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It was an hour before school ended yet here they were. The four of them sat perched along the low concrete wall like birds too tired to fly. School was in, but they sure weren't, the sun was low and orange, casting long shadows over the school's back parking-lot.
Henry flicked a pebble with the toe of his shoe, not really aiming for anything in particular. Boring, he thought. Looking over at his friends, Jesse was scrolling on his phone, and Nathan was digging through his backpack, Tommy was-
“So Jesse,” Tommy started with a crooked grin, "I saw you with Hannah after Chem. That a thing?” Jesse blinked up from his phone.
"What?”
“You two were walking close,” Tommy said with a wink. “I call romance.”
Henry scoffed. Really? Hannah from Chemistry?
"She’d have to be desperate.” Henry winced. It came out sharper than he intended.Whatever. It's just a joke. Jesse will get it.
Jesse raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, well…” Jesse laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “It wouldn’t happen anyway.” Oops, maybe not?
“Why not?” Tommy asked. He didnt seem to be teasing, he just sounded genuinely confused.
Jesse hesitated for a breath.
“I’m not into girls.”
...
Huh?
Nathan nodded slowly, then started rummaging in his backpack again as if Jesse just said he didn’t like peanut butter.
Tommy blinked. “Wait, what do you mean?”
“Oh. I’m gay,” Jesse said, with a shrug. “Did I not mention that?”
"You told me, at least." Nathan added cooly.
Tommy tilted his head. “Oh. Uh—cool. I mean, that’s cool.” He looked down and picked at a sticker peeling off the wall, face flushed. “Just didn’t know that.”
He's... gay? What the hell?
As if they read his mind, Tommy and Nathan turned to Henry, most likely due to the silence on his end.
He stared at Jesse, frozen, unable to think coherently. He looked at the pebble he flicked.
Did he hear them right?
"That okay? Henry?" That was Jesse, but Henry didn't respond with words.
His jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed. His brow furrowed. His mind burned in pain.
Jesse is gay. Nathan knew and Tommy is okay with it? How is that- what even is-
Suddenly, his eyes shot up. He stared at Jesse.
Silence.
His fist clenched as stray thought whispered in his ear:
Punch him.
His eyes widened in horror at the thought.
Without a word, Henry grabbed his bag, slung it over one shoulder, and turned away. His steps were sharp and quick—the kind that were more telling to his thoughts than anything he could have said.
No one called after him.
The only sound was Jesse’s quiet sigh and the hum of a distant car.
******
Henry didn’t remember the walk home. Not really.
He remembered heat—his cheeks burned, though the breeze was cool. He remembered the weight of his bag bouncing against his side, the scraping thud of his boots on pavement. He remembered the way his hands wouldn’t unclench, like his body was still trying to hold something in. Or maybe hold something back.
His mind was loud. Too loud.
Jesse is gay.
I should be mad. Right? Jesse lied. Or didn’t tell me... Or- or something.
But Jesse is his friend.
And that should be all that mattered.
So why did his chest ache like it was about to crack open?
Why had that stupid, awful, violent thought flashed across his brain like lightning?
He's my friend... So why? Why was my first thought to fight? I... I'm better than that... aren't I?
He is.
He is not that kind of person.
He knows what it feels like to be beaten senseless for doing something considered abnormal.
But dealing or receiving pain for doing abnormal things was how it worked.
When he reached home, he didn’t even say hello. Just stomped past the kitchen where his mom sat smoking by the window. She didn’t ask why he was home early today, thankfully. He had no excuses to give this time.
His room was small and messy—safe. The door clicked shut behind him and the hurricane inside broke loose once more.
He paced. Sat. Stood again. Tossed his bag across the room.
Nothing made sense.
Jesse hadn’t done anything wrong. Jesse had told them something important. Something true.
And Henry had wanted to hit him.
That thought looped again and again until he finally collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow, wishing someone could reach into his brain and unscramble the knot he’d been dragging around his whole life.
This sucks.
******
Several hours later.
Henry still lay on his bed, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the cracks in the ceiling paint like they might split open and explain something. Anything.
...
He wasn’t crying. He couldn't do that. The tears just wouldnt fall. He just felt… tight. In his chest, in his head, like every thought was a balloon about to burst.
He knew what he was supposed to do. That little voice in his head—the one that sounded a lot like his dad—kept repeating it.
Jesse was wrong. Sinful. You're supposed to cut people like that off. Or fix them. Or pray.
But Jesse is his friend.
His.
He doesn't abandon his friends.
No one made him laugh like Jesse.
No one texted him dumb memes when he couldn’t sleep. No one else noticed when he went quiet and just… sat next to him.
Jesse mattered.
And that made it worse.
Because when Jesse said “I’m gay,” something inside Henry had snapped. A flash of heat, an urge to yell, to hit, to make it stop. And now here he was, curled up in bed like a kicked dog, trying to make sense of the bile still burning in his stomach.
He didn't get it.
He couldn't understand.
So... he did what every 16yo does when they don't know something: he picked up his phone and typed it into the search bar.
“Why do people get mad when others come out as gay”
He got a wall of articles. Psychology Today. Wikipedia. A PDF from some college study.
He didn’t click any of them.
The phone dropped onto his chest, screen still glowing. He stared at it until it went dark.
Then, he unlocked it again.
His thumb hovered over the ChangeAI app. He used it in class sometimes to help write papers or brainstorm for essays. Never for anything real.
Would it even know what to say?
...
But who else was he supposed to talk to?
He opened the app.
"Hey, I need to talk to someone. It's about a friend."
"Sure, I’m here to help. What’s going on?"
Henry hesitated, then started typing.
"My friend came out today. He said he's gay. And it hurt me. Like, hurt me. And I don’t know why. I didn’t want it to, but it did. I feel sick and angry and ashamed. What’s wrong with me?" He cringed a little, but hey, it was an AI, it wouldn't judge.
A pause. Then the AI replied.
"Oh no, I'm sorry, that sounds like a really tough situation! It’s not uncommon to feel conflicted when someone you care about reveals something deeply personal—especially if you were raised with beliefs that taught you those feelings are ‘wrong.’ Sometimes, that pain comes from guilt. Or from suppressed emotions you haven’t fully understood yet. Would you like suggestions on what to do next? Or maybe Ideas on why you may feel this way?"
Henry frowned.
Most of that made sense but...
"Suppressed emotions?" He rolled onto his side as his brow furrowed again. "What kind of emotions would cause that? I’m not gay. Guys don’t do it for me. Like, not really."
Another pause.
"Suppressed emotions don’t always point to sexuality. Sometimes they come from other parts of ourselves we’ve pushed down—parts we were told not to show, or maybe didn’t feel safe expressing. That could be about sexual feelings, gender identity, or even how we relate to the world around us. You might not be gay—and that’s okay—but if something about your friend’s honesty stirred something deep, it might be worth exploring what you’ve been taught to ignore or hide in yourself.”
...gender?
And then—like lightning—
A dream. A nightmare.
Church pews. A stiff suit. Judging eyes.
Nail polish. Black, chipped, clashing with the buttoned-up sleeves.
Shame curling in his gut.
Except… not because it was wrong.
Because it felt right. And he wasn’t allowed to feel right.
His breath hitched. He stared at the wall.
No way. Theres no way, right? I-I mean im a boy. I'm a boy. End of story.
...
And yet the pit in his stomach stayed. He felt more ashamed now than he did when he found out Jesse was gay. But... why? I said I was a boy, so why do I feel... sick.
Henry looked at his phone. He felt ashamed for typing it. He should turn back. But its just curiosity, right? Theres nothing wrong with research... right?
He sent his messaged and winced.
"Is it normal for a 16yo boy to want to be a girl?"
It wasn't worded correctly but thats understandable, everyone starts somewhere. Regardless, he sent it expecting for it to say "No of course not."
The AI responded:
"Yes, it’s normal for a 16-year-old to question their gender identity. Adolescence is a time of self-discovery, and many people explore different aspects of who they are, including gender. Some people realize they are transgender—meaning their gender identity doesn’t match the sex they were assigned at birth—while others may experience gender fluidity or simply question their identity for a time."
Huh?
"If this is about you, it’s okay to take your time. You don’t have to label anything yet. What matters is feeling comfortable and true to yourself. It might help to talk to someone safe or look into resources made for teens exploring gender."
Henry read the words three times.
They didn’t sting.
They didn’t burn.
They felt like… room to breathe.
He opened a new tab and started looking things up. For the first time, the answers didn’t feel like homework. They felt like possibility. For what felt like hours, Henry poured over article after article, video after video, just absorbing as much content as he could to reach his conclusions.
And reach them she did.
She didn't know what came next. She didn’t even have a real name for herself yet.
But when she finally felt herself drifting off to sleep, the anger was gone.
And in its place was something softer. Something almost like peace.
But she had something she needed to do, yet.
She opened her phone and clicked the messaging app.
"Hey. I'm sorry for how I acted today Jess. I didn't know how to feel."
...
Jesse is typing...
...
"Its okay. Im sorry too i should have told you face to face rather than what I did."
"Ur a knucklehead. im supposed to be the one apologizing. :p"
":p"
Jesse is typing...
"See you at school, Hen?"
Hen smiled for what felt like the first time in her life.
"Bet"