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Luke jogged down the steps of the schoolhouse, tugging his hair out of its ponytail, and Biggs struggled to keep up. “Wait, Luke–”
“Don’t call me that!” Luke whirled around, his hair blowing in the dusty wind. He glanced at the senior boys who eyed him curiously, and yanked his shirt from the hem of his skirt.
“Sorry. Force of habit.” Biggs fell in step beside him, his tall gait blocking him from view, and instead of feeling better Luke only felt pathetically small in comparison.
“It’s alright,” he muttered.
Biggs frowned. “Are you okay?”
“I hate picture day.” Luke sneered at the sand. “Aunt Beru always makes me dress up.”
“At least it’s over now, right?”
“I guess.”
“Hey.” Biggs elbowed him. “I’ll come over later, bring some of my dad’s brandy. It’s Corellian.”
Luke’s eyebrows rose. “How did he get that?”
“Won it in a card game or something.” Biggs smiled. Luke blushed. “I’ll just get a little flask. He won’t notice. Okay?”
He stopped, holding Luke’s gaze. Luke nodded and fought the urge to self-consciously look away. “Okay.”
Biggs clapped his shoulder. “See you then.”
Aunt Beru greeted Luke from the kitchen when he arrived home. “How was school?”
“Terrible,” he snapped. He dropped his books on the table and began unbuttoning his blouse.
His aunt sighed at the windblown state of his hair and disheveled shirt. “Oh, look at you.”
Luke tensed. “I said I’d look nice for the pictures. That’s it.”
Aunt Beru scoffed. “I know.” She flattened his flyaway hairs. “I just wish you’d clean up a little. You’re such a pretty girl.”
“I brush my teeth every day,” Luke said wryly. “What more do you want?”
“Maybe for you to use a hairbrush.”
“Don’t get crazy.” Luke smiled as Aunt Beru shook her head and kissed his forehead. He knew she was only trying to look out for him. He’d been bullied ever since he was a kid: first for being an orphan, then, when that got boring, looking like a boy.
He changed into an old boy’s shirt Biggs lent him and a pair of rolled up shorts and spent the rest of the afternoon tinkering new droids with Uncle Owen. He wiped oil off of his hands when Aunt Beru called down the stairs. “Biggs is here, dear!”
Luke beamed and turned to Uncle Owen, who waved his hand. “Go on.”
“I’ll be back later,” Luke promised, already jogging up the stairs. Biggs was patiently waiting at the door of the garage, an inconspicuous bag slung over his shoulder. He grinned playfully. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Luke said.
“Don’t stay out too late,” Aunt Beru warned behind him.
“I won’t,” Luke groaned, climbing into the landspeeder.
“I’ll watch out for–her,” Biggs said awkwardly. Luke glanced at him sharply. He lifted his hands up in apology and slid into the passenger seat.
“Thank you,” Aunt Beru said. She gave Luke a pointed stare before turning back into the garage.
“Jeeze,” Biggs muttered.
“You need to be more careful,” Luke snapped. The landspeeder jerked to life, and they sped away from Luke’s home to the unending dunes.
“Me?” Biggs asked incredulously. “Why don’t you just tell them already? I doubt they’d care.”
Luke pursed his lips. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, don’t get angry at me then!”
“What?” Luke exclaimed. “You can’t just say whatever around them–I don’t know how they’d react! This isn’t about me.”
“How is it not? Luke, come on. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Not that big of a deal!” Luke laughed shortly. “Wow. That makes me feel so much better.”
“I’m sorry,” Biggs said. He sighed. “It’s just–”
“I told you, I’m done talking about it,” Luke cut off.
Biggs turned away to watch the setting sun. “Alright.”
They drove to a craggy outcropping between two great cliffs, where shade hid them from the heat and from view. Luke parked the landspeeder and climbed up the short incline, sand and rocks crunching underfoot. Biggs followed him silently. They sat down at the edge of the rock, legs dangling over the steep hill the cliffs sat upon, and looked out at the vast expanse of desert sand. The sky was purpling fast and Tatooine’s suns burned bright red above the horizon. Luke fell backwards onto the rock and stared up at the empty sky while Biggs uncapped his father’s flask.
“I’m sorry,” Luke said.
Biggs shrugged and passed him the flask. “It’s fine. You’ll feel better once you drink a little.”
Luke lifted his head and took a nip of the brandy. It scorched his throat like fire and he wheezed. “God,” he coughed, passing it back.
“My dad’s friend said Corellians consider this stuff pretty low grade,” Biggs informed. He screwed the cap back on.
“You aren’t having any?” Luke asked.
“Somebody’s gotta drive us home. Besides, I think you deserve to get drunk more than I do.”
Luke rolled his eyes and dropped his head. Biggs settled down beside him, and they laid in silence for a moment. The wind whistled below them, kicking up wisps of sand.
“They have oceans on Corellia,” Luke said. He lifted his hands and spread them out against the sky. “They’re massive. Can you imagine all that water?”
“No,” Biggs whispered.
“Me neither.” Luke dropped his hands. “I can’t imagine anything other than Tatooine.”
Biggs passed him the flask again. “Quick, you’re getting philosophical.”
Luke grinned and sat up. “I’m just saying.” He took the flask and knocked his head back; the brandy went down easier this time. He held the flask between his knees and watched the sand fold over itself with the breeze. “It’s nice to know there’s more than this.” He glanced up at Biggs. “There is, isn’t there?”
“Of course,” Biggs assured, pressing his shoulder against Luke’s. “Just think: one day we’ll be famous rebel pilots. We’ll go to Corellia and drink some of their high grade brandy.”
Luke down another swig. His face was getting hot. “You might.”
Biggs frowned. “What do you mean?” When Luke lifted the flask again he caught his wrist. “Slow down, there.”
Luke wrenched his arm away. “Forget I said anything.”
“You always say that,” Biggs protested. “I’m your best friend, Luke, and I brought stole my dad’s alcohol for you. The least you can do is talk to me!”
“You won’t understand,” Luke said.
“Maybe not, but I’ll listen.”
Luke turned away and took another drink of brandy. “Give me a second,” he mumbled, waiting for it to kick in. He picked up a rock and chucked it toward the sand below him. Biggs suddenly slung an arm around his shoulders and he stiffened, turning his head. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Biggs was suddenly speaking into his ear. Luke could smell the traces of brandy on his breath. He slowly leaned into Biggs’ chest; the brandy was definitely getting to him. Biggs’ hand settled into his hair. Luke screwed his eyes shut.
“Do you ever feel trapped?” he asked. “Like the entire world is caving in on you, and no matter what you do, you know it’ll never really stop?”
“Sometimes,” Biggs said.
“No you don’t.” Luke shook his head against Biggs’ chest. “Not like me.”
“Maybe. But it’s close enough.”
“I wish I could just be a girl,” Luke confessed.
“I don’t,” Biggs said. “You wouldn’t be my best friend if you weren’t you.”
“That’s the point. I’d be someone else. Someone better.”
Biggs pulled away, forcing Luke to lift his head. “If you were a girl, I wouldn’t want to kiss you right now.”
Luke blinked. “Oh.”
Biggs held his face. His hands were wide, like a man’s. Luke fisted his own smaller hands in his lap. Biggs tilted his head up and kissed him. Light scruff, too faint to need to be shaved just yet, scratched Luke’s cheek. His heart hammered and his eyes burned. Biggs leaned away. “You okay?” he asked.
“I think,” Luke said. His head swam and he looked for the flask of brandy. Biggs laughed and handed it to him. Luke drank some more before splaying out on the ground. “I’m hot,” he annoucned.
Biggs rolled up the sleeves of his shirt for him. “Better?”
“No,” Luke huffed. He turned his head and his hair fell over his eyes. “Did you mean it when you said you wouldn’t kiss me if I were a girl?”
“I don’t like girls,” Biggs said. “Period.”
“Huh,” Luke said.
Biggs laid down next to him. “Yeah.”
“But I look like one,” Luke said.
“Not really.” Biggs hand trailed up his bare arm. “There’s something different about you.”
“Is it noticable?”
“I don’t know. It’s not bad. It makes you special.”
“I hope my aunt and uncle can’t tell.”
“Everyone can,” Biggs murmured. His hand stopped at Luke’s shoulder. Luke flicked his eyes toward Biggs’. “Everyone knows you’re different. It’s a good thing.”
“I don’t want to be different,” Luke whispered. “I want to be normal.” He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, then held a lock of it out in front of him.
“You okay?” Biggs asked.
Luke fished through his pockets and found the multi-purpose screwdriver he used to fix Uncle Owen’s droids, and flipped out its small blade. He handed it to Biggs. “Cut my hair.”
“What?” Biggs took the knife. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m never dressing up again.” Luke parted his hair to one side. “Come on. Do it.”
“Are you sure?” Biggs ran his fingers through Luke’s hair. “Won’t your aunt get mad?”
“I don’t care.” Luke shook Biggs’ hand away, scowling. “Biggs.”
“Why do you want me to do it?”
“Because. It’d make me feel better.”
Biggs inhaled, gathering Luke’s hair into his hand. “Okay.” He brought the knife up from under and held it beside Luke’s ear. “Just…tell me when.”
“When,” Luke said.
Biggs sliced the knife through Luke’s hair, severing the entire lock held in his fist. Luke took it from him and released it over the sand. All the strands fell away and sank into the wind and disappeared. Luke shook his head, smiling at the weightlessness of it. “How’s it look?” he asked.
“Pretty bad,” Biggs said.
“Good.” He pushed his bangs back and laughed. “Where’s the brandy?”
“You’re insane.”
Luke shook his head. “No. Give me the brandy.”
“Here.” Biggs passed the flask.
Luke downed it all at once and move to stand. “Let’s go.”
“Go? Biggs asked.
"Yeah.” Luke fumbled and Biggs jumped up to catch him. “Let’s just–let’s just go.”
“Where?” Biggs asked. “Luke, you’re drunk.”
“No!” Luke protested. He was small in Biggs’ wide hands, even smaller with his new haircut. Like a baby bird trying to climb out of its nest without knowing how to fly. “I’m not. Biggs, let’s go.”
“Stay. Slow down.” Biggs gently lead him back to the ground. “Relax. Isn’t this nice?”
“I’m bored.” Luke picked up another pebble and tossed it over the edge of the outcropping.
“The sky’s pretty,” Biggs commented.
“The sky’s boring, I’m so sick of this sky. Let’s go get a ship and just fly away.”
“A ship,” Biggs said. “Where at?”
Luke grinned. “Mos Eisley. I’m sure we’ll find one there. You know, an illegal one.”
“Sure,” Biggs played along. “Let’s become outlaws.”
“Sure,” Luke echoed. But he was looking at setting suns like he always did, far far away. Biggs knew that one day he’d have to let Luke go.