[Polyfaceted] Stay True

[judicious_imitation]

Story: Polyfaceted
Title: Stay True
Rating: R
Word Count: 15,063
Notes: This is part of Polyfaceted, but is posted here because it’s for queer_bigbang. (It will eventually be crossposted to corlioni.) Check out the absolutely awesome art by adriannedb78239, here, including the dividers I used here. Warnings for Sexual content, homophobia, transphobia, violence, some strong language, bullying, and gender dysphoria.
Summary: Zach is definitely not a girl, but he's also not a boy, no matter how he looks. While her family may be accepting from the very start, the wider world isn't, and making things work inside her own head—everything from orientation to pronouns—isn't exactly easy, either.


Zach is sixteen months old the first time he gets his mother to buy him a dress. They’re clothes shopping for Karen and Sam’s back to school things, and Zach manages to wriggle out of Sam’s grasp on his hand while their mother finds shirts in his size and crosses from the boys’ section to the girls’ in a flash. It’s purple and knee-length with a skirt meant to spin, and Zach tugs at it, informing Brenda when she gets to him, “Want.”

Brenda, who has the room in her budget and sees no problem with it, especially since agreeing means no toddler tantrum, finds Zach’s size and hands him the dress. “Carry it,” she instructs, “and we’ll buy it, okay? Give it to me if you don’t want to carry it.”

When they get home and Brenda finishes snipping tags off her kids’ clothes, she hands Zach his dress. He claps his hands, beaming, which alone makes the dress worth it, and pulls at his shirt. Brenda takes it off him so he can wriggle into the dress. The skirt almost covers the hem of his shorts, and he looks down at himself. “Pitty!” he announces gleefully.

It might be a phase, or it might not, and either way, Zach is her baby. Right now, she’s going with it being a phase because of his age. Still, she agrees, “Very pretty, Zach! Your dress is pretty. So are you.”

Zach grins at her and then toddles off to drop down by the toys and start working to stack rings on their stick.

After that, the only time Zach is not allowed a dress, a skirt, barrettes, nail polish, or anything pink or purple is the two hours every other week her children have to see Brett. Brenda could allow it—Ron is there the whole time every time, and everyone is sure Brett wouldn’t make a move against her kids when Ron is in the room, considering how much her brother-in-law could hurt him if he had a reason—but it’s not worth the fight or the potential custody issues over letting their son dress ‘like a girl’, as Brett would put it in his most scornful tone.



Bill takes easily to Zach’s preferences. “Been painting nails since Dawn was five,” he tells Brenda when Zach presents him with a bottle of sparkly purple polish not five minutes after meeting him. He nods to the floor. “Sit down,” he says, and he sits across from her twenty-month-old, holding her son’s hand steady in his much larger one as he carefully does each nail, then instructs Zach, “Don’t smear it,” when he moves on to his other hand.

“I do yours,” Zach says when Bill is done.

“When you won’t get it all over my hands, we’ll talk. Got a book nearby?”

Zach points with his whole hand toward the bookshelf beyond the toys. “Cat’pillar!” he tells Bill.

“That’s a good one.” Bill gets up and finds The Very Hungry Caterpillar, then sits back beside Zach and starts reading to him. Brenda, still on the couch behind them, thinks how easily she could fall in love with this man just because of how well he’s treating Zach. Karen and Sam still regard Bill with suspicion, but this just might help. She’d have them come see how he is with their little brother, but they’re with upstairs with Bill’s daughter.

If she’s honest with herself, she’s well on her way to love after only a month. This is just pushing her further. Anyone who could love her sweet, offbeat son so easily is worth her love.



Zach studies the colors Mommy has given him and Karen to choose from. It’s for her wedding to Bill, so it’s very, very important to pick a good color. There’s a light pink and a light blue and a light green and a light purple. Zach likes purple, but he knows that his sister likes green, and she’s really pretty in it. Before he can say anything, Karen says, “We should get purple.”

Zach’s eyes widen. “You wanna?”

“You like purple.” Karen smiles at him, and he grins at her. “I do too. Not as much as you do, though.”

Zach claps his hands together and points at the purple. “It’s really pretty.”

“I’ll tell Mommy.”

“Me too!” Zach chases after his big sister. When they find Mommy in the kitchen, he asks, “What’s Dawn get?”

“Whatever she wants, sweetie. Did you pick a color?”

“Purple,” Karen says.

“We’ll go shopping tomorrow.” Mommy brushes back her hair that’s in her eyes with the side of her hand. “Dinner is soon, guys. Go tell Sam and get your hands washed.”

Mommy does take them shopping the next day. Sam stays with Aunt Liz, but Dawn comes shopping too, and she gets to go look by herself because she’s a big kid. The store is very big, and Mommy says to stay with her, so Zach does while they look at dresses. “Karen,” Mommy asks, “do you like any of these?”

“It’s in August, right?”

“Right,” Mommy says. “It’s going to be hot.”

Karen bites her lip and pushes some dresses back. “What about this?” she asks Mommy. It has thick straps, like a tank top, and it’s cut square over the chest, with a skirt that looks like it would be good to spin in. Also, it’s poofy.

“I wanna spin in it,” Zach says. “It looks spinny.”

“You can try spinning in it,” Mommy promises, “but for now, let’s find someone to help us get the right sizes. And we can look for Dawn.”

“Dawn’s like our big sister, right?” Zach asks as they start walking.

“I’m your big sister, silly,” Karen says.

“But yours too, Karen!”

“She is,” Mommy says. “She’ll be your big sister for real when Bill and I get married.”

Dawn is coming out of an aisle when Mommy finds a saleslady. “Dawn!” Zach waves at her, and she smiles, coming over to them. “Mommy says you’re like our big sister. Did you find a dress?”

Dawn blinks at him. “I need to show it to Brenda, but I think I did. I’m like your sister?”

“Yeah, but not for real ‘til Mommy and Bill get married. Is your dress pretty?”

She smiles. “I like it. Is yours?”

“Yup! Karen picked. The skirt looks spinny.”

“Good for spinning,” Karen says when Dawn looks at her.

“I said that!”

Mommy says to them, “Let’s go find your sizes.” Then she says to Dawn, “You can show me the one you picked after that. Which color?”

“Green. My eyes.” Dawn’s eyes are really, really green and really pretty. If Dawn found a dress that color, it’s gonna be the best dress ever.

“Sounds good. Would your dad approve?” They follow the saleslady back to where the smaller dresses are.

Dawn shrugs her shoulders. “Daddy would prefer if I wore a sack.”

Mommy laughs. “That’s not true. Just… something modest.”

“I joked about a nun’s habit, and I think he seriously thought about it.”

“Bill wants you to be a nun?” Zach echoes.

“They’re kidding,” Karen tells him, but it doesn’t sound like Dawn is.

“It’s not strapless or really low or anything, and probably falls a little below my knees. I think he’ll be okay with it.”

“Sounds like it,” Mommy says. To the saleslady, she says, “I need one in each of their sizes in this style.” She finds the one Karen picked and shows her.

The saleslady looks at it, then at Karen and Zach. “I don’t know if we have it for your little girl, but we should for your older daughter. If not, we can order it once we know their sizes, once I’m sure the style comes in her size.”

“I’m not a girl,” Zach says.

The lady blinks at him and looks at Mommy.

“He’s not,” Mommy says, and shrugs her shoulders like Dawn did before.

“Your little boy. I’m sorry.” The lady doesn’t say anything else. That’s good. Sometimes people act funny. Zach doesn’t know why.

Zach doesn’t know if saying he’s a little boy is right, either, but it’s what everybody says, so he stays quiet. And he doesn’t know how he could be not a girl and not a boy at the same time, anyway.



It’s okay in kindergarten. The teacher explains on the very first day that sometimes Zach will wear uniform skirts and girl shoes and have barrettes, and sometimes he’ll have boy shoes and wear uniform pants, and sometimes girl shoes while he wears pants, and it’s all okay. The class is little, only twelve kids, and Adamo and Rebecca are in his class, so that’s good. He knows them, and they’re not weird about what Zach likes to wear or how he is. They’re his best friends besides Karen.

But first grade classes are bigger, and it’s just him this time. Rebecca and Adamo are each in a different class. He knows some kids from kindergarten, like Rachel and Madison and April, who are okay, but the boys who were in their class are weird now even though they were okay then, and some of the other kids, the ones who didn’t know him in kindergarten, are mean. Since the class is bigger, the teacher doesn’t always know about them saying mean things about how Zach’s wrong or stupid because he thinks he’s a girl (he doesn’t think he’s a girl, and even if he did, that’s not stupid—his brother and sisters and mommy and daddy say so, and so does everybody else who’s known him forever, and they’re right, not the boys who are being bullies) or anything else, but they’re not touching him and he knows they’re wrong.

They still make him really, really upset, though, and sometimes he cries after Daddy picks them up and they get home. Karen always finds him in their room, and she always cuddles him and wipes his face for him. When it happens after his birthday, after he’s seven, and she’s brought him to wash his face, he dries it on a towel and looks at his sister, who’s sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. “I’m not wrong,” he says fiercely.

She nods. “I know you’re not.”

“I’m not wrong, and I’m not a girl,” he continues, “but I’m not a boy either. Karen, how come people are stupid? It’s not my fault they’re wrong about me.”

She shakes her head. “I know it isn’t, Zach.” She sounds really, really sad, as sad as she used to sometimes sound after visitation with Brett even when Daddy went with them before they got to stop seeing him a little bit after Will was born. “You’re you. Some people are just cruel, and it’s not fair.”

“Are they always like this?”

Karen nods, and her eyes look a lot older than twelve. “Yeah. Some people always are.”

“I’m going to always be me, even if they’re mean about it,” Zach declares.

Karen stands up and hugs him to her, and he hugs her back around her waist. “I’m glad. None of us want you to be anyone else, and we’re the ones who matter, right?”

“Right,” Zach agrees. “Do you think Daddy will make us cookies?”

“I don’t think he’ll burn down the kitchen if he does,” she says, and that makes Zach laugh. “Dawn or Sam can, or I can, if Daddy’s busy with Will. Let’s go ask.”



Zach knows how to throw a punch if he has to. They all know because of Dad; he always says none of his kids are going to get beaten up without knowing how to fight back, but they all know that he really means Zach. Sam was a nerd in school, but he was also tall and had a lot of girls flirting with him, Dawn had all the boys after her, and Karen… Karen got bullied in other ways before she just took the GED and stopped going to school. Zach, though, Zach’s differences make him a target for bigots and bullies of all kinds, verbal and physical, and that’s really what worries their dad.

Knowing how to throw a punch doesn’t matter much the fourth day of seventh grade, the first of the year he’s gone to school in flats and his uniform skirt, when he’s cornered by two boys after he’s gotten his books from his locker. He’s lagging because he had to ask about an assignment and alone because Adamo wanted to get to Spanish Club on time. Both boys are bigger than him, and he doesn’t really know either, so they’re probably transfers. One looks him up and down and sneers. “Look at this,” he says to the other. “This kid thinks he’s a girl.”

“I don’t think anything.” Zach tries to edge past them.

“Shut up, fag,” says the other boy, and shoves him hard enough that his shoulder slams into the edge of the locker bank. Zach winces, nearly dropping his books.

“No, I don’t think he’s a fag,” says the first, balling his fists. “I think he’s a fucking tranny.”

Zach tries to duck away, but he’s still so surprised by the whole thing that he hasn’t dropped his books, so he can’t really protect himself from the first punch to his cheek. It’s not hard, not yet, and Zach finally remembers to drop his books and get the stance Dad taught him so he can try to hit back. It really, really doesn’t work as well when there are two of them and already got him by surprise, and what happens next is a blur of trying to hit back, then trying to protect himself, and the other two punching him and his head hitting the corner and then the wall, and then there’s a shout from an adult and running steps and it’s over. It’s over.

Zach unsteadily touches the side of his head, and his fingers come away sticky. His vision is a little blurry when he stares at his fingers, the dark red of blood on the tips. “I’m bleeding,” he says with a hint of… something. Not exactly wonder, not quite surprise.

“Come on,” one of the teachers orders the boys, his voice loud. “Mrs. Hernandez’s office, now.”

The other brushes Zach’s hair back, so gently after the attack that can’t even be called a fight that he almost bursts into tears. “Let’s get you to the nurse,” he says quietly. “Are these your books?”

Zach nods, blinking hard. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” The teacher gathers them up. He’s Mr. Ramos, Zach remembers suddenly, and he teaches English; Katie had him last year and loved him, and Rebecca has him this year. “Who should we call?”

“My daddy.” Zach’s voice breaks a little. “And—and my best friend, Adamo, he’s in Spanish Club right now. Can he come until my parents get here?”

“Of course. You’re Zach, right?”

“The only boy-looking kid who wears skirts.” Zach somehow manages to smile. “I’m Zach.”

“Was that why they did that?” Mr. Ramos asks, his voice still as gentle as before.

“Yeah. They were calling me—yeah. That’s why.” Zach doesn’t feel entirely balanced. Maybe it’s what a concussion feels like, he thinks distantly. Not having balance. Or maybe that’s still being stunned from it happening at all.

Mr. Ramos keeps talking to him until Zach can finally sit in the nurse’s office. Mrs. Icenhour gives him a pad of gauze to hold on his head while Mr. Ramos explains, and she shakes her head, tsking over how awful it is that anyone would do that “in this day and age!”

Of course they would. Karen said it when she was in seventh grade: some people are cruel.

Mrs. Icenhour pages Adamo to the nurse’s office and then examines that split on the side of Zach’s head just before calling his dad. She tells Dad that it looks like Zach will need stitches, somewhere in everything else she says to him. Adamo looks pretty freaked out when he gets there. He looks more freaked out when he sees Zach, exclaiming, “What happened?”

“Some guys basically jumped me.” Zach gestures to his skirt, which should say it all. It apparently does, because Adamo sits beside him on the cot and wraps an arm around his back. Zach would lean into him, but he doesn’t want to bleed on Adamo. “Adamo, they called me—” He has to close his eyes before he can go on. “They called me a fag.” Adamo’s arm tightens. “And a tranny.” That’s what gets him to cry, as much from frustration as pain and fear and emotional hurt and pure shock. Adamo keeps that arm around him the whole time, and he is so, so grateful to have his friend there for just everything the world has thrown at him so far for nothing more than not fitting into the box it thinks he’s supposed to be in.

Then his dad is there, Will in tow, and Will sounds completely horrified when he exclaims, “What happened, Zach?”

“Hush,” Dad says brusquely to Will, and crouches down in front of Zach, brushing his hair back with gentle hands and kissing his forehead. “Mom’s on her way,” he says quietly. “She’ll be here soon. Bringing some things. Nurse said you’ll need stitches, and your mom can take care of that here.”

“I hit my head.” He has something new to focus on, which feels good. It’s better than crying over what happened, at least right now.

“Hard?” Dad expertly runs his hands, very lightly, around Zach’s head, feeling for bumps.

“Enough to split it open.”

“Nah, just the skin’s open, not the whole thing. Don’t feel anything, but your mom is going to want that checked out.”

“I bet she asks Uncle Greg to do it,” Adamo says, and Dad snorts.

“That’s a sucker bet. I hear we’re supposed to have a meeting with your principal about this, so you going to tell me what happened?”

“Not in front of Will,” Zach says, voice hard and full of meaning.

Dad looks surprised by that, but says, “Adamo, do you mind?”

“Okay.” Adamo squeezes his arm around Zach’s back one last time before he stands. “Let’s wait outside for a minute,” he says to Will, and the door to the hall closes behind them and Mrs. Icenhour a minute later.

His dad stands from his crouch and sits beside Zach on the cot, waiting. It takes Zach a few seconds before he can grit out what happened, and right after he starts, his dad grasps the hand not holding gauze against the blood seeping from the split skin on his head. He almost chokes on his recounting, but gets it all out, and his dad squeezes his hand.

“Going to have quite the black eye,” he says after a minute, “and your lip’s split. Nose doesn’t look broken, and isn’t if you can breathe through it when you haven’t been crying, but makeup’s out until your face is less painful. Where else did they get you?”

Zach lifts a shoulder. “Ribs. Stomach.”

“What hurts most?”

Zach laughs hollowly. “I can’t tell.”

“Right, I know that feeling. Want Adamo and Will to come back in?”

“Dad, why do people keep thinking there’s something wrong with me?” he bursts out.

“They’re idiots,” his dad says bluntly. “They don’t understand. They think them not understanding means something’s wrong with you. Really, it’s something wrong with them. Their fault for not wanting to understand other people. Shouldn’t be taking it out on you, that’s for fucking sure.” His dad kisses the side of his head. “We’re getting these little shits in as much trouble as we can manage once we’re sure you’ll be all right.”

“If I have a concussion, I have to stay home, don’t I?”

He can hear Dad’s grin. “You want to show these fuckers they can’t take you down, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Zach says flatly.

“That’s my kid.”

His dad gets it. He really does. It’s been a couple of years since he’s called Zach “boy” or “son”, and same with “girl” or “daughter”. Zach is his kid, plain and simple. That’s all that matters to him. It’s the same with Mom and the rest of their family. If six-year-old Will understands it, and so does sixty-year-old Grandma Sharon, why can’t kids Zach’s age or older?

“They can come back in now,” he mutters.

“All right. Keep pressure on that cut.” His dad gets up and lets them back in, and his brother comes right to him.

“Adamo says you got beat up.”

“Adamo’s right. Some guys who don’t understand me.”

Will’s eyes narrow. “I’ll beat them up for you.”

Zach laughs and hauls Will to him for a one-armed hug, ignoring how it makes his ribs hurt to use that much force or have Will leaning into them. He needed to hear that. Even his little brother won’t tolerate this.

Their mom gets there just seconds later, and she makes a soft sound. “Sweetheart, let me see that cut,” is her first order of business, followed a moment later by, “You’re going to tell me what happened soon, right?”

“Yeah, Mom.” Zach lifts the gauze away.

It feels like it sticks a little, and his mom says, “Hold on a second. Let me get gloves on, and don’t pull it.”

“The sink is back there,” Mrs. Icenhour says, gesturing to past the cots, into her quiet room.

“Thank you.” Mom takes a pair of packaged gloves out of her bag and disappears for a minute, and Zach hears water running. He just holds the gauze where it is, a little away from his head but not pulling. When she comes back, she’s wearing the gloves, bright purple.

“Those aren’t latex, are they?” Mrs. Icenhour asks.

“No, they’re nitrile. Very, very low allergen potential.” His mom takes the gauze from his hand, and Zach finally gets to drop that hand to his lap. There’s still blood on his fingertips. “This definitely needs to be stitched,” she says when she’s gotten the gauze unstuck and separated his hair to see it better. To Mrs. Icenhour, she says, “I’m a nurse practitioner, work at Hartford Hospital. I mostly paper-push, but I’m still licensed. I’m going to stitch my child’s head right here. Head wounds bleed too much to wait.”

“You’re the parent,” Mrs. Icenhour agrees, and she stands, spinning her chair toward his mom.

“Bill, there’s a syringe of lidocaine in my bag. Adamo, would you take Will out of here?”

“Should pay him to babysit at this rate,” Dad remarks. Zach sees the syringe and closes his eyes. “That’s the second time he’s taken the boy out.”

“While I do this,” Mom says, “will you tell me?”

Luckily, the lidocaine works fast, and his mom is quick and neat about the stitching. Zach barely feels pulling, but he holds onto his dad’s hand anyway, and not because of that. After a couple of minutes, during which he’s filled her in, she says, “Done.” Zach opens his eyes as she’s wrapping the needle in paper. To his dad, she says, “I want these fuckers expelled.”

“Agreed, but let’s take care of our kid first.”

“Mrs. Hernandez wanted to speak to you,” Mrs. Icenhour speaks up. Zach forgot she’s there, she’s been so quiet.

“Mrs. Hernandez can have a couple of words before we get Zach to a neurologist I know to be sure he doesn’t have a concussion. Then she can wait because she let this happen in her school.”

“Greg’s not in surgery?” Dad asks her.

“Not as far as I know, unless something happened.” Mom finishes stripping off her gloves and putting everything else in her bag. “We’ll also get you a complete exam, make sure nothing else is too bad,” she says to Zach, who nods.

“Is Will coming?”

She glances at his dad. “I don’t think we both need to go…”

“I should take Will home,” he agrees. “He has his homework, and he’s to clean his room before dinner.”

“Okay.” His mom shoulders her bag and picks up his books. “Let’s go find Mrs. Hernandez and get out of here.”

He doesn’t have a concussion, and the next day, he doesn’t cover his split lip or the deeply purpled bruise around his eye with anything. Word spreads fast after homeroom, where he says what happened without much detail, to the point that he’s openly asked in the halls about the guys—Marco and Kyle, apparently—and what happened. That means that all his friends know by lunch.

“I think someone should go everywhere with Zach,” Rebecca says as soon as everyone’s sitting.

Zach has not been asked about this. “I can go to the bathroom alone,” he argues.

“Call it a preventative procedure,” Katie suggests. “If I could, I’d send George with you as a guard dog.”

“George wouldn’t even scare a toddler, he’s a Golden Retriever,” Rebecca says, and the dog in question thumps his tail on the floor.

Zach considers hitting his head on the table when Adamo says, “It’s really not a bad idea.” He would do it if it wouldn’t make his head hurt worse.

Troy agrees. “I really don’t want to see you again like this, Zach.”

The other four in their group of friends agree, which makes Zach firmly outvoted. It’s sweet of them, but Zach knows perfectly well that it isn’t a guarantee that nothing will happen. And unfortunately, he’s proven right, pretty harshly, four months later, with Troy and Adamo right beside him. No blood this time, though.

At least that gets Marco and Kyle expelled, and his parents file charges that Troy’s mom, a judge, backs.



Zach and Adamo are hanging out at Adamo’s while Eva is upstairs doing homework one day in their freshman year of high school when Zach decides it’s as good a time as any to say, “I don’t know how to identify.”

Adamo, who’s playing the newest Zelda game (which looks awesome on a giant high-def TV; Zach could spend hours watching it), pauses it and turns to him. “What do you mean?”

“Two things.” Zach ticks them off on his fingers. “Orientation, because with the thing where I’m not a guy or girl, it’s a little more complicated than just straight, gay, or bi—you have that one easier than I do. And pronouns, because without being a guy or a girl, the female set doesn’t feel right, and the male set has never felt right. I guess the female set is more right, but it still isn’t.”

“… huh,” Adamo says after a moment.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just—I’ve always thought you were pan, since I’ve seen you check out guys and girls with the same interest, and you’ve talked about them the same. You’ve also talked about maybe dating another non-binary person.” Adamo shrugs. “I could be totally wrong, of course, since this is you, not me, but that’s how it’s seemed to me.”

Zach shrugs back. “That’s probably most right. I’d have to think about it, though. And sex is a… complicated subject for me.” Not one he wants to talk about right now, either. He’s still working it out. Some things are weird. With how androgynous he prefers to look, and especially how feminine he often chooses to present, he’s had to find workarounds for the possibility of his genitals showing, and he actually likes that look a lot better than seeing his penis and testicles when he’s undressed.

So… it’s complicated.

Thankfully, Adamo doesn’t push. “If you want to talk about it…” He shrugs. “Anyway, I have no idea about pronouns. ‘They’ can be used singularly, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Zach blows out a breath, aiming it upward to ruffle his bangs. He’s going to need to get his hair cut soon. “Singular they is mostly weird because it goes back to the point that a lot of people are stupid about things, and I don’t like Spivak or similar sets that I’ve looked up. For me, I mean. For other people, they’re fine, but they don’t feel like me, you know?”

Adamo nods. “Probably like how I feel if someone used female pronouns for me?”

“Something like that. Same with singular they, actually. And using ‘it’ is just. It’s demeaning and uncomfortable and really gross because of how it’s used as a weapon against trans people. Even without the weapon thing, that’d be out. ‘It’ is an object, not a person. So it’s complicated,” he finishes, a little plaintively, and he catches Adamo hiding a small smile.

“I don’t know how I can help,” Adamo says, “but if I can, I will. Just let me know what I can do, okay?”

“Thanks.” Zach picks up his copy of Stranger in a Strange Land, the book that made him decide to start the conversation, and finds his page again, and he hears the game’s music come back on.

Too bad he can’t have his orientation be toward a single person. That would make life easier.

It would also make life more limiting, and he has no idea who that one person would be, anyway.

Sighing, Zach turns the page.



It takes about six months before Zach figures it out. He doesn’t spend the whole six months thinking about orientation—though that’s a lot of it, because he’s a teenage kid and, come on, most teenage kids think a lot about sex and who they want to have sex with—or pronouns, but it’s a decent amount, mostly when he’s trying to get to sleep. The bedroom seems empty now that Karen has moved out. He has a bet on with Will about how long it’s going to last, the stake being that the loser has to carry her heavy boxes back up the stairs. But without her in the room, it’s harder to sleep.

He waits until a study session to talk it over with Adamo; study sessions mean uninterrupted time, especially at Adamo’s instead of at home since there are no younger siblings at Adamo’s.

When he feels like taking a break, he says, “So I think I’ve decided on pronouns.” Adamo is her test run for this.

Adamo looks away from his textbook, saying, “Oh?”

He stretches her arms high over her head, arching her back. “He, her, and hers.”

Adamo takes it completely in stride. “In advance, I’m sorry if I screw that up.” Zach appreciates that. “I’m used to he, his, and him.”

That earns a shrug. “I’m expecting pretty much everyone to screw it up for a while.” A glance at her textbook earns it an eyeroll. “How important is this?”

“Only twenty percent of our grades. Really not important.”

“If that’s all.” Zach closes her book and looks back to Adamo, smirking slightly. “So how are things going with Lance?”

“Gossip,” Adamo says, but it sounds affectionate. It should. Zach’s been watching him moon over Lance for ages, and he’s mostly refrained from teasing him.

“Incredibly guilty.” He grins. “So?”

“We’re working on it.” A smile tugs at Adamo’s mouth.

“So if you’re both working on it,” Zach asks, “why aren’t you together?”

Adamo looks uncomfortable as he shifts. “Maybe Lance isn’t fully aware that we’re working on it.”

“Maybe you could clue him in?” Zach asks, and grins when he catches a pen Adamo tosses at her.

“Coming from your grand expertise on getting guys?”

“Hush. Just because I haven’t found anyone in Hartford who can handle my wonderful self…” Let alone figured out her orientation entirely, but that’s a different matter. He can finish figuring that out soon; he’s almost there.

“I’m sorry. I’m just… taking my time. I really like him.”

“Yeah, I know. If you want to talk about it…” Zach reopens her textbook, flipping through the pages.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

Only half of Zach’s mind stays on studying. Half is also on the orientation question. It seems so easy for cis people. Adamo’s known he’s gay forever. Most people know they’re straight practically from birth. Hell, even Will has crushes on girls, and Will is in elementary school. Zach… Zach just really wishes he knew someone in the trans spectrum in person. The Internet is great and all, but it’s not the same as a face-to-face conversation about these issues. It’s just so much harder, being non-binary and also not really knowing where he falls on the orientation spectrum. He’s never dated. He hasn’t even had her first romantic kiss yet. Sure, he’s young, whatever, but when all her friends have had real dates and real kisses, being young and having time don’t soothe anything.

He blinks back the wetness that has somehow gathered in her eyes and goes back to taking notes.



A month or so after Zach lets people know about her pronouns, most of her friends are consistent, and so is her family. Grandma Sharon trips up sometimes, but since she’s in her sixties and hilarious whenever she makes fun of herself for slipping, that doesn’t bother Zach much.

It’s about then, when the important people in her life have it mostly down, that he posts to one of the New England trans forums about wanting to meet someone her age, preferably non-binary, within three years older, and solely to talk. Ideally, the person will live in the Hartford area. He really, really needs this. He desperately needs someone like her to just talk to, to be in-person friends with. Everyone else he knows has someone like that, someone their gender if not also their orientation, and their lives seem that much easier for it. He knows statistics about trans people and mental health, and he thinks having a friend, someone he can identify with, might help her avoid being one of those statistics.

Incredible as it seems, someone answers. Tommi is nineteen and prefers the singular they set, which is easy enough. The two of them exchange instant messaging information and talk several times before setting up a meeting at a coffee shop in downtown Hartford. Zach doesn’t have a car yet, and he’s naturally let her parents know about this, so when her dad wants to be in the coffee shop to check Tommi out, he agrees. It would be fairly stupid to not agree, in her mind, not least because then her parents would probably say he couldn’t go.

Dad takes a table near the door, and Zach claims one in the back, within Dad’s line of sight. Dad gets a coffee and a danish, then Zach gets a cappuccino and a croissant and heads back to the table her bag is on, and he waits there for Tommi, sipping the cappuccino and slowly shredding the croissant.

Tommi is only about ten minute late. They’re wearing jeans and a pullover sweatshirt, both loose enough to make gender a total mystery. That might be Zach’s approach if he didn’t have fairly defined taste in clothes; for her, the fuckups are worth wearing what he wants, even if the harassment isn’t. Even Tommi’s haircut blurs gender lines, and they could have started taking hormone blockers at puberty, because their face is smoothly androgynous, too. Plus, they’re tall, which is sometimes a sign of blockers. Not that it matters; it’s just impressive how thoroughly androgynous Tommi is.

Tommi spots her at the table and waves while they order something up front. They come back with a plated scone and what looks like a mocha and smile at her. “You’re Zach, right? You look like your picture.”

“Yeah.” He smiles back. “Nice to meet you, Tommi.”

“God, you too. You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to meet someone like us in Hartford!” They set down their plate and mug and pull out the chair, dropping into it. “I mean, there are other trans people, but not close to our age,” they add, “not also non-binary.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” he agrees, and pops one of the torn pieces of croissant in her mouth. “So how are you?”

“Harried.” Tommi smiles. “I’m a chemistry student at Trinity, I think I told you? I wanted Saint Joseph, but there’s that issue with being a women-only undergrad school and I don’t hold with IDing my gender as anything other than ‘androgynous’, which Trinity accommodates. Anyway, have a paper coming due, been stressing over it, so this is great.”

“My sister-in-law went to Trinity,” Zach says. “She loved it.”

Tommi grins. “That’s awesome. What does she do now?”

“She has an MD from Yale and is getting her PharmD at UC San Francisco. Going to do pharmaceutical research.”

Tommi whistles. “Damn. And here I want to be a humble chemistry professor.”

Zach laughs. “Yeah. She’s kind of very Type A. At least my brother is mostly laid back enough to balance her out.”

Tommi breaks off a bite of their scone and pops it in their mouth. “You’re a high school student, right?”

“Yep. I’m a sophomore. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing after high school, though.”

“Mm. No shame in that. No shame in not knowing for years after, either, as long as you have some way to support yourself.”

Zach shrugs. “If I have to, I’ll cashier or something while I figure it out. Right now, I have more important things to figure out, like things about me that affect my whole life, not just a job.”

Tommi sips their drink and nods. “Believe me, I get that. You have the pronoun set down, though, which is a big one.”

“Yeah, my family gets it right. Most of my friends, too.”

“Friends are family.” When Zach looks at them, they elaborate, “Friends are made family.”

“Oh yeah, definitely. My family is huge basically because of my mom’s made family, and my dad and oldest sister are step and still real.”

“That’s awesome. So which part are you trying to figure out?”

“Orientation,” he says simply, and they wince.

“Ouch. Yeah, not an easy one. Sorry, that blows. You want to talk it out?”

“It might take a while,” he warns, and Tommi laughs.

“I have time. You’re giving me a break from the paper of death.”

So Zach starts, how he’s attracted to guys, to girls, to people who seem to genderbend or do drag or just aren’t binary, but he has no idea if that actually makes her pan because he is genderqueer and—

“Hold on,” Tommi cuts in. “So you’re attracted to guys, girls, and non-binary types like the two of us?”

“Yeah.” Put that simply, in one sentence, from another non-binary person, it seems completely obvious.

“You sound pan to me. It’s not my place to put any label at all on you, your call how you ID, but that’s how you sound.” Tommi takes a long drink of their mocha—they’ve confirmed that’s what it is. “But, you know,” they continue when they set down their mug, absently wiping their mouth clean with a napkin, “you don’t have to have a name for it if you don’t want to.”

“What?” This is a concept Zach hasn’t come across before or thought about before now.

“It’s like people who use a neutral pronoun set but don’t choose an ID, not even agender. Doesn’t mean they don’t have a gender. It just means none of the more usual ones fit right. If I sound like Psych 101, by the way, shut me up. I took it last spring. So if pan doesn’t feel like it fits, it doesn’t fit. You’re attracted to who you’re attracted to. You can come up with another label that feels better, or you could go with no label until you come across something else. I mean, most pronoun sets beside they/them, she/her, and he/him are from people who don’t like existing ones for themselves—you already came up with your own there.” Tommi shrugs and takes a bite of their scone. “You want to go for a walk?”

“Um, sure. My dad’s by the door, so I’ll tell him when we go.”

Tommi shrugs again. “Good with me. That’s sweet of him.”

“Yeah, he worries.” Zach finishes her cappuccino, swings her bag over her shoulder, and picks up her plate and mug. Tommi wraps what’s left of their scone in a napkin and also picks up their dishes to bring to the bins up front.

Dishes put in their respective bins, Zach stops to say to her dad, “Tommi and I are going for a walk, if that’s okay.”

Dad glances over at Tommi, who’s asking for a bag for their scone. “They look all right. Be back in fifteen.”

“Sure, Dad.” Zach kisses his cheek and leaves when Tommi gets over there. Tommi waves at him as the two of them leave the coffee shop.

Outside, they walk in silence for a minute or two before Zach says, “I’ve never been on a date.” Tommi glances at her, he sees out of the corner of her eye. “And I’ve never kissed anyone.”

“Sucks,” Tommi says. “I didn’t have a date until I was seventeen. It’s so hard when you’re not binary.”

“Yeah!” It feels just so good to be around someone who gets it. Zach wishes he had this opportunity years ago. “Binary trans people might have a little easier time of it because at least people understand their gender, even if they don’t really get how it works. Us…”

“Yeah,” Tommi says quietly. “They think you’re the freaky boy who wears skirts, right? And they have no fucking idea what I am. What, by the way, not who.”

Zach’s mouth twists. “I think I hate that most of all. They think we’re not people because we don’t fit what they know, and it’s so… it just sucks, you know?”

“Yeah. The number of times I’ve been called ‘it’…” They trail off.

“When I was twelve, a couple of guys at school jumped me. They beat me up, and it hurt, but when they called me ‘tranny’…”

“Fuck,” Tommi whispers. They touch Zach’s hand, quick and light. “I can’t—I’m sorry. I’ve never had that happen. That just… those little bastards.”

“The next time they did it, they got expelled.” Zach tries for a smile and fails. “But they didn’t use the word that time. That first time, that word…”

“God. I am so sorry, Zach.”

“My sister told me, when I was seven, that some people are cruel, and they’re always cruel.”

“How old was she?”

“Twelve. She was twelve, and she told me that.” It’s not Zach’s place to tell anyone why she would know so young without Karen’s permission. “But she also told me that the important people were my family and friends, and they loved me and wouldn’t be cruel to me. I—those are two of the most important things she’s ever told me about the world, because she was right. People like us—anybody on our spectrum, I guess—have to know the first one, as horrible as it is, and the second—the second’s like you said, about made family? Important family, no matter how that’s defined, won’t be cruel to us and will love us. I think that’s what we all really need to know.”

Tommi nods. A moment later, they say, “If we stay friends, and I’d really like to, I think I want to add you to my made family. That cool with you?”

Zach grins. “Only if I can add you to mine.” This outgoing, quick-talking, fast-thinking, insightful person, someone so like her in some important ways he’s missing from everyone else he knows—that’s something he wants, and Tommi sounds like an amazing addition to her family.

“When’s your dad expecting us back?”

“Fifteen minutes from when we left. He said you looked all right, so as long as you don’t ax murder me when we’re out here, I think he’ll be fine with not coming along next time I meet you somewhere.”

“Ax murderers get a bad rap,” Tommi says solemnly. “Just because they kill a couple of people with something as unwieldy as an ax…” Zach cracks up, and they laugh, too. “But,” they add when the two of them have calmed down, “Lizzie Borden really did get a bad rap. She was definitely innocent.”

“This sounds like something you could go on about for hours.”

“How right you are, and how lucky for you that we need to be back in half the time it’s taken for us to get this far.”

Zach groans. “He’ll hunt me down, too. I told you, he worries.”

“Then let’s be fast.” Tommi turns on their toes and starts jogging back, and Zach keeps up with the pace they set.

They’re back just as Dad checks his watch, and Zach calls, “No need to call out the National Guard, I’m here.”

“Was going to find someone with a bloodhound, that’s all.” Dad offers a hand to Tommi. “I’m Bill, Zach’s dad.”

“Hi. Tommi.” They shake Dad’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. Zach seems to like you.”

Tommi shrugs and grins. “He has good taste.”

“Kid does at that. He liked me before my wife’s other two did.”

“You painted my nails,” Zach says reasonably, “when I couldn’t even wear anything remotely girly around Brett. That made you way better already.”

“Sparkly purple, and I hope that’s not the only thing that made me better than him.”

“No, there were other things.”

“Zach, I need to get going,” Tommi interjects, “but I’ll email you later.”

“Okay.” Zach hesitates, then reaches to hug Tommi. They return it easily, a quick one, before the two of them let each other go. “Talk to you when your paper is done?”

“I might try IMing you when I need a break. Nice meeting you,” they say again to Dad, and give a quick wave before they leave.

“Nice kid,” Dad says.

“I like them. Want to go home?”

“Yeah.” He gathers his dishes to dump in the trays, and the two of them leave. Zach feels far better than he did even when he got that table in the back of the shop. He knew he wasn’t the only one before, but now he isn’t alone.



“So,” Tommi says one Saturday when they’ve picked Zach up to go out and fake-shop with their mutual lack of significant money and to maybe get smoothies, “I have this friend, and I’ve told her about you. She says you sound awesome.”

“Is there a catch here?” he asks. He doesn’t think they would have one, but catches can be weird.

“Nope. This is catch-free. You two don’t get along, you don’t have to be around each other again, promise. But she’s about as awesome as you, so I think you could be friends.”

Knowing Tommi, this means now. When they have a chance to put together new people to see what happens, they do it. It’s like how they are about chemical experiments, but they say people aren’t anywhere near as predictable—or as safe. Zach just says it’s a good thing Tommi isn’t going to be a psychiatrist.

“Smoothies first,” he says firmly. “Then we’ll meet her.”

They pump their fist. “Score! Zach, you will like her, promise.”

He has to grin at their enthusiasm. “What’s her name?”

“Kim.”

They detour from what was going to be their next stop, a hugely overpriced boutique that sells rebranded clothes and is fun to mock when it comes to price versus materials, to get those smoothies so Zach can meet this Kim. Mango-orange for Zach, strawberry-banana for Tommi, and then it’s out to Tommi’s car to go meet Kim. “Does she live on campus?”

“Yeah. She’s in my dorm, which is the cool people dorm, if you recall, so that’s guaranteed.”

Zach snorts. “One thing I love about you is your complete lack of false modesty.”

“You know I’m cool. Don’t deny it.”

“I said false modesty. You’re definitely cool.”

They get in the car and Tommi hits the starter button. “Hey, is Adamo dating that kid you mentioned, Sword or whatever?” They’re grinning, and Zach grins back.

“You mean Lance? Yeah, they’re finally dating. That started a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t mention it?”

“No, we’ve both been too busy complaining about how much finals blow, remember?”

“Oh yeah, because they do.” Zach grins at them. “Well, they’re dating. They figured out, finally, that they both want to date each other. So what’s Kim like?”

“Totally cool with non-binary, to start with.”

“You said she’s a friend of yours and cool. I figured those went together.”

“Yeah, they do. She’s cis, but the good kind.” He definitely knows what they mean by that. “Theater major, film minor. She wants to be a director. Does all kinds of volunteer work, mostly with kids’ community theater. Like I said, cool. She’s my age, so not a big difference.”

“Even if there was, my brother and sister are ten years older.”

“They’re also your brother and sister,” Tommi says, “which isn’t the same.”

Zach shrugs, conceding the point. “Where are we meeting her?”

“Dorm. She’s probably in the lounge, but we can go to her room if we need to. She said she wasn’t leaving the building except to get food—finals, remember?”

“Screw finals,” he says firmly.

“Agreed. That’s why I’m taking a day off.”

“Yours are this week,” Zach says, which they obviously know.

They shrug. “So?”

Their call, and knowing them, they’re ready for finals anyway. “Does Kim know you’re tossing people together again?”

“Yeah, I told her I was asking you today.”

Tommi forgets to—or deliberately doesn’t—mention that Kim is pretty. She’s strawberry blonde and lightly freckled, not completely like Jeannette is, and she’s gently curvy. She smiles when they find her in the rec lounge watching a game of pool. “Hey, Tommi. I called the next game—want in?”

“Sure. Zach, this is Kim. Kim, Zach.”

Kim smiles and offers her hand. He shakes it. “Tommi’s talked a lot about you. You guys seem close.”

“Really? Tommi didn’t mention you until they decided to throw us together today.”

Laughing, Tommi flips her off. “Shut up.”

“You shut up, you didn’t.”

Kim snorts. “How nice of them, really.”

“Hey, it’s working,” they argue.

“I think you should give her your turn at the game,” Kim decides, “since you sprang this meeting on her.”

Zach shrugs. “They at least asked. Half an hour ago.”

Tommi throws up their hands. “Fine, he gets my turn.”

“Triumph!” Kim cheers, and Zach definitely sees why Tommi and Kim get along.

He drops in the chair beside her. “Tommi said you’re a theater major.”

“Theater and dance,” she corrects, “but yeah. I’m the assistant director for a show this summer.”

“Which show?” Zach asks.

“The Odd Couple. It’s going pretty well so far.” She shrugs. “We have two months before it goes on, anyway, so we’re still casting and stuff, but I like our leads, which is definitely a plus. When are your finals?”

“End of the month and the start of next. Then it’s vacation.”

“If you want, you could come to rehearsals. They’ll probably be hilarious.”

Something about this particular experiment of Tommi’s ends up turning out really well, because after getting dinner with Tommi and Kim and spending a total of five hours with the two of them, Kim asks at the end, just before Tommi is going to take Zach home, “Do you want to maybe go out sometime? Lunch or dinner or something?”

That catches Zach off-guard, and he barely sees Tommi’s grin. He’s going to have to talk to them later about whether or not they were planning this. “Um, sure.”

“Awesome.” Kim grins at her. “Can I get your number?”

“Yeah, of course.” They both take out their cells and exchange numbers.

Kim calls her three days later, and they go out Friday night for dinner. He thinks it goes well, and he’s proven right when Kim leans over the table and kisses her, soft and with her mouth a little open.



Kim and Zach date for seven months, during which Tommi gets more and more smug about managing to introduce them. He can’t even be annoyed with them because he’s managed to fall in love with Kim. Adamo doesn’t seem remotely surprised by any of this, and neither does Zach’s family. When Zach asks her mom about the lack of surprise, she shrugs. “We thought you’d date someone older than you, or else someone who’s pretty aware of trans issues, and older people tend to be more educated. Besides,” and she hugs Zach quickly, “she’s a nice girl. Your dad and I both like her a lot.”

“Good.” He grins at her. “I’m glad. I like her too.”

“I hope so, if you’re dating her.”

When they break up, it’s not because of the age difference, or the sex issues Zach is still trying to figure out how to manage. It’s just… Kim knows people at Trinity who she spends a lot of time with, and Zach is involved in high school clubs and has her circle of friends there, and really, it’s mostly that their main social overlap is Tommi. Zach’s pretty sure they both see it coming, but that doesn’t mean it’s not hard to bring up, and it doesn’t mean either of them are dry-eyed at the end of things.



Zach and Troy try dating the summer before their senior year. It lasts a whole two ridiculous, semi-hilarious weeks. Troy is way too gay and Zach is way too trans for it to go anywhere.



He doesn’t know when it happens, exactly. He just knows that one day in their senior year, Adamo is Adamo, her best friend from forever, and the next, he’s looking at Adamo differently, as someone he’s attracted to. Adamo, though, is still with Lance, even if things are getting harder in that relationship because of Lance’s drug use and general fucking things up, and the most Zach chooses to do is be there for Adamo as his friend and absolutely nothing more. He doesn’t even want to let Adamo know. Adamo’s gay. Zach’s not a guy. It’s as simple as that.

Then Adamo breaks up with Lance, for painful reasons that have Zach going out for coffee with Adamo the hour Eva calls her because she can’t be there for him, and they spend even more time together starting right then. Adamo needs to get better from how much Lance hurt him, and Zach figures the two of them being together, sometimes plus Rebecca, is the second-best thing Adamo could have, after having his sister and baby nephew be there.

At the beginning of May, Adamo says, “Do you want to go to prom together?”

Zach almost drops her sandwich. “You do?”

“I’m not skipping it,” Adamo says firmly, “and I don’t want to go alone. You’re my best friend. We could go as friends, unless you have a date.”

“You know I don’t,” Zach says, her mind still reeling. “Sure. I need to get a dress.” He doesn’t have anything that would work.

“Awesome.” Adamo smiles. “I’ll get the tickets.”

Zach would quibble, except Adamo will have absolutely no problem affording it, given the size of his bank accounts because of his surprise inheritance. “No limo, unless we’re going with Bec and Troy and the others.”

Adamo laughs. “Agreed. That would be too much for just us.”

Zach talks Karen, who’s gotten herself sober again, into coming with her to pick out a dress. Her sister has pretty good taste, and someone else seeing it while he wears it helps. At least their dad isn’t trying to put limitations on what he gets. He probably has Dawn and Mom to thank for that. Besides, he’s going with Adamo, not someone Dad doesn’t know.

They agree that strapless probably won’t work; Zach doesn’t have the hips for it, and he obviously doesn’t have the chest to help hold it up. That leaves the question of spaghetti straps or cap sleeves, but that’s going to depend on the rest of the dress. “I don’t want anything poofy,” he tells Karen, who laughs.

“What about spinny?” she teases.

“What are you talking about?”

“When Mom took us shopping for our dresses for the wedding. Poofy and spinny were your priorities.”

Zach snorts. “Come on, everyone loves spinny skirts.”

“There’s a thought,” Karen says thoughtfully. “A dress appropriate for tangos and sambas and stuff.”

“Those are usually red,” Zach points out.

“You look good in red,” Karen counters.

“And there won’t be South American dances,” he adds.

“That doesn’t mean you won’t look amazing in a tango-appropriate dress. And they’re sort of spinny.”

Zach laughs. “At least it’ll have sleeves,” he concedes.

“Excellent. You know a store?”

“Yeah, but we have to go to New Haven.”

Karen shrugs. “Sure. Closer than Manhattan. I’ll drive.”

Her sister wouldn’t offer if she was less than sober, especially not with Zach or Will in the car. “Okay.” Zach grabs a couple of cans of Pepsi from the fridge, and then they’re off. In New Haven, he gives directions to a store that has dresses that are definitely not usual prom styles and are gorgeous—and not wallet-breaking, either, considering their mom did give her a budget by handing her cash.

“Wow,” Karen breathes when they get inside. “These are amazing.”

“So you think red?”

“Or grey or gold or…” Karen trails off and separates from her. “Mom’s going to get it altered?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Yeah.” Zach can alter a lot of her own clothes out of necessity, but formalwear is out, especially when he’ll be the one wearing it. He glances through racks, smiling at an associate who approaches and saying he’ll look on her own but let her know if he needs help. She’ll get the commission, if her salary is based on that, anyway.

He hears Karen exclaim when he’s comparing a shade of gold—yeah, Karen was wrong about that working—to her arm. She calls, “Zach!” a moment later, and then finds her, carrying a dress. It’s gorgeous, red with silver detailing, and the sleeves are loose. They look like they’ll be halfway down her upper arms. The skirt’s hem starts probably just about the knees in front, dips lower in back, is loose and slightly ruffled, and the bodice can be taken in to fit her closely.

“Damn, Karen,” he murmurs, taking it from her. He holds it to her body, looking down, and announces, “Trying this on. Coming with me?”

“Of course.”

It fits, mostly. It’s the right length and not too tight across her shoulders, but the bodice does need to be taken in across the chest. The skirt and sleeves, though, are perfect, and he spins for Karen, who grins when it flares out.

“You look amazing.”

“I do, don’t I?” He looks at the mirror, turning so he can see the back better. “Now I just need shoes. I’ll get Adamo to carry my ID, so no purse.”

“Awesome.” Karen reaches for the price tag. “It’s in your budget, too, so shoes are doable.”

“Perfect.” Reluctantly, Zach changes back into her clothes and puts the dress back on the hanger, hands lingering on the material. “How do you find perfect clothes?”

“I know what you like,” she says. “If you get married, I’ll help you find your dress then, too.”

He smiles. “Good.” Then they find the associate who offered help, telling her that they’ve found something, and she grins and takes them to the register to check out.

“There’s a shoe store the next street over. They’ll dye satin, and they have larger sizes,” she tells them as she puts a bag over the dress.

“If you work on commission, you totally earned it,” he tells her sincerely. “I was afraid I’d have to look online.”

“Nope! Just find something you like and they’ll find it in your size. They order if they have to.” She hands her the bag. “And I do, so thank you for this.”

“It’s an amazing dress. Completely worth it.”

The shoes run a little over budget because of dyeing them, but Karen covers the difference because she’s an awesome sister. Zach thinks briefly that it’s too bad he’s not going with a significant other; he’s going to be hot. They’ll look good in their pictures, though, even though they are only friends.

The wrist corsage Adamo gets her is a white orchid, and the limo picks up all of them—the two of them, Rebecca, Troy, Jaqui. It’s fun, the five of them, none of them with a romantic date but all of them together, and it really doesn’t matter that it’s a friend date and not a real date.

Besides, they do look good in their pictures.



Much to Zach’s surprise, Adamo has been single since breaking up with Lance. He thought, once Adamo started at Trinity, he would find someone else, but he hasn’t—not that Zach is complaining. He’s gotten more reckless, shown that he cares about Adamo as more than a friend more readily, but Adamo doesn’t seem to be catching on. It’s always possible that Zach is being too subtle, but he doesn’t think that’s it.

Finally, Zach figures he’ll just tell Adamo. At some point. Eventually.

Her classes at Capital are all online, so her schedule is her own to make as long as he meets deadlines. That means he can hang out with Adamo whenever Adamo has the time; he’s going to be an English teacher, apparently, which Zach thinks is pretty much the perfect job for him.

Obviously, when Adamo has final papers due soon and exams coming up is the best time to crash his dorm room.

When Adamo lets her in, Zach says, “I still love that you scored a single for your freshman year.” It’s a sweet setup, decent TV, remotely comfortable bed, desk, real dresser, good closet. The Wilsons might be paying more for it, but they are also half-paying for Eva to have a two-bedroom apartment and a nanny for her son, so Zach guesses it’s fair.

Adamo grins. “It’s pretty awesome, isn’t it?”

“I’m jealous, you know. I still have a kid brother coming in without knocking if he wants.”

He gives her a look. “You have a lock.”

“I defy you to keep Will out.”

“That’s where the lock comes in handy.”

“Even if I would use it, Dad taught him to pick it. So I can keep out Mom, only if she doesn’t get one of them to help.”

“Why would they want to?” Adamo asks.

Zach shrugs and tosses her bag beside Adamo’s bed. “So they wouldn’t. I just don’t like locking out my family.”

“Which is why you’re hiding out here?”

He gives him a pointed look. “And there’s the small detail where it’s a Saturday and I haven’t seen my best friend in more than a week when he lives in town.”

“End of term!”

“Then I’ll watch your TV and steal your coffee.” Though for now, he skips the coffee and flops across the bed, finding Adamo’s remote.

He shakes his head. “And my bed?”

Zach waves a hand. “Was up late.” He has papers and exams of her own that he was doing. He turns on the TV and decides to not interrupt Adamo when he sits at his desk and starts typing.

Or he won’t interrupt until Adamo definitely needs to eat dinner, anyway. He gets up well after it’s gone dark and drops a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re working, but you have to eat.”

Adamo sits back. “What time is it?”

“After seven,” Zach says dryly.

“Oh.” He hits a key combo and stands. “Are you eating here?”

“If it’s cool with you,” he agrees, pleased.

“Uh, yeah. On campus is okay?”

“It cannot be worse than when Will tries to cook,” he points out, and Adamo smirks.

“It’s pretty decent. Come on.”

Zach is going to tell him, he decides suddenly. He’s going to let Adamo know how he feels tonight. But first, he has to figure out how to say it, which means he doesn’t talk a whole lot once they leave his dorm room. It takes Adamo until after they have their food and a table to ask about it.

“So what’s up?”

“Up?”

“You and the not talking?”

Zach can’t help it; he laughs, shaking her head. “Adamo, you can be adorably clueless.”

“… Come again?”

Zach folds her hands on the tabletop and leans in. “For the last I have no idea how long, I’ve had the world’s biggest crush on you.”

He watches Adamo sip his soda, and his, “Um,” is fully expected.

“Don’t worry about it.” He means it. “I’m fully aware that you’re gay and I’m not, you know, a guy, so really, don’t worry about it.”

“Well…” He takes another sip before going on. “Here’s the thing. I’m kind of not entirely gay. Not when it comes to you, I mean.”

Her heart leaps in her chest, and he’s sure her eyes widen. “Um,” is all he can come up with.

“Yeah.”

Zach fiddles with her napkin. “So…” He looks at Adamo, smiling a little. “You want to extend your break from papers to make out?”

“Awesome.”

Back in Adamo’s room, Zach makes the first move, since Adamo doesn’t seem quite sure what to do. He kisses Adamo softly, not pushing for more, and Adamo responds right away. It’s not like kissing Kim was, and it’s not like kissing Troy was; everybody probably kisses differently, but Adamo is, in Zach’s opinion, best at it. Neither of them seems sure of what to do with their hands, so they just kiss, touching there and at their knees, and when they break apart, there are ‘wow’s and then Zach groans.

“What?” Adamo asks, looking alarmed.

“Tommi’s going to gloat. They called this months ago.”

Adamo laughs and leans in to kiss her again. This time, his hands are on her thigh and back, and Zach rests one of hers on the back of his neck as the kiss gets deeper, much to Zach’s pleasure.

They’re going to have to talk about sex before anything happens, but Zach’s confident that’s some time off. For now, it’s kissing and touching softly, getting to know each other’s bodies in a basic and still intimate way.



They end up having the talk when Adamo is at his parents’ house for winter break, while both of his parents are at work. They’ve been hanging out and sometimes kissing, just being near each other while still playing video games and talking like always. There’s just more touching thrown in.

“So there’s something we should talk about,” Zach says right after Yoshi has knocked Toad off Rainbow Road, which is appropriate right now, actually.

“Yeah?” Adamo looks focused on getting Toad to catch up.

“About sex.” Yoshi gets a diamond, and Zach hits the button to spit out shells. Hopefully one takes out Bowser.

“That sounds interesting,” Adamo says, sounding a little cautious.

“For one thing, I don’t really like to top.”

“Okay.”

“For another, it’s… complicated.” He’s ridiculously glad for the game to focus on. It means he doesn’t have to look at Adamo during this part. “My body—it’s not my ideal. And my penis is part of the not ideal. I like sex, and I like getting off, but…” He searches for the right words to get this across. “I don’t really like the act of jerking off,” he says finally. “The end is worth it, but it feels wrong. I’m good with blowjobs, I know that, and I really like getting fucked—the best thing ever is an orgasm from getting fucked without having to touch my penis—but if we can avoid the jerking off…” He trails off, not sure how to finish.

“So when we have sex, if I can’t get you off by fucking you yet, I’ll blow you after.” Adamo grins over at her, and Zach makes the mistake of looking away from the screen long enough to grin back because he’s so lucky. When he looks back, Toad has passed Yoshi and laid out banana peels that send Yoshi spinning, and he curses when Yoshi goes off the side and Toad zooms across the finish line. Adamo just laughs.



By the next December, Zach is pretty sure he and Adamo are getting married at some point. He’s just not expecting a ring box in front of her shortly after their first anniversary. He’s really, really not expecting an engagement ring, etched platinum with a center oval-cut diamond flanked by oval-cut rubies a little smaller than the diamond, one that fits her perfectly. And he’s really not expecting to go home with Adamo as an engaged person.

The whole night is fairly bewildering; it stays that way right up until it comes back into clear focus because they’re in Adamo’s room, undressing each other as they kiss hard. Zach half-wonders if this means their respective bedrooms at their respective houses are shared now, but then he disregards it because Adamo’s unzipping her jeans and carefully lowering them as he kisses his way down Zach’s body and drops to his knees. This is way better than thinking about rooms, especially when his mouth is down there and Zach’s hands are in Adamo’s hair as he moves his head and uses his tongue and lips. God, this is much, much better. And he can see her ring, the rubies and diamond glinting brightly where her fingers are tangled in Adamo’s hair.

“So,” Zach says the next day on the phone. He’s still a little sore from the night before—they both got a little more vigorous than usual, and Zach is not complaining; he still feels good from it, little sparks of pleasure radiating through her whenever he moves. “Any chance you want to be in my wedding?”

Adamo must hear Tommi’s answering shout, because he looks over from his book, smirking.

“That depends on what I have to wear, but otherwise, duh!” Tommi exclaims right after that shout.

“Tux, if you want. Or we can find you a looser dress or suit. I’m asking Sam to be my… I guess maid of honor.” Tommi snickers at that. “Hey, Adamo’s asking Eva to be his best man.”

“Damn straight,” Adamo murmurs. He’s reabsorbed in his book, from what Zach can tell.

“But you get to be an attendant of some kind, if you want,” Zach continues to Tommi. He’s just glad they did go to Saint Joseph College for their master’s. That means they’re still nearby, just in West Hartford.

“We’ll talk about that, definitely. When did it happen?”

“He proposed last night.” He can’t help her grin at that. “We haven’t decided when yet, but I don’t think it’s going to be very long.”

“Go talk to him about it,” Tommi mock-orders. “That’s more important.”

“You are probably right. Bye.”

“Congratulations. You two are great for each other.” They hang up.

Zach ends the call on her end, getting up from where he’s sitting on a chair and going over to kiss Adamo. “How soon?” he asks.

Adamo closes his book and sits up to kiss Zach back. “How fast can we plan this?”

“My parents did it in four months, and it wasn’t really small.”

“Four months puts me still in school,” Adamo says thoughtfully, “and I have my dorm room through the end of the year, too.”

“Hmm.” Zach kisses Adamo’s throat above his shirt collar. “What about June?”

“As long as it’s not on my sister’s anniversary.”

“That still leaves twenty-nine days,” Zach points out, grinning.

“June,” Adamo agrees.



Zach looks every bit the bride at their wedding, except for not carrying a bouquet or having a veil or flowers in her hair, and he does not care at all. He likes what he’s wearing, Adamo clearly thinks he looks good, and they keep talking about escaping for their honeymoon.

He never as a kid thought he’d be marrying Adamo, of all people, never thought he’d get married at twenty-one, absolutely never thought he’d be a homeowner just after he got married. But it’s all happening, all real, and it’s almost like a dream the whole day.

That night, on the plane, Zach says to Adamo, “I think I want to foster kids and adopt.”

Adamo smiles and kisses her. “That’d be great. I think we’d be good parents, foster or not.”

Her gender shouldn’t be a problem. It won’t be a problem. He’s not going to think about problems tonight.



Zach has to wonder why the hell they’re doing this.

Okay, he knows why. They’re going through the application and fostering certification because they want to help kids. They want to adopt troubled kids, or ones labeled ‘problematic’, or at least give the kids a shot at healthier lives than what’s hurt them. But he has no idea why they’re subjecting themselves to the process, especially considering the number of questions about her gender he has to answer and how much they have to talk out how to explain it to the kids when—at least they’re saying when now—they get to start fostering them.

It’s not hard. He does her damnedest to explain that to them. It’s not. Her siblings adjusted. All her friends’ siblings adjusted. Their nephews and niece have accepted her as he is with no question.

The only remotely valid concern is that these kids are used to one way gender works, because they’re not going to be babies or toddlers, and they’ll be coming to something completely new to them. Zach and Adamo have the same answer to that: “They’ll learn to accept people for who they are.” That, at least, satisfies people, and they’re finally, thankfully approved, even though they’re young. There’s a shortage of foster parents, and they can help.

The first kid brought to them is a little girl, Evelyn. She’s skinny and big-eyed, with red-gold hair. She needs some good meals and her hair properly conditioned, and she really needs to be loved. That’s the main thing she needs.

Evelyn doesn’t even ask Zach why he’s wearing a blouse with her jeans. Evelyn doesn’t ask anything for a long time, or talk beyond, “Yes,” and, “No,” in answer to questions. Zach, for one, really does not want to know her background yet, even though they should.

So they love her. They feed her, and they talk to her, even though she doesn’t talk back. They read to her, give her toys, put on Sesame Street and take her to therapy and learn fast that she has pretty severe separation anxiety, even if she isn’t talking to them yet.

When she does talk, it’s when Adamo is reading to her after he’s home from teaching and Zach is sitting with them, on her other side. All she says is, “Can we have sketti for dinner?”

Without missing a beat, Zach says, “Sure. Want to help?” while he and Adamo grin at each other over her head.

“No. I wanna read with Adamo.”

The very fact that she feels free to say no when asked by an adult if she wants to do something sends a thrill of joy through Zach.

Adamo laughs and kisses her head. “Okay, we’ll read, but you help set the table, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Zach.”

“Of course, sweetie.”

They told everyone it wouldn’t be an issue.





Kids: Six. Parents: Two. Advantage: Kids.
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On getting six children to the zoo, and the adventures therein
August 2, 2034
22:16

Taking six kids to the zoo is completely ridiculous. I don’t know why we subject ourselves to it, especially now that Julia is four. That means three girls under ten, two ten-year-olds, and a fifteen-year-old.

Tell me, who said we’re sane again?

It starts out like herding cats every time we decide to do something like this. I’m usually the one with Jessica while Adamo gets Julia dressed and the other kids are supposed to do it on their own. “Supposed to” is the key phrase there. This morning, we got the kids fed and sent the other four off to get themselves ready. I had Jessica ready within half an hour, which is a record when we’re going out of the house for something unusual, by the way. Those of you with autistic children know how much schedules matter, and we’re probably going to be paying for disrupting hers for a couple of days, but she likes the animals enough that it’s always worth it. It makes her happy.

So Jessica was all set within half an hour, dressed and with her bunny tucked in her backpack, just in case she needed to soothe herself. We picked a Wednesday on purpose to avoid crowds and hopefully avoid upsetting Jessica too much. Weekday mornings are the best times to avoid crowds, and most venues will be happy to tell parents if there are school groups scheduled to come in.

But when I took Jessica downstairs, there were no other kids, and I didn’t want to leave her alone when her schedule was already screwed up; she likes company. I also couldn’t yell up the stairs because yelling upsets her hugely. Before we got her, Jessica would get yelled at for things she absolutely can’t help, and sometimes yelling was a prelude to worse.

So in my own house, I called my husband on the phone to find out what was going on upstairs.

“Julia doesn’t want to wear socks,” he told me, and I could hear her telling him no, loudly, in the background.

“Doesn’t she have sandals?”

“Did I only say socks? I meant to add or a shirt.”

Of course she didn’t. With six kids, things are bound to go the opposite of planned. “Where are the other kids?”

Adamo paused for a minute. “They’re not down with you? Shh, Julia,” he added to her, and she at least quieted even if she wouldn’t get dressed. “Oh, for—they’re playing video games.”

“Jessica’s all ready.” Jessica was also, by then, on the couch, pulling a cushion over her belly. I would have her weighted blanket packed, since she was already acting like she could use it, if using it at the zoo was feasible.

“Yeah. I’ll get them down there. Here, talk to your daughter.”

Considering Adamo was about to deal with four more kids, I could do that, and in a second, Julia said, “Hi, Mommy,” much too loudly for a phone. She’s four. She’ll learn modulation soon, but not soon enough for the sake of anyone who has to talk to her on the phone.

“Hi, Julia. Daddy said you won’t put on your shirt or socks.”

“No s-clothes!” she insisted.

At that point, I couldn’t decide if we should be proud that she knows how to spell that well, or annoyed with ourselves because it was backfiring, even if God only knew why it was backfiring besides that Julia is, again, four, and four-year-olds are universally weird. “Okay. How about a blouse and flip-flops?”

Julia’s voice brightened. “Okay, Mommy! Are my flip-flops downstairs?”

“Yeah.” I made a mental note at that point to pack her sandals for when her feet got uncomfortable in the flip-flops; she would, hopefully, change her mind about s-clothes then. “Get a blouse out of your dresser and get it on, then come downstairs.”

“But I wanna play video games!” Her voice rose on that last word, and I had to remind myself that going with only Jessica probably wouldn’t turn out too well, even if she was the only kid behaving herself at the moment. That was partly because of the couch cushions and partly because of humming to herself, as far as I could tell, but having Ben with us would help.

“You get to see really big cats and seals. And they have zebras and elephants, too!”

“Kitties?” Julia asked. “I want a kitty.”

“You can’t have one of these kitties, but you can look at them.” Remember that we already have a dog of indeterminate heritage. The only important parts are that Lola is well-behaved and she’s silky-soft. She also doesn’t scare Jessica, who loves petting her. We also already have two cats, but there’s no point in reminding Julia of that because Randolph and Cary aren’t her cats, and Julia will, in the way of every four-year-old we’ve encountered, remind us of that endlessly.

“Okay, but I want a kitty.”

“Get dressed, sweetie.”

When I couldn’t hear Julia anymore, I looked back over the couch. Jessica hadn’t gotten her hair out of her braid, fortunately—nobody likes when her hair has to be brushed or braided because her scalp is sensitive and it easily makes her cry, even if the person brushing and braiding thinks no pulling happens—but she did have the first two fingers on her left hand in her mouth while she hummed, the couch cushion over her chest and stomach and, for some reason, her legs in the air. Stimming, but not meltdown-stimming, just fresh-stress stimming. There is definitely a difference, at least with her.

Finally, Evelyn came down the stairs, followed by Persephone and Ben. Four out of six. Progress. “Where are your sisters?” I asked them.

“Julia put Dad’s phone somewhere, and Brenda lost her shoes.” Evelyn shrugged. “We should have kept playing video games.”

“Evelyn.”

“Jessie on the couch?” Ben asked me, and I nodded. He passed me to go to her; he’s one of the best at keeping her calm. He’s had experience most of his life, Jessica’s whole life, especially since that was his job before they were removed from their first home and the people who were supposed to love them but didn’t, who even hated Jessica. Yes, she’s autistic, but she’s that doesn’t mean anything is wrong with her. She’s sweet and has an adorable laugh. There’s nothing at all to hate about a little girl, especially a little girl who can’t help her reactions to stressors and is subjected to stressors constantly.

Somehow, by the time Adamo brought the little girls downstairs, Ben had Jessica sitting up and the cushions off her. I made the mistake of letting myself hope it would keep getting better.

We always take two cars on day trips, in case a kid has to leave because of stress or sickness. That way, the others can keep having fun. Ben and Jessica are always in the same one, by Ben’s insistence and Jessica’s clear preference, and Persephone always wants to be in the same one as Evelyn. Today, I got Julia since I’d gotten her to get dressed, and Adamo got Brenda (he was her hero for finding her shoes). Jessica and Ben were also in my car. We both made sure we had everything—Julia’s sandals, plenty of water and sunscreen (small children and sunburns don’t mix. For that matter, sunburns and I don’t mix), hats in case we could get any of the kids to wear them, Jessica’s backpack and her bunny, our IDs and cards—and it looked good. It also looked like we’d be having the older kids help carry things.

I reminded Julia that she had to hold hands with one of us or Evelyn the whole time. Losing a kid sucks. Every time I glanced back in the mirror, Jessica was humming and tracing her fingertips lightly on Ben’s arm. A couple of times, she had her fingers in her mouth. She was doing well overall, though. She stayed good for the whole drive, and it’s about an hour. The car and scenery are usually good for her. Julia, of course, fell asleep, because we needed a supercharged four-year-old for the zoo. Ben just talked to me most of the drive, which was good. I figure we have maybe two or three more years, on the outside, before he stops wanting to talk to us as much. Then again, we did get lucky with Evelyn, since she’s only cut us out of select parts of her life, so maybe he and Persephone will be the same. That’s going to help determine if we start fostering again when they’re twelve or thirteen. I’d like to, and so would Adamo, and that’s contingent on them not shutting us out. It would be nice if they didn’t regardless, though.

So we got to the zoo, and we had to corral the kids so we could get in. We do have zoo memberships—we do this trip, no matter the insanity, a few times a year because Jessica does enjoy it, even though it throws off her schedule, and the rest of us like it, too—so we didn’t have to deal with lines, but we did have to deal with being sure to not lose any of the kids. I kept Jessica with me and an eye on Ben, Adamo got Julia and Brenda, and fortunately, Evelyn stayed nearby, which meant Persephone did. I love how close our oldest girls are, even with their age difference. Persephone sort of glommed onto Evelyn the day she came to us, and it was clear Evelyn wanted to keep her in our family. They got their way, and they still remember that.

Then…

Then we got in the zoo and had to figure out what to see first. Which was not remotely fun, because out of the five truly verbal kids, exactly zero agreed, same as always. Lions. No, chimps. No, zebras. No, elephants. No, bison. (That one was Ben.)

Finally, Adamo and I exchanged one of those looks we perfected when we started fostering, and he announced, “We’re going to the petting zoo. Jessica can pet bunnies.”

Jessica looked toward him, and her humming changed pitch, something lower and more pleased.

We let Evelyn off on her own in something the size of a department store, sometimes a mall, and the next time we go to Disney World, she can go on a ride near the one we’re visiting on her own. The main reason we don’t let her be alone in a zoo, and won’t let her wander Disney World on her own, is because she’d have at least one younger sibling follow her, we wouldn’t know where our child went, and Evelyn wouldn’t know that her sibling tried to follow. Cue lost child, shut-down zoo or amusement park, franticness on our parts that sends all three younger girls into meltdowns, and massive unnecessary guilt on Evelyn’s part. None of us need any of that.

(I know this is how it goes because my older brother’s daughter once slipped away from him in an aquarium. There was something she wanted to see, and she didn’t have the patience to wait. The consensus is that she takes after her mother.)

So petting zoo it was, despite how none of the kids wanted it except for Jessica, with her happy humming and slight, crooked smile. She’s still learning appropriate facial expressions and probably won’t ever have a huge range, but she’s had that little smile the longest. I’m glad for that humming of hers, too, because it shows us her mood even though she doesn’t really talk. Even though the other kids didn’t initially want to go, they wound up enjoying the petting zoo. The goats and pig helped.

When we left, with Jessica completely happy, she and I, along with Ben, were a little ahead of Adamo and the other kids. I wasn’t sure at the time exactly what happened. I knew that another family—two kids, a mom and a dad, a grandma, and a grandpa—passed us, going in the other direction, and the older woman had an expression like she’d found dog shit on the underside of her shoe. Then I heard our oldest daughter’s voice ringing out, demanding, “What did you say about my mom?”

And so it was that Evelyn got in an argument with a sixty-something woman and nearly got us thrown out of the park until Persephone interrupted to inform security, “She called Mom a dyke and Jessica something even worse.”

That, dear reader, is actually a brand-new one on me. I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, ranging from a rather contemptuous “queer” to a truly vicious “faggot” and even worse. Until today, “dyke” did not make that list, and all that I said was, “I’m genderqueer, lady, and don’t you call my little girl that ever again,” because what else was there to say?

The other family got kicked out. My kids got free ice cream, and Evelyn got to pick the next animals (chimps).

So the day started out terribly. So my family’s not traditional. So what? My kids are happy and loved, they love my husband and me, and my husband and I are completely in love. Isn’t that more important?

And what’s maybe most important is this:

When we started fostering Evelyn, she would say literally one of two words, and only in response to direct questions. She wouldn’t make eye contact. She had terrible separation anxiety.

Eight years later, after living with us the whole time, Evelyn saw a wrong, and she did not ignore it. She actually confronted the wrongdoer, and she refused to back down.

I am proud of my daughter. She’s a wonderful girl. She’s also strong and caring, and isn’t that anything anyone could want from their daughter? So what does traditional have to do with it when she’s grown up like this, with us for her parents? She’s not messed up. She’s not confused. She does know right from wrong, and she does know her own mind, and she’s everything a parent could want in their child.