With that I’m nervous again.
Derek’s room has a huge common area that’s a lot nicer than mine. It has a bar on one side, a big-screen TV and two leather couches. As the door swings open, I see two people sitting hunched over on a couch in front of the unlit fireplace, arguing about what sounds like the plot of a video game involving toy ponies. When they see me, they stop talking right away.
“Toni,” Derek says, “this is Nance and Eli.”
Nance and Eli wave. Then in unison, as if they rehearsed it, they say, “Yo.”
Then both of them, and Derek, too, start laughing and talking about how funny it is that they both said “Yo” at the same time.
I wave back.
Derek goes over to sit on the couch, perching on the arm and gesturing for me to come join them.
I do. All three of them smile back at me.
They look almost like a family, hanging out here. They remind me of my group of friends back home. Except that in my group of friends back home, I was the only one who was trans.
“Hey,” I say. I try to smile at them as coolly as possible. In this moment, my greatest wish in the world is for the people in this room to like me.
“Toni and I met at the UBA table at the activities fair,” Derek tells the others.
An extremely short Asian person with extremely tall pants stands and slaps my hand. “Hey, man. I’m Eli.” Eli’s voice is very high.
“This is Nance,” Derek says, pointing to the girl who’s still sitting down. “Nance, Toni’s helping us with the transition guide.”
Nance squints at me through a pair of glasses that are almost identical to my own.
“You’re a freshman?” Nance asks in a Southern accent that sounds fake.
“Yep,” I say. “Sorry.”
Eli and Derek laugh.
“S’okay, man. You can’t help it,” Derek says.
I sit down on the couch next to Eli, determined to act as if I fit in here. “What, are you all sophomores?” I ask.
“No way! We look like sophomores to you?” Eli asks.
Eli’s the only one whose gender presentation I can’t figure out. I’m pretty sure Derek’s a trans guy, and I’m pretty sure Nance, whose haircut is almost identical to mine, is a butch lesbian. I can’t tell about Eli, though.
“Sorry, no, you all look really old,” I say, even though Eli looks about nine. All three of them laugh. “Grad students?”
“Juniors,” Nance says, then turns to Derek. “Was tabling as vile as usual?”
Derek shrugs. “Will you guys please at least show up at the next meeting? Don’t make me and Toni fend for ourselves all year.”
I try not to smile, but I’m positively giddy that Derek’s including me this way. As if I’m already part of the group.
“No way,” Nance says. “I put up with those bitches enough as it is. I’m sick of hearing Brad go on and on about how he’s one of the first out gay guys in his final club. It’s like, way to be a groundbreaker. You’re a rich white guy who got a bunch of other rich white guys to let you pay them to be their friend. Five points to Brad.”
Eli laughs. “I might go to a meeting or two. I like free cupcakes.”
“Does Shari make those for all the meetings?” I ask.
“Usually,” Derek says. “She’s gotten good at the food coloring. Every meeting has a different theme. Maybe she won’t make them next time, though, now that you called her out on it.”
“No way!” Nance says. “Did he really?”
It takes me a second to realize Nance is talking about me.
“Yeah, and you should’ve seen it,” Derek says. “Toni opens his mouth once, and Shari’s all over him.”
Okay, now Derek’s doing it, too.
No one’s ever called me by male pronouns before.
It’s strange. Not necessarily bad. It’s...I don’t know what it is, actually.
“So, Toni, what’s your story?” Nance asks. “You got somebody back home?”
“Back home?” Was Nance asking about my parents? I don’t usually rant about my mom to people until I know them better.
“You know, like a girlfriend?” Eli blushes. “I mean, or a boyfriend, or whatever?”
“Oh. Yeah.” A boyfriend? How weird. First the pronouns, now this. It’s been years since anyone thought I was into guys. “My girlfriend goes to NYU.”
“Cool,” Derek says. “Do you have a picture?”
“Yeah.” I try to ignore the familiar twinge of anxiety that’s flared back up in my stomach now that we’re talking about Gretchen and flip through the photos on my phone until I find a good one. “This is us at Queer Prom last year.”
“You had a Queer Prom at your high school?” Nance asks. “Where are you from?”
“DC,” I say.
“Oh,” Nance says. “Figures.”
I want to ask what Nance means by that, but then Eli peers at my phone and whistles like a trucker. Except with Eli’s high-pitched voice it sounds more like a teakettle.
“Nice,” Eli says. “Very nice.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a definite hottie there,” Nance says.