“I care.” Because I’m a moron who will be alone forever. So yeah, I kind of frigging care.
“If you guys are cool, I don’t see what the—”
“I said shut up.”
“I’m just trying to be decent here.”
Decent? Bullshit. Pouring salt in a wound. All I want to hear is: That sucks, followed by Tough shit, and then Let’s move on.
“Dylan, talk to me, man.”
The lunchroom rustles to finish up and all around me, kids dump their uneaten food in the trash. So un-Portland of them. They should compost. Not like I compost at school either, but at least everyone’s probably done their homework. Mine still sits in front of me, undone and miserable. “I have four minutes to finish physics.”
JP laughs. “Not gonna happen. Even you aren’t that smart.”
“Why are you on my case so hard, JP? Seriously, don’t you have a girlfriend to dump or something?”
“Because this is major! And you haven’t said shit to me about it, I’m dying here.”
“I’m not a sideshow.”
His perfect hair tosses off his perfect face. “Aren’t you?”
“Then why don’t you go run home and tell your mommy all about it? Oh no, wait—you can’t because she’s drunk.”
For once he’s fucking quiet.
I hunker down over my homework and try to squeeze off one problem. Just one. So it looks like I’ve done at least one frigging thing right today.
A slow clapping starts. It grows bolder and louder and I look up and there’s JP, standing on top of a chair in the middle of the cafeteria doing this weird rally clap. Everyone joins in. The entire lunchroom claps along with him, like it’s primary season and he’s running for president. Some morons in the middle cheer, because they’ll do whatever it takes to get in JP’s good graces. The kids at the far perimeter, the losers of St. Lawrence, kind of hold back, not quite sure what’s going on. I feel like one of them right now.
JP settles down the clapping like a conductor. “I know the bell’s about to ring, but I want to make an announcement,” he booms. “My best friend, right here—you might know him as the Beast—anyway, this giant hairy son of a bitch has a new girlfriend, and I think we should all, like, give him a round of applause because I never thought we’d see the day.”
Oh my god.
The lemmings cheer and my heart stops.
“Not only that, not only that”—JP throws his hands out like a puppeteer, and everybody zips it—“I have to give him credit. His girlfriend is real pretty, and it’s cool they see something in each other.” (The room fucking goes, “Awww!”) “And he’s finally met his match, because I think it’s safe to say he’s the only guy here whose girlfriend is trans. So give it up to the most open-minded guy we know, Dylan Walter Ingvarsson!”
My shit is spread out all over the table and I get books and papers sopping wet trying to scramble it into my bag, grab my crutches, and get the hell out of here. All around me is laughter, the evil uncomfortable kind, and for the briefest of moments the only thing I think is, no one deserves this.
Until JP hops down in front of me, and then all I think is, I’m going to kill him.
“Is it true?” Bryce asks me.
“Uh…”
JP nods. “True. Met her yesterday. Dylan is ahead of his time.”
“I didn’t know you were such a fag, Dylan,” Ethan says.
“I’m not gay!”
“Not buying it. You have to be gay, because this whole trans thing is bullshit,” Bryce says. “I don’t care how much surgery or how many hormones a guy does to look like a girl; you’re still a guy. You can’t change DNA.”
“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Ethan says. “Like, for real? You’re actually going out with a chick with a dick? Do you guys just blow each other all day? How does that work?”
“Look at him. A tranny makes sense. He would smother a real girl,” Bryce says.
“Hey, don’t ever call Jamie that,” JP counsels. “And you didn’t say shit when Jason came out, so be nice.”
“Yeah, but that’s different. We all knew Jason was gay since kindergarten. The Beast humping a dude in a dress is gonna give me nightmares.” Ethan makes a gagging noise.
“We’re not a thing. I like girls; she’s just a person I know,” I blurt out.
“What’s its name again?” Bryce asks.
“Jamie,” JP pops off. “And she’s got curly brown hair and wears skirts and rides a pink bike and everything. The whole nine yards.”
I give him the look of death.
His arms fold triumphantly. He might as well spray-paint Top that, bitch! on the ceiling.
Whatever bubble used to protect me and make me popular by proxy has been obliterated. I can feel it. If JP is magma at the center of the earth, I am now the moon. Even if nobody ever takes me on in an abandoned hallway or whatever, I know it’s over.
“Where does it go to school?” Bryce asks.
Ethan laughs. “We should go fuck it up. Make it put some pants on.”
“Hold up, you fucking Neanderthals,” JP says. “Leave her alone.”