Chapter Four

“Women are such beautiful creatures. Why do I have to like men?”

The sky was pissing again.

Guess all the tears I didn’t cry decided to fall back down on me.

I usually don’t use an umbrella when walking from school to the LRT.

Unspoken rule: any guy who uses an umbrella for that short—yet long-enough-to-get-soaked—stretch is gay.

Not today.

I’d just ironed my dress shirt, and somehow, my hair still held its shape after seven hours of… whatever school is supposed to be.

I was pulling out my umbrella under the awning when I saw him—Deral.

Some guy from my class. Rumors said he eats five Big Macs a day. I don’t care about that. But he sure cared about the fact that I’m trans.

How do I know? Because unlike the others who whisper behind my back, he actually asked.

And to my surprise, he didn’t care. Didn’t hate me.

Didn’t shove me down the stairs, stick gum on my pants, or lock me in a classroom.

He’s actually… kind.

Let me sit beside him once ‘cause he saw me sitting alone.

Not gonna lie—I didn’t hate that.

It was during a meet-the-parents event.

Neither of us had our parents there.

He asked me more about what being trans meant. I explained the best I could.

Then he grabbed my left arm.

“Is that the Planet Watch?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

I pulled back.

He wasn’t looking at the watch.

He saw the scars.

But anyway, back to now.

“You got an umbrella?” I  asked.

“No.”

“Get in.”

So we shared mine.

I held it with my right hand, kept him on my left—on purpose. I didn’t want our shoulders touching.

But I forgot I’m vertically challenged. The umbrella kept knocking against his head.

The wires were probably digging into his skull.

“Give me that,” he said, snatching it out of my hand.

We reached the traffic light. And somehow… the space between us started closing.

Way too close.

The umbrella wasn’t helping—it was raining hard outside and hosting a full pool party underneath.

We were both soaked. And suddenly…

We both went quiet.

Real quiet.

We looked gay.

i mean why would I care,I can see pass that "teen childishness"right?

Oh, hell no.

I look like the bottom.

The green man flashed.

We started crossing—fast. Still dead silent.

And once we hit the other side, we bolted in different directions like fugitives.

I don’t know how he felt.

And honestly, I don’t want to feel anything.

But I did.

Not like that.

I think.

I don’t know, okay?

Why do I have to like men?

I have more important things to focus on,sexuality? Unimportant.

Chapter Gap

“What’s in there stays in there”

It feels… weirdly empty down there sometimes.

Never used to be this deep.

I was in the handicap toilet, staring hard at what wasn’t between my legs.

Got bored.

Rolled up a stick of toilet paper, stuck it where it should be—

—and forgot about it.

Later in class, I noticed girls giving each other weird looks.

Then they all glanced at me.

I looked around. Looked down.

The damn thing was standing up. Like the Statue of Liberty.

Must’ve shifted somehow when I walked.

I panicked a little—just a little—and started punching it down under the desk.

Nothing to see here, girls. Carry on.

After another break, I started thinking.

Even though teachers and some classmates called me a boy, most of them wasn’t sure.

And I didn’t care.

If they saw a girl, fine. Fire away.

What I am really doesn’t matter,I am whatever I need to be .

But after my little “stand up” incident…

Let’s just say they had more questions than answers.

I upgraded my gear:

Traded the toilet paper for a sock.

Tied it off with a hair tie.

Shaped it pretty damn good, honestly.

It felt dumb.

But it lived quietly in my pants, hurting no one.

For a while, I felt extra manly.

So manly I did the forbidden.

Used the boys’ toilet at school.

Normally I avoided it—it smells like a hamster graveyard in there—but the handicap toilet was occupied (some dude probably hotboxing it), and I was desperate.

Did my business. Left.

All good.

Until about thirty minutes later when it hit me.

I left my dick in the stall.

I sprinted back to the toilet, half-laughing, half-dying inside, thinking about some poor guy walking in and seeing a sock dick sitting politely on the paper box.

I shoved the door open—

—and almost gagged.

The whole place was a smoke bomb.

Two super seniors were inside, chain-smoking like it was the ’60s.

They even had cups of wine, complete with perfect little ice cubes.

Classy.

And there.

Right next to them.

My dick.

Someone had moved it out of the stall and put it on the sink, like it was part of the decor.

The two dudes stared at me.

I could tell what they were thinking.

I looked like someone who would snitch.

And they looked like guys who would make sure I never spoke again.

“Man,” I said, stepping through the smoke, “it’s a whole party in here. Impressive, gents.”

They blinked at me, suspicious.

I didn’t give them time to think.

I walked right up, grabbed my dick off the sink, stuffed it back into my pants, turned around, and gave them a casual little shhh gesture.

“Good vibes. Enjoy.”

And left.

Now we all have a secret we’re taking to the grave.