tell them—something. I’ll tell them something. I need a name, though. Can’t say I’m a boy, my name is Josephine.
Oh, fuck.
What—what comes before Aaron, alphabetically speaking?
Aaaron?
Hot neighbor drives away.
Aabon?
Maybe I’m not being imaginative enough.
…Aan? Aand? Aandrew?
Fuck that.
A car pulls up.
The car pulls into the driveway.
I have seconds left.
Aadew? Aaran. Actually, Aaran is fucking hilarious. Hi Aaron, I’m Aaran.
It’s also not a name. I won’t get away with it, not if it’s obviously made-up.
I stand up as they walk towards the door.
Aaron looks nervous.
Aapron?
Tilda opens the door.
She and Aaron stare at me. If I wasn’t what they expected when they thought I was a girl, I sure as fuck am not what they expect now.
I have manners. I’m not fucking shaking hands, but I can introduce myself. “Hi. I’m Andrew.”
Andrew?
Matt is still laughing as he heads to lunch.
“What?” Dan asks him, grinning a little.
He leans down to kiss her. “No hello?”
“No, not when you walk up already laughing.”
It’s not his story to tell. “Ask Andrew how he figured out he was trans. It’s—it’s good.”
Dan nods. “Will do. I have tutoring with him later. Anyway. Hello.”
“Hello,” Matt says.
Dan is laughing when she meets up with Matt, walking back to the dorm. “I asked Andrew. You’re right. It was absolutely worth being two minutes late to tutoring.”
Matt snickers. “Can’t believe he realized he was gay before he realized he was trans. What an order of operations.”
“What?”
“That’s—he said I’m gay and realized he’d have to be a man to be gay?”
Dan is staring at him.
“What did he tell you?” Matt demands.
“What did he tell you?”
“You tell me first. I asked first.”
Dan narrows her eyes at him, but she takes a deep breath.
Tilda is dead, and now Nicky is here.
One authority for another. There’s always another, somehow.
Nicky hasn’t hit Aaron yet, though, and that’s a perk. That’s a perk.
I stare vaguely at Aaron out of the corner of my eye. He’s gone through the main portion of the withdrawal, but he’s not exactly recovered yet. Still pissy. Still upset.
Looking at him is an odd experience, though. Even with my memory, it’s—difficult. To see the differences. He really is just me, but as a boy. Lucky asshole.
I consider my pasta.
I stop eating.
I could be me, but as a boy.
I could be a boy.
It’s quiet.
Boy?
Boy.
I look up. “I’m a boy now.”
Two surprised faces. Nicky looks unsure as to whether or not he should laugh.
“Don’t steal my fucking clothes,” Aaron says.
That won’t be a problem.
“You can steal mine,” Nicky offers brightly, looking like he’s ready to fall on the side of not-a-joke. “It would be cool to share clothes with my cousins.”
One problem with that. “It’s transphobic of you both to think that my fashion sense is as bad as yours.”
Nicky does laugh at that, but Aaron just makes a face at me. He knows he’s been insulted.
“So, boy,” Nicky says. “Is there, um, a name? Do you have—a new name? Yet?”
I look Aaron dead in the eyes. “Aaron.”
Aaron narrows his eyes at me. “No. I came first. You’re B-b-ron.”
Rude. It’s okay. I can hit back. “I’m oldest, though,” I say apologetically, “so. Yknow. It’s okay, though. I’ll let you be Abron instead of Bbron. Because I’m kind.”
Aaron launches himself to his feet, aborts his movement, grabs the table. Nicky grabs Aaron’s wrist, a second too late, but it doesn’t matter—Aaron is spinning around, marching away.
Maybe I should’ve waited a couple months to come out, if I was going to poke at him. He’s still struggling.
“He didn’t mean it,” Nicky says. “It’s the withdrawal.”
“I know. And I don’t care.” I do know. And I don’t care. He can do whatever he wants.
“Please don’t name yourself Aaron,” Nicky asks. Begs. “I mean, if only because it would be impossible for me to tell either of you to do the dishes. You’d just push it off on each other.”
I chew on this.
It should start with an A, at least. We’re twins. “Andrew,” I say, impulsively.
Andrew?
Who to ask?
Allison will do a good job, Matt decides. Renee is too nice to ask—and anyway, she might already know. Neil won’t do it. Kevin doesn’t care. Asking Aaron and Nicky feels like a cop-out.
“Allison,” Matt hisses, grabbing her before she goes into her dorm.
“Can I help you?” she asks, glancing down at his hand on her wrist.
“Yes. I need you to ask Andrew how he came out as trans, and then I need you to tell me what he says.”
“Oh?” Allison asks, gaze sharp.
“He told me and Dan two different stories. I need you to do this.”
She flicks his hand off of her and flicks her fingernails in his face. “Leave it to me.”
The next day at breakfast—and how did she get the story that fast?—she slides in next to him. “Here’s what he told me,” she announces without preamble.
I grab the scissors out of the kitchen. It’s time. I’ve thought this through plenty already. I have a name. I know my fashion sense. The words I’m gay feel real good.
Oh. Wait.
I should probably—yeah, I should. It’ll cost money. But probably there are ways to waive the fee, right? And anyway, if I put it out there, maybe I can just not eat lunch for a couple weeks until we’ve saved up enough.
I head into the hallway, moving with purpose, and nearly stab Nicky as he heads for the kitchen.
Nicky jumps back, hands in the air. “Woah there. Shit, kid. What’s up? I was just looking for you. Why do you have the scissors?”
“I need to change my name.”
“Yeah—oh, you knew about that? I can’t believe Aunt Tilda never legally changed your name—I mean, she had a lot on her mind, probably, even if I’d think that changing your last name from Doe to Minyard would be important, but I guess—well—well, she’s dead—passed, sorry. Well, I—fuck. Anyway, ignore that. I was just trying to register you for high school and I needed it, so—the point is. I was just coming to tell you, we should get that fixed, and I think I can probably wheedle our way out of the fees, since you got adopted. I mean, you’re a Minyard now.”
Oh? Oh! Okay. Well, yeah, that would be why all my middle school teachers still called me Doe. “Yeah,” I say, nodding. “That, too, I guess. But I’m also an Andrew now.”
Nicky stares at me. “You’re a—oh. An—oh. Oh. Okay. Okay, then. A full name change is in order, I guess. We can do that. Um, you still didn’t tell me what you’re doing with the scissors?”
Isn’t it obvious? “Cutting my hair.”
“Andrew,” Nicky says, and oh yes, that sounds nice, no one will ever be allowed to call me nicknames, not when my name sounds that nice, “I can just take you to get a haircut. Like, on the way. We can go now, if you want.”
“I was thinking we could save that money and use it for new clothes,” I suggest. Especially now that Nicky thinks the name change might be covered. “Maybe if we have a yard sale and sell some of my current clothes, we’d have money for binders, too.”
Nicky takes a deep breath.
He knows as well as I do that we don’t have much money. It’s why Aaron and I are supposed to start working, soon—we don’t have much of a choice.
That, and Nicky doesn’t trust us at home alone.
He’s not wrong, there.
“Erik’s parents were asking about birthday and Christmas gifts,” Nicky says. “We’ll ask them for clothes. And binders. Hey, I heard someone say Planned Parenthood had cheap hormones, too, if you want those. Okay? Put the scissors down, we’ll get you a haircut.”
Gifts.
I don’t trust those.
But, then, what are Erik’s parents going to do to me from Germany? And what are they going to do to me that I don’t know how to deal with? If they want to use a binder to buy the right to abuse me, that’s probably worth it.
But also—Nicky might not let them do that. And they’ve never tried anything, either.
I set that aside. I don’t need to trust any of them. This is all irrelevant.
“Okay,” I agree. I put the scissors back.
“Aaron,” Nicky calls. “Your brother and I are going to change his name, get him a haircut.”
“My what?” Aaron calls back, opening his door and peeking out.
“Your brother. His name is Andrew now.”
Andrew.
I might be sparkling. Andrew. It’s a good name. A nice name. I like it.
“You?” Aaron asks me.
I look around. “No, your other twin.”
“Well, fuck, okay,” Aaron says, rolling his eyes. “No need to be fucking rude. Andrew? Did you choose it because it starts with an—I don’t want to know. Do you, like, need some clothes? I have clothes you could borrow, until you get some.”
They won’t fit me right.
Mm. They might if I put on a sports bra.
“Can I?”
Aaron shrugs. “Don’t get blood on them or whatever. And don’t take them without asking me. And wash them before you give them back. And get your own clothes, soon.”
“Will do,” I agree.
Sports bra on, t-shirt on, shorts on—I need a dick, too. I’m too flat.
Well, fuck it. The shorts are black. No one would be able to see much anyway.
And there’s the wardrobe. Black pants, black shirt. And it’s goth.
It’s all coming together.
They stop at a men’s barber shop. Nicky says something quick and quiet to the barber.
“It’s already braided,” I point out. Is that what they’re talking about? If not, too bad. I don’t want Nicky telling him to cut it to my shoulders, or some shit. I want it off. “It should be easy to chop it and go from there.”
The barber nods. “That’s what he was saying. And yeah, it’ll cost a little extra, but not much.”
A little extra. We don’t have much. Nicky wouldn’t even touch Tilda’s life insurance money—he’s saving it for me and Aaron.
There’s no point. Her death money isn’t going to buy us life.
Maybe I could get a car with it. Something loud. Something cool.
Did the barber just say Nicky told him to chop it all off?
He wasn’t arguing with the haircut, he was arguing with the price.
The barber chops off my hair. The whole braid. He hands it to me, like it means something, and I drop it on the floor—it can be swept up with the trash. And then he fixes it. And Nicky doesn’t say a word—just looks pleased as fucking punch about the whole thing. Why? Why does he want another boy in the house?
But he’s never touched Aaron, I don’t think. I think he’s trying to help.
“What?” I ask him, as the barber pulls out a pair of electric clippers.
“Seems like you like it, I think,” Nicky says. “And it looks good on you, Andrew.”
He keeps saying my name.
I don’t need to trust him to like the sound of my name.
And when I stand up, chest mostly flat, hair gone—
Yep.
I can do the rest of my life, now.
We go to the courthouse.
“What do you want your middle name to be?” Nicky asks, casually.
Middle name?
I get a middle name?
What the fuck? I didn’t think this far. Middle names are—those are family names, those are—names that come from family members, names that come from people parents want to honor, names that come from dead family members that parents want to honor. Saints and grandparents. I don’t believe in God, and I don’t know my grandparents. I didn’t think this through. Who am I supposed to honor? Nicky? Aaron? No. I don’t have any dead family members to honor. What should my name be? Andrew…?
Allison had given up, there, after Andrew had trailed off and shut up. There was no making the man talk when he didn’t want to. So Matt gives up, too.
He knows where to find Nicky, and when. It’s an Andrew-less night at Eden’s—rare, but Nicky’ll do it, he’s friends with all the bartenders and half the regulars. Matt makes his way over there.
“Matt!” Nicky cries, raising his drink as Matt approaches through the crowd. “You’re here! Why are you here?”
“I had a question,” Matt asks, sliding into the space next to him.
“Anything for you,” Nicky says, sparkling up at him, a little bit drunk.
Matt changes tack. Maybe there’s a reason why Andrew doesn’t want to say how he came out. Maybe it needs to be eased out of Nicky. Maybe Matt should mind his own business, but fuck, if Andrew didn’t want Matt to be curious, he’d have gotten his story straight. “What’s Andrew’s thing about his name? Like, always has to be Andrew, no nicknames, nothing? Did he get deadnamed a bunch or something?”
Nicky looks confused. “Who cares?”
“It’s just been eating me alive,” Matt says, “and I’m just—curious. But I don’t want to ask him, if it’ll trigger something.”
“Yeah, trigger his knife hand,” Nicky says. “Yeah, I mean, he nearly got suspended a couple times in high school—people who knew him in middle school deadnamed him, and he flipped, did some punching, broke at least one nose. I think he must’ve had good reason for it, though, because he didn’t seem to care if it was just, like, a slip-up—or, I mean, he cared, he just… he was more patient, once upon a time. Like, if Aaron or I forgot, and used the wrong name, he’d just straight up ignore us. Like we hadn’t said anything. He committed to it, too. If he’d been on fire and I’d deadnamed him as I told him to stop, drop, and roll, he’d have stood there and burned until I corrected myself. Sometimes, if he was feeling dramatic, he’d look around, and then look at me, really concerned, and say, ‘Nicky, it’s just me and Aaron in here. Who is this person you’re talking to? Do you need to see a doctor?’” Nicky laughs. “People at school stopped deadnaming him real quick, and for Aaron and me, it just became second-nature. I don’t know if that’s related to his no-nicknames thing, though.”
Matt laughs, too. “How did he even come out? Did he come out to you, or to Tilda? Or what?”
Nicky’s eyebrows fly up. “Oh! Oh, yeah—”
“Happy birthday!” Someone shrieks, and the bar erupts in cheers.
Nicky is still talking, leaning close to Matt in acknowledgment of the noise, speaking right into his ear, and Matt can’t hear a goddamn thing over the sound of a whole bar singing Happy Birthday, out of tune and out of sync.
The song ends, everyone scream-cheers, and Nicky leans back, laughing. “It’s actually a great story.”
“Nicky, I didn’t hear that at all,” Matt says. “Can you repeat it?”
Nicky rolls his eyes, and then winks at Matt. “You just want my mouth on your ear again, huh. Well, listen, I’m taken.”
“No, I—”
“You don’t even have a drink, huh. Want one? Non-drugged, I promise.”
“No, I’m good. I really did want to hear that story again, though.”
Nicky waves him off. “Yeah, I know, I probably missed things. Just ask Andrew, he doesn’t care. He’ll tell it better than I will anyway.”
Matt accepts a drink. What else is there to do?
What else there is to do is, when he gets back to the dorm, he corners Aaron on his way out of the bathroom.
Aaron raises his eyebrows at Matt. “What do you want me in the bathroom for?”
God, all the monsters suck. “I had a question for you. Listen. How did Andrew come out as trans?”
Aaron looks taken aback. He pales a little. “No. No, fuck this.”
“What?” Matt asks. “I asked Nicky, and he said—”
“He swore me to secrecy like, three months after the fact, and if you think I’m jeopardizing my life by telling you, you’re wrong. Good night.”
Matt holds his arms out as Aaron walks away. “Really?”
Aaron holds his middle finger up.
What, is this whole thing going to be a mystery forever?
Three days later, they’re practicing, and Andrew is being a full-on fucker about it. He’s on his goddamn phone.
Wymack bangs on the wall, the game stops, and he walks onto the court. “Andrew! Joseph! Minyard!” he shouts. “You don’t get to leave here until you block three shots! Let’s go!”
Wymack returns to safety, and Andrew pockets his phone.
Andrew blocks three shots in a row, and then returns to doing nothing.
When they get back into the changing room, Wymack looks like he’s resigned himself to a lifetime of misery.
Matt and Aaron head out at the same time—they’ve got a free hour, and they’re going to spend it in the library, because if they fail out of school, Wymack will kill them himself.
“Matt,” Aaron says, once they’re away from the stadium, “did Coach—did he say Andrew Joseph Minyard?”
Matt glances at him. “Yeah?”
Aaron looks like he’s eaten a lemon. “That means Joseph is his middle name, huh.”
Is Matt missing something? “That was my interpretation, yes.”
“And Wymack has access to Andrew’s information and whatnot, probably. So he’s probably right. Right? Is there an inside joke I’m missing?”
“Not that I know of,” Matt says, slowly, thinking. Is there? No, and Andrew didn’t seem amused by it anyway. “Is there a point to this?”
Aaron’s face gets worse. “No.”
What’s wrong with Joseph?
“Did you not know his middle name?” Matt asks, stalling for time.
“I wasn’t there when he changed his name, and he didn’t exactly share it with me,” Aaron says shortly.
Joseph.
Matt stops short.
Aaron looks at him. “What?”
“Andrew told me—he said—he said something about not being able to say ‘I’m a boy, my name is Josephine.’”
Aaron stands perfectly still.
“Was that—was that what they called him? Is that his deadname?”
“I have nothing to say on this topic,” Aaron says slowly.
Oh, jesus.
Holy fuck.
“Did Andrew—did he name himself… after himself?” Matt asks, voice rising a little. “And then—not tell anybody? And—and—”
Aaron takes a deep breath. “It sure would seem that way.”
“But it’s not even—it’s not even for ease,” Matt realizes, the scope of the thing becoming clear in its vastness. “It’s not like if I went, ‘yeah I’m trans, call me Mattina so it’s easy for all involved,’ he made it—he made it his middle name—and then—he told—no one. It’s—is it a joke? Aaron, is that a joke? A private joke for himself? Is it—what?” How serious had Andrew been, when he told Allison middle names were for honoring dead family members?
“I don’t know, and also, shut up, no one can know about this,” Aaron hisses.
Holy shit.
Matt giggles. He giggles and he can’t stop. And he can never tell anyone. God, the kicker is he can never tell anyone. Andrew told Matt the story, and he only told Matt the story, and Matt can't tell anyone.
That’s great. That’s fucking great. Sure, he doesn’t know how Andrew came out. But he knows Andrew, and honestly, that's much more interesting.
He gets to the library and pulls out his phone—he should study, he should, but his phone is right there. And he has a text from Andrew.
Did you get at least 10 minutes worth of entertainment? And, more importantly, did Aaron?
Matt is never going to stop laughing about this. Never. Yeah, I did. Thanks, Andrew.