I look myself over in the mirror as I turn from side to side to get a view of myself from all angles. It’s been a week since I came out to Lola and she managed to convince me to buy the blue wig and took me shopping out in Baltimore as well. Baltimore is far enough away from home and where we live where I felt comfortable and like people wouldn’t recognize me, so we got some more feminine clothes for me up there.

The outfit I have on is a tennis skirt and a tight fitting racerback top. I’m not sure I’m ready to start tucking the way Lola does yet so I have compression shorts on underneath but there was still a bulge when I tried leggings so I’m sticking with the skirts for now. 

The blue wig looks amazing on me. Lola has done my makeup in a way where my face is contoured in a more feminine way. Looking at myself like this makes me want to cry happy tears or tears of relief. I still feel off and weird, like maybe I’m faking it, but at the same time there’s a sense that things will be okay when I look at myself like this. 

“You look great,” Lola says affectionately from the doorway to my bedroom. 

“Thanks,” I respond nervously, standing up a little straighter as if trying to convince myself I’m brave enough to go to the gym like this. “Can you come to the gym with me today?”

“Oh darling, you know I had to go to work like fifteen minutes ago,” Lola says, “I stayed behind late to make sure you knew you looked good.” She doesn’t mean to sound patronizing but it sounds patronizing anyway and I make a face at her. “I’m sorry. But you look great and I believe in you.” She enters the room and kisses me on the forehead before leaving again. “Good luck at the gym today!”

I take a deep breath and wring my hands together. I guess I’m doing this.

Mell looks up at me as I enter the gym and I can see his jaw drop. It’s immediately evident though that he doesn’t recognize it’s me as he asks me for my name. I play along, sort of pleased with the anonymity being in girl mode allows me. When he asks me for my name and pronouns I panic for a moment before providing an alias and settling on female pronouns. The euphoria that comes with being asked my pronouns and being accepted for using female ones is immense and almost overshadows my anxiety and social awkwardness. Almost.

I’m sitting across from Mell at a cafe down the street from the gym. He pulled the chair out for me when we got here which was very sweet of him. I tuck the hair of my wig behind my ear as I sit down. The wig is feeling heavy on my head and I’m a little hot and sweaty from the workout. I feel gross. I hope I don’t look as gross as I feel. 

“So how long have you been dancing?” Mell asks me as the waitress brings us our drinks. Mell got a black coffee and I have earl gray tea. He looks genuinely interested which makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter. I get people interested in my dance experience from time to time but nobody has ever seemed this eager to hear about it before. It makes me feel special.

“Eighteen years,” I say, fidgeting awkwardly in my seat.

“Wow! That’s a long time,” He says in awe, “How old are you?”

I play with the hair on the wig. Maybe if I think about it hard enough I can believe it’s actually part of my head and that I actually have this wonderful head of hair, but for the moment I just feel like a lost little boy under a cumbersome wig trying to be something he’s not. It doesn’t feel good. I’m trying to get back the feeling I felt when I looked at myself in the mirror after Lola did my makeup earlier but right now a pit just sits in my stomach. Did I make a mistake doing this? I swallow, trying not to panic in front of Mell. “I’m twenty-one,” I say, hoping my discomfort isn’t obvious to him.

“Ooh, so you’ve basically been dancing as long as you’ve been walking around then,” Mell says, leaning in intently, “That’s so cool.”

I laugh awkwardly. “Yeah….” I try my best to flash a smile but I fear it comes off as an awkward grimace instead. 

Mell tilts his head slightly with a concerned look on his face. “Are you okay?” He asks. Great, he noticed I’m in the process of a silent nuclear meltdown.

I’m fifteen, looking down at the note someone had dropped in my locker, heart pounding. There’s a heart on the front of the folded piece of paper. I open it and my eyes scan the contents. I’ve never received any type of interest from anyone in school let alone a love note. I thought those only existed in movies. The note is indeed a confession of love. My face grows hot.

I finish reading the note and turn the paper over, looking for a name anywhere of who might have sent it. There is none. I sigh and look up, closing my locker. I jump. “Jesus, Brent,” I gasp. A friend who I’ve had a crush on forever is standing right next to me and I didn’t notice until now.

“Hey,” Brent flashes a grin at me and crosses his arms over his chest. “Did you like the note?”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

“The note you just read. I wrote it. Did you like it?”

My heart pounds harder. I didn’t know Brent was into guys. It feels like my dreams are coming true. “Um, yeah,” I breathe. “You wrote it?”

“Yeah,” Brent says with a small chuckle, “Do you want to be my date to the dance?”

“Y-yeah…” I stutter, “I’ll um, meet you there?” I know Brent’s parents are homophobes so I don’t want to put him in a position where he’d need to pick me up and drop me off and lie to them about it.

“Sounds great.” Brent winks at me and walks away. I close my locker and walk to my class feeling lighter than air.

I arrive at the dance a little late due to my mom getting stuck in traffic on the way to take me there. I rush inside and text Brent that I’m here now, apologizing for being so late. I get a text back telling me he’s on the dancefloor waiting for me.

Brent has been my only friend outside of dance, and befriended me after I came out as gay. At first I thought it was because he felt bad for me but maybe it was because he liked me all along. My hopes are sky high right now as I walk onto the dancefloor.

“Oh my god, there he is,” A girl’s voice says to the side of me. I turn to see Brent standing with a popular girl who has been picking on me all year. He has his arm around her.

Ann, the girl, laughs. “I can’t believe he actually fell for it,” She says to Brent.

“What do you mean?” I ask, taking a step forward. Brent and Ann recoil simultaneously. My heart drops into my stomach.

“It’s a joke, Lane,” Ann sneers. I notice there’s a crowd of her friends and Brent’s other friends around them and they’re all snickering or talking to each other while pointing at me. 

I look at Brent who has a cocky look on his face. “Got ya,” He says in an amused manner, shrugging. Ann bursts into a fit of laughter.

Tears prick at the corner of my eyes and I feel like I’m about to have a panic attack. I back up as Brent pouts, saying “Aw, can’t take a joke?”

I don’t have it in me to ask if he’s just been pretending to be my friend the entire time. It’s obvious to me that he has been. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

I turn and bolt out of the building. I dial the first number that comes to mind which isn’t my mom or dad, but Chance. He picks me up within fifteen minutes.

I take a few deep breaths. “I think I need to go to the bathroom,” I mutter, “I promise I’ll be back,” I add quickly, worried he’ll think I’m just saying that as an excuse to ditch him. 

“Okay,” Mell gives me a warm smile and leans back in his seat. “I’ll be here.” There’s something comforting about the way he says that.

I nod and stand, rushing into the bathroom. I stall out in front of the two options before me, “MEN” and “WOMEN” bathrooms. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I can’t go into the men’s room looking like this but I have never been in a women’s bathroom before. Ever. 

I take a deep breath and push the door to the women’s room open. Nobody is there, thank God, so I rush for the sink and take the wig and wig cap off my head. I stare intensely at myself in the mirror with just the makeup on my sweaty face with my short black hair. I feel like I’m going to be sick so I turn the faucet on and splash some cold water on my face.

I end up wiping off as much of the makeup as I can, scrubbing my face almost raw when some of it doesn’t come off. Makeup is too sturdy these days. I’m on the verge of tears, but this time not happy ones because I feel like I’m failing myself by doing this. It’s just all so confusing, though. I also can’t help but feel like this is another elaborate joke being pulled on me, just like the one Brent pulled on me back in high school. I never found out why he put so much effort into it just to crush my heart and humiliate me, but I’ve never trusted anyone’s affection except Lola’s since then. Lola and I aren’t even an item, nor have ever been. We’ve only been on a couple dates and have hooked up twice.

I look up again to see a woman staring at me. I’m not sure when she came in but she doesn’t look happy to see a male presenting person in the women’s bathroom, let alone someone looking as crazy as I do right now with a face half made up and half not and hair wild from being under a wig for hours. 

She opens her mouth to speak but I interrupt her. “I’m sorry, I’m leaving,” I mumble. I grab my wig and push past her before I can burst into tears. I don’t know why but I expected my first women’s bathroom experience to be much more validating than this. I feel like a fucking failure. 

Mell is facing away from me in his seat at our table when I exit the bathroom, sniffling and crying quietly. I don’t want to face him like this. I know I promised him I’d return, but I just can’t do that right now. “Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath, and bolt from the cafe before he can turn around.