She looks so happy, talking to Tatianna. I keep hearing snippets of their conversation about dress shopping for the fall dance. The one Erin’s going to with Cole.
The whole “dance” thing is so dumb. The janitors cover the gym floor with thick black plastic so our shoes don’t mess it up. There’ll be punch and bad junk food, like unsalted pretzels and stale marshmallows. Some kids wear jeans and hoodies and some kids get dressed up and it feels weird, like you’re in two realities at once. It’s never helped by the creepy mix of awful gym fluorescents combined with cheap spotlights that spin colored beams over the plastic floor. One of the bus drivers is the DJ. He’ll play “Baby Shark” at least twice.
I still don’t get why Cole connects with Erin. They’re so different. She’s all sportsball and fashion and doesn’t like dogs, and he loves dogs almost as much as I do. It seems weird that they’re dating now when Erin’s not Cole’s type. Whatever his type is. Who even knows.
Maybe Ash is my type. Maybe I’m down on the dance because I was sort of hoping in the back of my mind that I might ask Ash.
There’s no way I’m asking her now. Even if she is cute and funny and loves dogs and I’m sure she’d say yes. I can’t believe she told Bella. If it gets Chewbarka killed . . .
That can’t happen.
But I’ve run out of options and time. I need to get in touch with Tina. She’s the only adult who might be able to help now.
All through second period, I work on drumming up some guts to call the vet office by thinking about how much Chewbarka needs me. When the bell rings, I duck into the bathroom and dial, my heart pounding and my palms sweating.
A receptionist answers the phone. I stumble through explaining that I’m the kid who volunteers in the afternoons, that I’m wondering if she can give me Tina’s number because I want to see how her daughter’s doing. I hear another phone line ringing, and people talking.
“Sorry, kid, it’s busy here,” the woman says. “No time to chase down a number. I’ll have someone call you later.”
“Okay,” I say quickly and hang up.
Crap. I didn’t give her my number.
I thump my head on the stall door. I wonder how much trouble I’d be in if I just walked out of school and went to the tent. If the trouble would be worth Chewbarka’s life.
21
Confession
Ash
By lunchtime, I can’t keep it in anymore. I sit with Griffey and everything pours out: how Bella found the Gatorade video and is gonna blackmail me. How Daniel hates me now and all I wanted to do was help save this dog and keep Daniel from falling apart. How I feel like I’m falling apart now, and I was going to tell Daniel, I really was, about not being a girl, but now he’ll find out from someone else and I can’t even—
“Whoa, calm down.” Griffey grabs my arms and looks at my face. “Just so I have this right . . . Bella’s threatening to out you if you don’t tell her where the dog is?”
“Yes.” I’m practically hyperventilating. “And Daniel will see it and he’ll hear those kids deadnaming me and calling me the flip-flop freak and he’ll know I’m not always a girl—like I’m not anymore, I’m a guy now—” I hiccup on the fear. “And what if he pulls a Tyler? What if Bella’s dad finds out and Chewbarka gets killed and it’s all my fault?” I cover my face and try to get a full breath in. Crying is not an Asher thing. It’s all Ashley.
“Lord, boy.” Griff pulls me in for a hug. He’s the very best friend on earth because he knows exactly how long he can do it before I crack. He pushes me away at just the right second. “How’d she find the video?”
“I don’t know. It’s everywhere on social. It couldn’t have been hard to find a purple-haired Oakmont kid named Ash Haley who can’t pick a gender.”
“We’re gonna fix this,” Griff says with certainty.
“How?” I ask, reeling my freak-out in.
His eyes narrow and he gets that hint of a smile before he does something that winds up with him in trouble. “You’ll see,” he says.
He won’t tell me anything else.
I don’t know if I feel better or not.
In photography class, we finally get to take our pinhole cameras out of the room to do our photos. I’m getting big ol’ leave-me-alone vibes from Daniel, so I go left out of the room, even though the plan I wrote yesterday involves the mural by the cafeteria and now I’m walking the wrong way. I glance back to see if Daniel’s gone yet. He’s way at the other end of the hall, looking like he wants to talk to me. But then he steps around the corner and is gone.
I slide down the wall, hug my oatmeal box, watch the clock, and wait. If I used my pinhole camera right now to make a selfie, I could title my photo Angsty teen boy huddled in hallway, tag it #emo, and collect a slew of likes from other angsty kids.
I doubt there are many middle schoolers with this particular flavor of angst. I don’t want to lie to Daniel about being a girl anymore. It feels like I’m wearing a mask over the truth of who I am. But I don’t want to lose him either. He’s one of the most caring people I’ve ever met. He cares even when it hurts him. When it’s inconvenient. When it gets him in trouble and costs him his friends. I love that about him.
I hope his compassion means there’s a future where I can be who I am without losing him.
Daniel doesn’t show up till almost the end of the period. He sees me sitting in my angst ball on the floor and steps
