Thomas is dressed up more than he was at breakfast. Collared shirt with a dark gray sweater thrown over it and matching gray pants. “I talked with my principal. She said she wants to meet with you, get you enrolled.”
“Today?” I ask.
“If you’re okay with that. I’m not sure yet if we’ll need to go to your old school. They should be able to send over your records no problem.”
“Oh.”
“We don’t have to right now, but the sooner we do, the less you’ll miss.”
“No, I mean, that’s fine.” I glance down at my sweatpants. “Just, do you have anything else I can wear? I don’t think Hannah’s done with the laundry.”
Thomas chuckles and nods toward the stairs. “Come on.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting in Thomas’s car, wearing the still too-big shirt, jeans that are so long I have to roll them up three times, and socks that are slowly pooling around my ankles.
But it’s something at least. The hoodie Thomas gave me hides most of my discomfort, I think. And the shoes fit me, which must be some kind of miracle. Or maybe Thomas just has really small feet? He even says I can keep them.
“I can’t tell you the last time I wore them.”
“Thanks.” We pull out of the driveway and onto the road, and immediately everything is so awkward. What do I even say to this guy? What are we supposed to talk about? Would it be too awkward to ask him a bunch of questions? Eventually I spit out: “So why aren’t you at work today?”
Because that’s totally normal. Really hit it out of the park with that one, Ben.
“I called out when Hannah woke me up last night. Figured this was more important.”
“Oh.” I fiddle with the fraying hem of his hoodie. “What do you teach?”
“Chemistry.”
“That’s cool.” I wait a few seconds longer than I probably should. “I like chemistry.”
“It’s interesting, to say the least.” Thomas turns on his blinker. “I guess it’s weird that we’ve never really met.”
“Yeah.” I stare down at the shoes.
“Did your parents talk about your sister a lot? After she left?”
I shake my head. “They sort of had a no-talking-about-Hannah rule.” I pull another of the loose strings, balling it up in my fingers. “How long have you two been married?”
“Four years last September.”
“Oh, that’s great.”
“Yeah.” Thomas sighs. “Hannah talks about you a lot. She’s really missed you.”
Thomas’s words sit sort of heavy in the air, and for a few seconds, there isn’t a word between us. “Yeah, I missed her too,” I add quietly.
I don’t think Thomas fully realizes what he’s said, not that there’s really any reason for him to.
North Wake High is definitely nicer than Wayne.
Wayne High was built in the sixties, with only slight updates here and there when needed. North Wake is all new, with floor-to-ceiling windows, and slanted roofs, and chrome. Even the parking lot is filled with shiny, expensive-looking cars.
Everything looks so bright and new and put together. Like everything here has a place and that’s exactly where it belongs. And I’m the extra piece that doesn’t fit in. Thomas pulls into the parking lot, parking near the front entrance of the school. “Here we are.”
I stare at the front doors of the school. Unmoving.
“You know we don’t have to do this, right?”
“Might as well get it over with,” I say quietly.
“Are you sure? You don’t seem too thrilled. We can look at different schools, I just thought this would be easier.”
“I don’t want to tell them,” I blurt out. “That I’m nonbinary.”
Thomas’s hands drop from the wheel. “Are you sure? You know that means everyone’s going to call you by the wrong pronouns?”
Like that wasn’t obvious. “I don’t care.” I’m used to it by now.
“And you’re sure about this?”
“One hundred percent certain.” And I am. I don’t think I can handle actually being out right now. Not unless I absolutely have to be.
“Okay. We’ll have to lie and say it was something else. This sounds harsh, but if Principal Smith knows you were kicked out, that’ll help.”
I shrug. “Whatever.”
“All right.”
Thomas leads me through the huge glass doors at the front of the school. There’s a group of kids hanging out near the front, and each of them waves to Thomas as he passes by. I guess their Christmas break is already over. Back home we still had another week left to go.
“Thought you were sick today, Mr. Waller?” one of them says.
Thomas waves back at them. “Nope, just had some stuff to handle.”
I try to follow far enough behind Thomas so maybe the other students won’t make a connection between us, but the way their eyes drop from him to me tells me that they already have. He leads me through another set of glass doors into the front office, waving at the secretary behind the desk. “Hey, Kev.”
“Hey, Thomas. Principal Smith’s already waiting for you,” he says.
“Thanks.” Thomas turns to me. “You wait out here for a second. I’m going to explain the situation to her.”
“Okay.” I take a seat in one of the plush armchairs up against the glass dividers of the office. “Don’t tell her. Please?” I say under my breath.
“I swear,” he assures me, and something about the way he says this tells me to believe him.
I watch Thomas as he vanishes around the corner, waiting to pull my phone out of my pocket, before I remember it isn’t there. I’ll need to talk to Hannah about getting a replacement, though I’m not really sure how I’m going to pay for it. Maybe I can get a job somewhere, start saving up too. I don’t really know what Hannah’s offered. If she’s only planning on letting me stay until graduation, or as long as I need to.
Then there’s college, and the letters that’ll decide my entire future. Letters that’ll be delivered to Mom and Dad’s house because that was the address I put on all those applications. I wonder if there’s anyone I can talk to at the schools, ask to be sent another letter. Or maybe I’ll have to apply all over again.
God, I don’t want to even imagine having to pay for it. I can’t ask Hannah to do that; I don’t want Hannah to do that for me. Maybe that’s some kind of blessing in disguise, Mom and Dad were definitely more excited about me going to college than I was.
Maybe now I don’t have to worry about it anymore.
I guess we still have a lot to discuss, but how am I supposed to basically ask my sister when she’s planning on kicking me out?
I’m getting antsy, and now isn’t the time to think about this stuff, but I can’t get my mind to focus on anything else. Every time I glance up at the clock above the door, it’s like time slows down, which is only adding to the torture.
And then the door swings open, and a boy walks in.
He’s tall—much taller than me, tall enough that his legs are the first things I notice—with a skinny frame and dark brown skin, black hair buzzed shorter on the sides so the top sticks out a little more.