Should I try to tell Derek about how sometimes I think just trans by itself is the best word? It’s just that I’m not sure I really consider myself a guy, necessarily, or at least not every day. I just don’t consider myself a girl. If I call myself trans I’m afraid people will think I’m a dude when the truth is, I’m really not there. Maybe someday I will be, but it also seems entirely possible that I could stay exactly the way I am right now for the rest of my life.
I don’t think I should say all that, though. Probably best not to scare Derek off with an ideological rant about the evils of labels thirty seconds after we’ve met.
“I’m genderqueer,” I say.
“That’s cool,” Derek smiles. Like this is a totally normal conversation. Like those weren’t the two most nerve-racking words I’ve ever spoken out loud. “There are a bunch of other GQs on campus.”
“There are?” I haven’t noticed any. Unless Derek is, but I doubt that. From the amount of stubble poking out of Derek’s chin, Derek’s probably been on testosterone for a while. As far as I know, guys taking hormones don’t usually identify as genderqueer. They identify as guys.
Wait. Is that right? How do I know that for sure? Maybe there are hundreds of genderqueer people at Harvard giving themselves testosterone injections as we speak.
Shouldn’t I know how all of this works, just instinctively?
Derek lets out a deep laugh, oblivious to my angst. “Yeah, believe it or not. I’m trying to get more of you guys to join the UBA. I’m the trans outreach cochair this year.”
“Who’s the other cochair?” I don’t see anyone else in a purple shirt who looks trans.
“My roommate, Nance. She couldn’t be here. Had an ultimate Frisbee game.” Derek points to a tall guy with an expensive-looking haircut wearing a jacket, tie and suit pants with a purple UBA T-shirt despite the ninety-degree heat. “That’s Brad, by the way. He’s the UBA president.”
“Why’s Brad wearing a suit?”
“Oh, he’s probably planning to change shirts and go to an informational interview this afternoon. Every time I’ve seen Brad in the past two years he’s been on his way to an informational interview.”
I laugh. My anxiety—about Gretchen, about labels, about meeting new people—is starting to fade into the background just a little.
Derek points out the rest of the UBA board members at the table. Shari, the perky blonde, is the social chair. All the other board members are guys.
“So, are you going to sign up or what?” Derek smiles at me again.
“Oh, right.” I smile back. I can’t believe how nervous I was about this.
While I wait my turn at the sign-up form, Shari notices me again. “Oh, hi there! I’m so glad you’re signing up! I see you already met Derek!”
“Yeah,” I say, surprised to see that Derek is still standing next to me. I thought the UBA people were all supposed to run back into the crowd, seeking out more converts.
“Did you meet Brad yet?” Shari asks. I look up, but Brad has retreated back behind the table and is furiously poking at a tablet.
Shari and Derek roll their eyes at each other. I’m getting the sense that Brad is president of the UBA because it means Brad gets to go on informational interviews and talk about being president of the UBA.
“Well anyway,” Shari says just as I reach the front of the line. “Ahem!”
Suddenly Shari’s voice is projecting past the table and out to the gathered crowd. The freshmen stop talking and push toward the front of the table to hear. A hush has fallen at the booths around us, too. I have to admit, Shari’s got some serious crowd-control prowess.
“You guys,” Shari says, beaming out at the rapt group, “I’m so excited to tell you what the UBA board’s decided to do this year! I know you’ll all want to be part of it. You all know that awesome new show The Flighted Ones?”
Lots of people nod. I’ve never watched The Flighted Ones, but my sister Audrey is obsessed with it. It’s about a group of twentysomethings who turn into winged superheroes at night and fly around fighting crime. Two of the characters are gay and are considered hot by the people who have opinions about such things.
“We’ve decided to have official UBA-sponsored Flighted parties every Tuesday night!” Shari says. “We’ll watch the show and have snacks! Everyone will want to come because everyone’s watching the show anyway!”
Next to me, the other freshmen murmur assent.
“Well, but that’s not all you’re doing this year, is it?” I ask.
The murmurs stop. I can feel the other freshmen looking at me. Shari and Derek are, too. Even Brad has lowered the tablet and is peering in my direction.
Crap. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Now, though, with all those eyes on me, I have no choice but to keep going.
“I mean, it’s not that I don’t like cupcakes and cheesy TV shows, because I do, sometimes,” I say. “But there’s also going to be advocacy work, right? We’re going to do stuff to address the key issues affecting the queer community?”
I stop talking when I realize Shari’s glaring at me. I shouldn’t have mentioned the cupcakes.