3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
Ray
I might be starstruck. That’s not quite the right word for it; Jordie isn’t a celebrity. They’re the living embodiment of why I came to Boston. The way they wear their pronouns out in the open seems like a promise that someday I can too. It still doesn’t seem real that the hottie from Randy’s is actually in my class. I want to know myself the way Jordie seems to.
Until I sat next to them, I was more than half-convinced I’d made a terrible mistake by moving so far from home. The overwhelming barrage of information packed into each syllabus makes it feel like I’m way behind before I even start.
I messaged all three of my brothers during lunch, totally freaked out that there is no way I can get through this semester. Adam, Darren, and even Luke all reassured me that several months’ worth of work sounds like a ton no matter how it’s presented.
They all promised that if I stay on top of my studies, I’ll be fine. I’m trying to trust that, but it would be easier if they weren’t all so darn good at school; it’s always been harder for me to get decent marks. Part of that is how hard it is to focus when there’s an itch just under my skin at the incongruence between who I am and my appearance.
I spend the entire psych lecture trying not to let on just how exhilarating it is that Jordie gave me the space to define myself. Stay chill, even though I’m giddy that someone so effortlessly cool wants to talk to me. I’m an enormous ball of new crush feelings wrapped up in euphoria over finally sharing my name with someone. I can’t tell if I want to kiss them or be them—probably both. That’s nothing new to my bi heart.
I keep glancing over at Jordie, admiring their style and their hair and their smile. Today they’re wearing a preppy polo, velvet blazer, and a khaki cargo skirt for class. And they wink at me when they catch me looking a little too long. I flush and try to focus on the professor, relaxing more than I have all day. For the first time, I let myself hope I made the right choice coming to Northeastern.
Class ends and I scramble to gather all my stuff, hoping the Jordie still wants that coffee together, but not daring to ask. They stand and squeeze past me to snag a spare syllabus from the stack at the end of the row of desks for me.
“Here, ready to go?” Jordie asks, smiling at me as I take the syllabus and shove it into my bag along with most of my books. I keep out my math textbook for later since it strains the zipper on my bag and I want something to occupy my hands.
“Oh, yeah. Coffee time!” I give them a tentative grin.
“Cool, come on, I have another lecture later, so we should stay on campus. That work for you?”
“Yeah. Me too. I have a break and then math.” I wrinkle my nose at the required math credits. Jordie gives me a sympathetic look.
“Let’s get going then.” They lead the way out of the building.
I am freaking out as I try to match my pace to Jordie’s. They’re so much cooler than I’ll ever be. The memory of them deflecting our professor’s attention away from my clumsy tumble would be enough to have me enamored, but there’s so much more to it. The way they casually wrote their pronouns along with their name was… it was everything.
It gave me the courage to finally do what I fled my home and even my country to do. Claim a part of myself that I just couldn’t be back home where I was the beloved daughter and sister. The only girl in a generation. Where I could only refute that label inside my head. Not a girl. I’m not.
All my siblings and cousins are guys, and my folks have never been shy about sharing how thrilled they were to have a daughter. So how could I tell them it was a false alarm, surprise, you actually got a fourth son, not the daughter you wanted so badly? Yeah. I can’t imagine how that will go over.
They love me—that’s never been in any doubt. I don’t think they’ll be upset that I’m trans so much as it will hurt them to realize how much pressure they put on me to be something I’m not. Maybe. I hope. Unless I’m misjudging things terribly.
I shove thoughts of coming out to my family to the back of my mind and focus on Jordie. They turn toward me, their gorgeous curls bouncing with every stride and entrancing me. I like them, but I don’t want to make it obvious and spoil this first overture of friendship. There’s no way this is a date. Someone so confident and gorgeous couldn’t possibly see anything they want in me, right? Not when I can barely stand to be seen the way I currently look. I clutch my book against my chest like a shield.
“So, my favorite spot for desserts and a chat isn’t actually on campus. Randy’s Diner is the best. Have you been yet?” Jordie asks, drawing me out of second-guessing what we’re doing here.
“Um, yeah, my aunt took me there for some pie as a ‘welcome to the Boston queer scene’ thing,” I say. I bite my lip, debating whether to mention that I saw them there with their friends.
“Nice.” They cock their head, giving me a quizzical look. They seem to think better about prying into the details. Like they know I’m not entirely out. “It’s definitely a great safe space to be queer. We’ll have to hang there sometime. But since we don’t have time for a proper sit-down today, there’s a chain place next to the campus bookstore that will do for a chat between classes.” Jordie weaves through the throngs of students with a purpose in their stride that I envy.
I have to scurry to keep up as they dodge a group of jocks tossing a ball between themselves. My arms ache from carrying all my books with me all day. Apparently that was a mistake and I should start leaving them in my room unless I actually need one to study.
Who knew we’re expected to do the daunting amount of reading listed in each syllabus on our own time? A chapter or more every week from each of the brick-like books seems totally excessive, but I’ll have to figure it out, I guess. I fall behind. Jordie glances back at me with a sheepish smile.
“Sorry, bet you’re dying trying to jog after me in that hoodie, huh? It’s hot today.” Jordie slows their pace to match mine and keeps walking. “So, what’s your coffee preference?”
“I like it hot and dark.”
“Ah,” Jordie pulls a yuck face. “So, not with enough sugar to give you cavities?”
“No thanks. Dental work is the worst.”
Jordie nods. “Yeah, but totally worth it for sweet, sugary goodness. Does that mean you wouldn’t want to split a slice of lemon loaf?”
“I like cookies and stuff; I just prefer my coffee unadulterated,” I say, flushing at the mental image of Jordie feeding me a bite a cake. My lips parting for the elegant fingers that first spelled out the question that made it seem safe to tell someone the name that’s gotten stuck behind my teeth every time I’ve opened my mouth to share it. No cake could be any sweeter than that moment.
I thought it would be easier here. In a new city, meeting new people. That I’d be able to just write it on the name badge they gave me at the orientation table that first day. Instead, it was like my fingers had a mind of their own, writing the name I came here to escape on autopilot.
One guy in my orientation group actually introduced himself as Squirrel, unapologetically announcing that if university wasn’t the place to try something different, then when could he? I wish I had half his confidence.
I didn’t even dare to ask about changing the name on my school email to a preferred name. Aunt Marie-Claire even suggested that they can use my nickname instead of my full legal name if I just asked since I’ve never gone by my full name. I just, couldn’t do it.
No matter how many times I’ve hyped myself up to just do it, I still default back to the name on my student ID with everyone except Jordie. They make it seem less scary to try on the name that’s remained locked up in my head, like a secret. Like the illicit thrill of sneaking around to try on hand-me-down dress clothes that I purloined from my brothers and hid in the back of my closet.
“That’s fair. So, yes to sharing?” Jordie bumps shoulders with me and I don’t know whether to lean into the friendly touch or if that would be weird. I’m still trying to wrap my head around Jordie wanting to spend time with me. “My treat,” they wheedle when I don’t answer right away.
I’m so flustered that I just nod, clutching my books more tightly to the floppy chest I wish I could will out of existence.
“Cool.” Jordie grins at me. “So, is this your first year?”
“Um, sort of?” I grimace, because that’s proven to be a weirdly difficult to answer question even though practically everyone on campus asks it. “I’m technically a transfer student, but our system back home is a little different?”
“Oh? Where is home? France?”
“Montreal. So, after high school, we have CEGEP before university. I did three years of a dual focus pre-university CEGEP program and applied here, so I’m technically a second-year transfer student?”
“But you already did three years?”
“Yeah, but only some credits transferred and the first year is equivalent to grade 12?”
“Huh. Here I was thinking everyone went to college right out of high school. Cool. So, is that a Canadian thing?”
“No, just Quebec. It’s sort of based on the French school system.”
“Ah. Gotcha. So you really are fluent then?”
“Bilingual, yeah.”
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help me study for my French class then? Last year’s oral exams kicked my ass and I need one more semester to graduate.”
“Oh, yeah. I can help you practice your French. Je serais heureux d’aider un séduisant comme toi.”
Jordie gives me a blank look and I flush. Right. So maybe they need more help than I'm prepared for. Or they aren’t into flirting with me? Either way, French tutoring would be a small price to pay to stay in their orbit.
“I’m not entirely sure what you said, but if you need to gender me, I prefer la féminin en fran?ais.” They wink at me. Ah, well at least they seem to have recognized the gender of my clumsy come on, calling them a hottie.
“Le féminin, noted.” I correct the wrong gendered article automatically, then swallow hard as their words sink in and I take in the femme cut of their clothing. They look good, but I probably shouldn’t eye fuck my first university friend in front of a café. I swallow hard and tear my eyes back to their face.
Jordie smiles at me. “Here we are.”
They sweep open the door to the coffeeshop, stride up to the counter and order for us both, tapping their card to pay before I can protest. Not like my plain filter coffee is going to break the bank or anything, but still. There’s something utterly enchanting about their confidence.
The barista plates the lemon cake and pours my coffee into a ceramic mug, which Jordie hands to me with a big smile.
“Thank you.” I can’t tear my gaze away from theirs as our fingers brush on the warm mug. I have to hide my face in that first heavenly sip of the dark roast.
“So, Ray. What are you studying?” Jordie asks as we loiter near the counter, waiting for their caramel macchiato.
The sounds of the coffee shop are soothingly familiar. This is just like going for drinks after class with my friends back home. The hiss of a steam wand and whirr of a blender accentuate normal small talk. But it feels different here, with Jordie saying the name I could never quite bring myself to tell even the baristas who took my order back home. Maybe I could have worked up to it here, where I don’t recognize any of the faces on either side of the counter?
“Oh, um, I’m a psych major. I want to do art and play therapy for kids, but it’s going to take a lot of school before I can get there. My faculty advisor said I need to take the 101 class over since it’s ‘foundational’ to my further studies here?” I pull a face.
I already took a similar class back home, so it seems silly to pay to repeat it, but I also really want to make it easier for kids like me to find their voices. Considering I’m still struggling with that at twenty. At least my dual CEGEP program paid off with enough of my art credits transferring to meet the requirements of a fine arts minor.
Jordie laughs. “So you’re not loving psych 101 either then?”
“Nope. It’s so many people and just skimming the syllabus makes it seems like a rehash of the class I took last year. But that was one of the credits that didn’t transfer properly, so here we are.”
“Indeed. I guess it worked out.” Jordie nudges my shoulder playfully.
“Did it?” I arch a brow at them as the barista calls their name.
“Yeah, I got to meet you.” They wink at me, then claim their drink with a flirty smile for the barista while I stare at them in a sort of amazed thrall. I can’t dispute that I’m glad our paths crossed, even if my stumble into their lap might just be the single most mortifying moment of my life.
They don’t seem to hold my clumsiness against me. I’m under no illusions that they missed feeling what’s under my oversized hoodie anymore than I missed the erection prodding my ass by the time I righted myself. Just physical stimulation having natural consequences, nothing more, but yeah, I’d love a chance to sit on their lap in a more planned and consensual context.
I shake that thought right back out of my head. I’m getting ahead of myself. Jordie is the first friend I’m starting to make here, so my libido can chill out.
“Want to grab a table?” Jordie tips their head toward a free seat in the corner. I nod and follow them across the room.
“What about you? What’s your major?” I ask as we sit.
“History with a poli-sci minor. I’m applying to law school.” Jordie flashes me a wolfish grin, then sips their drink.
“So you like to argue?” I tease.
Jordie laughs. “Not really. Or at least, that’s not why.”
I snort and arch my brow at them. “Uh huh, not at all, huh?”
Jordie rolls their eyes at me. “Okay, so maybe I enjoy it a smidge. But I just figure it’s not always easy being queer, let alone trans. Someone has to get involved in fighting for our community, so that might as well be me.”
Our community. The words make me splutter and choke on my coffee. Except they felt my curves, and I told them my name. I want so desperately to be a part of that community that they just oh so casually folded me into. Can it really be that simple to find my place? My heart is pounding and my lungs burn as I cough up a spray of coffee. Jordie watches me with a wary concern in their eyes. Their curls bounce as they lean over me to pat my back.
“Sorry, not making any assumptions. I’m queer as fuck, but it’s cool if you aren’t.” Jordie turns the patting into gentle circles once I stop gagging on my coffee. Their touch is platonic and supportive and it makes it seem like I’m not so alone in a brand new city. It’s a lifeline that makes telling them everything easier. The heat of their hand sends the words fizzing out before I can contain them or second guess the instant sense of closeness they engender in me.
“I am,” I rush to say. “I’ve been openly bi for years. But there’s something else too.” I barely breathe the last few words, but it’s like I shed a thousand pounds of pressure for having said them. “Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone else?”
“Sure.” Jordie bumps their knee into mine.
“I think I’m trans.” I try the words and they ring hollow. Not quite right.
I clench my fists around my mug and shake my head. I thought I was trans five years ago. Back in high school, when I realized I was the only one of my friends who had a passionate and abiding hatred for our school uniform skirts that went beyond physical comfort. The required skirts felt like a shining beacon of wrongness, calling attention to parts of me I didn’t want the world to see as me.
After years of grappling with those thoughts, it’s not a tentative thought anymore. I know I’m trans. It’s everything else I don’t know how to handle. Admitting it is going to entail so many changes; I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to smile in the face of strangers whispering to each other about whether I’m a he or a she or an it. Jordie acts so poised, but I heard the students behind us gossiping about them and pointing. I noticed the empty seats around them.
“No, that’s not quite right. I am trans. I’m a guy, I mean,” I clarify.
Jordie doesn’t stop rubbing my back. “That’s great, Ray. I’m glad you told me.”
“Yeah?” The relief is like a cool breeze on my face in the late summer heat. Bright and energizing and right. I can’t hold back my smile as I search their face for their genuine reaction. Jordie stops rubbing soothing circles and I miss the touch until they squeeze my shoulder and lean in conspiratorially close.
“Yeah.” Jordie smiles at me. “Feels good to get it out there for the first time, huh?”
“Yeah.” I force a tremulous smile. It is good to say the words. But I also have a sick pit of dread in my stomach at making the words real. I know from experience that this is the first of many times I’ll have to tell someone. Not everyone is going to smile at me the way Jordie is, like they’re proud of me for finding the right words.
“So, can I ask what’s kept you from saying it before?” they ask.
I grimace and fiddle with my mug.
“No pressure.” Jordie holds up their hands in a warding gesture. “I get that it’s scary. A bunch of my friends didn’t come out until university either. Not every family understands, that’s why we—my friends, I mean—sort of made our own.”
“Does your family understand?” Anxiety clenches like a fist around my heart as I bring my coffee to my lips, only to think better of that next sip and set it back down untasted. I don’t want to consider someone as bright and friendly as Jordie getting rejected by the people who they love. My stomach feels sour just considering it.
“Oh, yeah.” Jordie waves away my worry with a dismissive flick of their wrist. I miss their touch again as they sit back in their seat and create space between us to take a sip of their sweet coffee. “My mom and step-dad are great. They helped me do the whole social transition thing over the summer after I told them, and when my old classmates were assholes about it, Dad took a job here. He’s an adjunct math professor at Northeastern, which works because him working for the school means I get cheaper tuition. That’s my step-dad, not my bio dad. Sperm donor isn’t in the picture. He left when my little brother got diagnosed.”
“Diagnosed?”
“Yeah. Liam is autistic.” Jordie watches me warily. When I don’t react poorly they open up more, their love for their sibling clear in the smile on their face as they talk about Liam. “He’s the best. Kid loves plants and poetry, and he’s on track to graduate early. He says he wants to study botany. And we have a younger sister. Technically, Kara’s our half-sister, but that’s just genetics. Do you have any siblings?”
“Yep. Three older brothers Adam, Darren, and Luke.” I sigh and pick at my cuticles to avoid seeing how Jordie reacts to me talking about the expectations that have been crushing me for years. The pressure to conform that drove me away from my home and family. “I’m the baby girl my folks were desperate for. So, that’s kind of why I didn’t tell them.”
Jordie sips their drink and gives me a measured nod. “Makes sense. But you can’t live to make other people happy, dude.” Jordie reaches to cup my hand on the table and their warmth is intoxicating. I want to sear the memory of their hand on mine into my skin. They called me dude. The word sparks joy through me. “Is that the only reason I’m the first one you’re telling?”
“No. I just—” I shrug, at a loss for words to describe everything roiling around inside of me. “I thought if I tried hard enough, I could mold myself into what everyone wants for me. For years, I got so caught up in following all these arbitrary rules of how to be a girl that now I’m not sure where to begin trying to be myself. And what if I go to all the trouble of disappointing people and telling them who I am only to discover it was all in my head? Or what if I really am a guy and I can’t ever pass as one? I don’t want to be a frea—” I stop myself and flush. That word has nothing to do with Jordie and I wish I could sink through the floor at even opening my mouth to say it to them. “Sorry. That isn’t what I think. I’m just scared.”
“Of people thinking you’re a freak like me?” They quirk a knowing brow at me. Their ever present smile turns sad as they sip their sugary drink and lean back in their chair. I recognize they’re creating a physical distance to echo the emotional chasm I just opened up between us with all the casual hate I know I’ve internalized. The word weapons I’ve barricaded myself behind so I could convince myself it was safer to pretend. It’s not though, and I abhor the impact of those words spoken out loud.
“No!” That is NOT what I meant at all.
Jordie isn’t a freak; they’re beautiful and vibrant and everything I wish I had the courage to be. Bold and brash without being in your face about it. They take up space without apologizing for it. I wish I could be like that. But I can only stare at them. Because part of me knows that’s what the world sees when they look at us, freaks. Jordie gives me hope that it can be okay to embrace what makes us who we are, but I need more time to get there. I just hope I can salvage this conversation and make them feel as safe around me as I do with them. Show them I don’t see them that way.
“No?” Jordie arches a brow at me, their entire open, friendly demeanor sharpening and closing down more. I recognize the way they’re preparing to protect themself from me and I can’t blame them. I need to fix this if I want to see them again outside of class.
“No, I don’t think you’re a freak. I get that it’s not quite the same, but my aunt Tammy is super butch and unapologetic about not conforming to gender norms. She’s one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. I only meant that about myself. I don’t know, just the whole closet thing messes with my head. Sometimes I think I’m going to burst from keeping it all inside. Other times, I read too many online comments about trans people, and some of the hate worms its way into my brain. Partly because if I didn’t have something shameful to hide, then I’d be open about it, right?”
“Wrong.” Jordie runs a hand through their unruly curls and huffs out a breath. They relax again, posture opening back up toward me. “It’s okay to take as long as you need to share who you are. I wear it like a badge of honor now, but I didn’t always. I get that it can be scary. Being visibly queer is always scary. The first time I held a boy’s hand on a date—back when I presented more masc—we were both shaking and sweaty and just plain scared. But it felt good too.”
“Did anything happen?” My nerves claw at me.
Because yeah, I was nervous the first time I went on a date with a boy too. And even more nervous the first time I kissed a girl under the bleachers at my high school. That’s nothing compared to the worry my middle brother faced when he held a boy’s hand in the wrong parts of town. I remember the first time he came home from a date rattled by hecklers who followed them to the metro.
It’s not that I’m new to being different. It’s just, everything about my early dating life felt so topsy-turvy because when I was holding a boy’s hand, it felt more taboo than kissing a girl. Taboo and confusing because I was the only one who realized it wasn’t the same as my oldest brother kissing his girlfriends. Like I was the only one who could see that we weren’t the cute straight couple everyone assumed we were. That my girlfriend wasn’t what made me queer. Queerness is a fundamental part of me that is always there, no matter who I date. That it would still be that way even if I was the girl they all thought I was.
“Sure.” Jordie smiles fondly at the memory and my nerves ease. “He kissed my cheek, and we ended up making out on my front porch until my little sister interrupted to ask if I was going to turn into a frog.” Jordie laughs. “Talk about awkward first dates.”
“Ah, does that mean she thinks you’re a prince?”
“Sure,” Jordie snorts. “We can interpret it that way. But, what I’m saying is, it’s okay to be nervous. And take baby steps out of the closet. You hear about coming out like it’s this onetime scary event, but it’s not. It’s every day, all the time, every new person you meet, and it’s okay for that to be scary and overwhelming and to not be ready for it. If you need a friend who’s been there, I can listen.”
“I just…” I blow out a long breath. “How do I even start to be me?”
Jordie smirks and reaches over to give me a noogie through my toque, total big sibling vibes. I scowl at how much they remind me of my older brothers at that moment. Makes sense, given that they are a big sibling. Maybe that’s part of the magnetic draw I feel toward them. There’s something achingly familiar about the way they’ve taken me under their wing.
“Well, if you want to see how it feels to present more masculine, you’d be shocked what a difference a haircut and the right wardrobe can make.” They wink at me. “I can come shopping with you when you’re ready. And if you aren’t ever ready, we can just hang out and study. You can be my secret Ray of sunshine for as long as you need before you’re ready to share your light with the world. Sound good?”
“Yeah. That sounds… perfect.” Shockingly amazing, if either of us is a ray of sunshine, it’s definitely them. Jordie’s light makes me warm right to my toes and I want to bask in it for as long as they’ll allow. “So, study buddies?” I thrust out a hand, wanting to touch them as much as sealing the deal.
“Study buddies.” Jordie takes my hand and we shake on it.