Brody took the shower after Walde, unsatisfied. That was when Kelsey's dad walked in, because Brody had accidentally left the door unlocked. He was a muscular and good-looking Japanese man, but depressed in his very bones, and especially around the eyes. He had a scraggly but well-trimmed beard, and a soft breath to his lungs. Brody found herself enamored, for this was her first time seeing him. She felt the same guilt she had when she saw Kelsey's mom bend over in the kitchen, jeans and all. She was a curvy woman of long, brown-reddish hair, and plush breasts, was just as lucky for her husband as her husband was for her. And Brody, consumed with lust and angry at her father for abandoning both her and her mother Brindala, wanted them both. She froze, looking for something to say that would get him behind that door, and into her arms. He saw her through the glass of the shower stall, but his eyes showed no interest. He was a satisfiable man with a loving wife. He had no need for such vices and distractions.
He simply said, "Gomenasai," and then, "sorry."
And then he left, and Brody stared. She grabbed her breast, took the shower head, and put it up to her vagina. She had to lift her balls to the side, just to make it work. Then she turned the shower-head to maximum, and started growling. She wanted more than to be fucked and tossed aside by a burger junkie, and a useless crypcoin hoarder. She wanted a real family, real love, real friends. The world was broken, and it was everyone's fault but hers. She fingered herself while imagining Kelsey's parents sharing her, and then sat in the shower regretting it until the water lost its heat. But she did not.

The next day, Brody was dressed up in her new tanktop and baggy women's jeans. First, she paid rent to Kelsey's parents, for the past month. She could afford it just fine, but had developed a raw crush, and secretly fantasized she could get a discount for sharing their bed. But she couldn't find the words to ask, because it didn't seem fair to Kelsey. Brody walked down to the bus stop, and rode it downtown. She visited Bedishi and Beelza, and paid what she owed in full. Beelza's jaw dropped, and she became enraged.
"You had this the whole fucking time? And you let me pay your half?!" she screamed.
Brody shook her head. "No, I... found work. And I've been saving up. Do you want it, or not?"
Bedishi was happy to accept it, but Brody made sure to pay Beelza, instead. That way, Beelza would be forced into responsibility with the funds, to pay Bedishi. In response, Bedishi raised her rent to one thousand.
"That's not FAIR!!" Beelza raged. "You can't RAISE my RENT!! I was ALREADY PAYING YOU MORE!!"
Bedishi looked done with her. She'd been forced to live with Beelza alone, without Brody as a distraction, or moderator. She'd often thought of herself as the referee, but as soon as it was just the two of them, she was finally made to realize that it had been Brody all along. She could barely take Beelza's screaming, crying, and bitching any longer. "Actually," Bedishi said without patience, "I can. Now it's split two ways, isn't it? Just you and me. Unless you want Brody to move back in."
"I-" Beelza grew red in the face, and stopped talking. "Fine. At least I have what he owes me." Then Beelza stormed off to her room, screaming under her breath.
Bedishi gave Brody a hug. "You look great, by the way. Are you going trans, now? Your make-up is lovely."
Brody remembered she had never once let it slip that she was intersex; that while Beelza was complaining of her cramps and mood swings, and Bedishi bemoaned her menopause, Brody was going through practically the exact same thing as any young woman, unnoticed and unforgiven. In fact, her cycle was just a week after Beelza's. Under their roof, she was scrutinized for every slip of her tone, every roll of the eyes, every rise of emotion; held to the standards of a marble statue, while Beelza stormed and stomped, gobbled her emotions, and roamed about unfettered. That when Bedishi and Beelza had once gone into her dresser to go through her things, they had run out just as quick when Brody caught them examining her bras. Beelza believed they were for 'back support'. They would come to any conclusion they needed to, just to avoid the obvious conclusion: that Brody was as much a woman as they were, only she didn't bleed. But she did, like them, feel.
"Uhh, sort of," she said. "Just playing with the idea, riding the line."
"I have a friend at work whose son is trans," she said. "I'm sorry to say, but I won't be able to pay for your surgery."
Brody was a bit stunned at that response... Bedishi's first thought was to deny what she saw as a threat to her finances. "That's okay," said Brodina. "I'm keeping everything I've got."
Bedishi asked one more thing. "Do you trust Beelza's new boyfriend? I only ask because while I was gone, the two of you must have... y'know."
Brody was disgusted with the question. "No, grandma. We did not 'y'know'. Nor do I want to."
Bedishi looked confused. "Really? I could have sworn. The tension between you two..."
"Tension isn't always sexual," Brody shrugged. "Sometimes it's just hate."

Brody went back to the streets, out looking for a more mentionable line of work. She had a stack of resumés in her backpack, so thick it took half the whole pack of paper. She hunted up and down the avenue for 'Help Wanted signs', but for half of them, she was told to apply online. In a bakery she didn't know was 'Northern Confederate-owned', she was told to 'get the fuck out, no trannies allowed'. But eventually, Brody did run out of paper. She decided to go to the library, to write her essay. She wanted not just to enter the contest, but to win. She'd lived enough of both the Wumpet and Wipestain life of her own accord to know: it was rampant incest, stark coersion, blatant extortion, threats, blackmail, and malignant secrecy. It was aggression and affection on impulse, without romance or purpose. By the time she'd finished her first draft, she was half-convinced she should take over the White House herself, if only to scrub out the orange stains from the walls. But it was hubris, and she knew it. And then, with coffee expended, she grew bored. That was when she saw Lista, the cute blonde with fringe bangs and wide, beautiful curves on a lovely thin body. Her face was as smart as it was elegant. She'd put on a bit of weight herself, just as Brody was slimming down. She worked there, at the library, and Brody had always loved to see her. Without understanding why, since they'd first met, Brody had a near-violent need to be near her, which scared and consumed him. And yet it was only two years ago that they'd even met. Brody wondered if she'd like Kelsey. Or Tina. Or Walde. Or maybe even Stode, or Nate. Or her father, Krinjec – a thought which she then remembered does, in fact, hurt her.
Brody had, however, already gotten close once, and screwed it up royally.
"My friend knows you," Lista had said that fateful day.
"Caybert? Yeah! I know Caybert. We used to have school together. Uh, class. Back in the seventh grade. He was in the ninth, though." Brody had met Lista through this friend, and was a bit disturbed to see that she was two years younger than Brody herself. The way she partied, though, she had to have faced worse than Caybert – he was a snuggle-voiced Filipino guy with a terrible sense of humor, and an unusual motivation to be as childishly raunchy as possible. He ran a VR porn chatroom, and it looked like he'd been grooming her in it since she was twelve. But when asked, she said nothing had ever happened. Brody grew attached her her, all the while suspecting something, but deciding it didn't affect his feelings. He spent months getting to know her, and she spent months getting to know him. But just when it looked like love had sparked, when he'd confessed his 'like' to her, he'd been shown by Caybert the very chatlogs in which he'd sexted her. Caybert was bragging, not having realized that Brody and Lista had gotten close, thinking her another one of his 'achievements'. When Brody brought it up, Lista went silent. And Brody did not, because he was distraught that she'd choose them over him. Brody, at fifteen years of age, was not a mature person – and instead of taking it like a man, sent overemotional texts and cried in the shower while singing. He was lucky he was still a foster child at the time, because otherwise, he'd never have had the time – for all Beelza complained about how hard she worked, she seemed to have spent an awful long time at home, doing absolutely nothing. And Brody spent much of that time trying to win Lista back, unaware she'd already moved in with Heydant – one of Caybert's older friends. Brody believed he could be a gentleman about it, and remain her friend no matter what – but that wasn't how she saw it. Though she occassionally texted back, and did accept his apology for 'bitching'; though she swore she never even read the texts, all the same, she gave him distance instead of farewell. But the worst was yet to come. Brody had just struck an interest in Biblical Prophecy, and hoped with some delusional fervor that it would cure his lovestruck and heartbroken ails. What he would later call 'a bit of a phase' was a series of long-form, unceasing, and blustering texts regarding the Time of Revelations, the identity of the Lamb, and his unfounded theory that he himself may just be, by vicarity and with respect to all others 'just like him', a Christ. And that this time, 'the return of Christ would be many, rather than just one' – and that he was one of them. What he did not text was that his delusions had grown so great, he was starting to believe he was God. Even at his worst, he still had much to restrain. He sent her theory after theory, myth after myth, until his texts went from blue to green, and his calls went from missed to unplaceable. After a while, they simply could not be completed as dialed. He'd been using her DM's as a personal rabbit-hole journal, instead of respecting that the conversation between them had ended long ago. It was no wonder she'd blocked him... he had gone completely insane. He did, however, manage to track her down once more, and found her new number by retraceing it from a phone he sneakily checked at her place of work, when she wasn't there – and while the cashier was distracted. There was her name, a few scrolls down, in Caller ID. So he called it, and apologized profusely for what he'd done. And she told him, very calmly, that it was okay – and that it was noble of him to worry for her, and that she forgave all of his insanity. She was, after everything, an angel of forgiveness. But she was also pregnant, with Heydant's child. And it was the last phone call they ever had. She'd gotten so skilled at avoiding him at school, that he never saw her again.
That was until today. Brody could barely believe his luck to have seen her, but also, berated himself for stalking her out again, this time without even meaning to do so. She would think he was some kind of serial killer.
Surprisingly, that was exactly what seemed to intrigue her. "Whaaaat are you doing here?" she asked, with a red flush to her face.
Brody blinked. She looked scared, and attracted at the same time. It was as if she believed she was part of a drama thriller, and she was the romantic villain. Brody could have missed that expression before, because he'd not yet tasted the fruits of love. But now, it was unmistakeable.
"I'm writing an essay," she replied. "I'm also a girl now, I dunno if you noticed."
"I do! I notice that. I'm seeing it," she said, with a trembling voice.
"I was here before, getting books. I didn't see you here."
Lista rolled her eyes, "Yeah, it's my first week. I needed a summer job."
"Same, but that didn't work out," Brody complained. "Actually, my last job was worse than not having one."
"Tell me about it," Lista laughed.
"I'd rather not," said Brody, through clenched teeth.