Ciel Read online

  2

  Trouble at Simonne Monet-Chartrand

  I took a quick trip through Monet-Chartrand High School the day I registered. I remember more or less what part of the building my classes are in, but the hallways are so endless they make me dizzy. There are three levels: first, the ground floor, where the atrium is—the big open space where people hang out before classes—and the lockers, stretched out along the yellow corridors that smell a little like mold. Then there’s the second floor, with the cafeteria, and the third floor with the little auditorium that is also used for school meetings and assemblies. The classrooms occupy the second and third floors. The student entrance is on the ground floor, and leads directly into the hallway where the first-year kids have their lockers. That’s where I’ll be.

  The locker that I share with Stephie isn’t in too bad shape. I brought along the little stuffed crocodile my father gave me last week, and stick her tail into one of the slits in the door.

  Stephie comes skipping up.

  “How’s it going, cutie pie?”

  “Don’t call me that!”

  “Okay, don’t lose your cool. What’s with the green stuffy?”

  “Georgette the crocodile. I figured she could be our locker mascot.”

  “I like her already!”

  She starts transferring the contents of her backpack onto one of the two top shelves. No one would ever guess we’re friends by looking at us. There’s me, with my long, messy chestnut hair, my mixed-up clothes, and my dazed and confused look. Then there’s Stephie, with her smooth, dark hair, her soft smile, and her shiny little ballerina shoes. She’s so pretty, if you ask me.

  I remember how happy my father was when Stephie and I became friends. It was in October, we were in grade four. After my mother died, two years before, I didn’t talk to anyone. During recess, I would get harassed by grade five guys who called me “fag” and “fairy.” One day, Stephie heard them. She got so angry she started yelling at them, and they ran for cover. She really scared them! Back then, she used to wear pink dresses and animal barrettes in her hair (she’d kill me if she knew I was telling you that!). She looked like the perfect little girl.

  After that, we started hanging out together at school, then she invited me to her house. We dressed up and she painted my nails. I felt a lot better, not just because she was nice to me, but she made me feel I didn’t have to dress like a boy. My father let me wear what I wanted to at home, but I was afraid people would make fun of me at school. Stephie had so much self-confidence that being with her helped me slowly feel more comfortable at school. When he found out I was friends with Stephie, my father called her mother, and wanted to meet her. They still talk a lot. Apparently, having trans kids makes people come together.

  Once her backpack is empty, Stephie leans against the locker next to ours.

  “All ready for today?”

  “More or less. But I’m sorry I didn’t have my name changed on the teachers’ lists, the way you did. I’m going to get called by a boy’s name for the rest of the year.”

  “You’ve got ten minutes before the bell to make up your mind. You could go see your teachers and explain. My mother met mine last week, to make sure they would act the right way with their trans students. She asked them to be discreet about me.”

  Stephie’s mother, Alice, is very involved in everything that has to do with trans people. She teaches sociolinguistics at the university. That’s like social studies, but less boring. She’s on TV all the time, and journalists consult her if they are writing something about trans issues. Though Alice isn’t trans herself. It’s funny how they trust non-trans more than trans people when it comes to our experiences.

  Actually, Stephie could have gone and talked to the teachers herself. So could I have, if I had decided to. I could have done a few tap dance steps for them while I was at it, why not?

  “I hope your mother told the teachers to give us As and no homework.”

  Stephie laughs. “Right! Otherwise they would be guilty of being transphobic.”

  I can always make her laugh. That’s my role in our relationship, and I like it. Besides, that way people think I’m bursting with self-confidence, even if the opposite is true. Stephie leans over and whispers to me.

  “You won’t forget, right? Not a word about me being trans. We won’t even bring up the subject. I’d like to be something other than that ‘trans girl’ this year.”

  “But there are plenty of people from our old school here.”

  “I know that. But I want to have the chance to start all over with the new kids. You can bet I’m going to do that!”

  She told me all about it the last time we talked on the phone. We call each other a lot. She wants to be less visible at school and make more cisgender friends. That’s the word for people who aren’t trans. I understand her. When the kids at school always see you as different, you end up feeling exhausted. And you know that the way you’re different is going to influence how people act toward you. But I don’t know if I could do what she wants to. I’d get stressed out if I thought someone might “discover” that I’m trans once they’re friends with me. I’d be sad to see how they would change once they “discovered” who I am.

  Now that I know about her plan, I wonder if that means I’ll have to make sure we’re not seen together too often. It’s harder for me to hide the fact that I’m trans, since I’m much less a girl than she is. If they see that we’re always together, people could make the connection and guess that she’s trans too. I would feel bad if I ended up ruining her plans without wanting to.

  I spot Frank, her boyfriend, sneaking up behind her. He motions me not to say anything so he can take her by surprise. Too late: my eyes give me away, and she turns around. Frustrated, Frank gives her a last-chance hug, and she laughs at him.

  “Why were you sneaking around like that?”

  Stephie stands on her tiptoes to throw her arms around her boyfriend and kiss him on the cheek. I’m always amazed to see that he’s a head taller than she is, after all those years of her being taller. How long have they been going out together, a year and a half? More like an eternity! The strangest thing is, before they started seeing each other, Frank was really nasty to her. In grade four, he would bug her and make jokes about her. If you ask me, that was his awkward way of getting closer because, strange again, after they did a team project together, they started being friends. I wasn’t surprised when Frank asked her to go out with him, a year later. At first, she wasn’t so sure, since she had feelings for a girl whose name I forget—Stephie is bisexual too, like Eiríkur—but I think she was so impatient to be with someone that she would have said “Yes” to anyone. In the meantime, Frank proved he can be a good guy. He and I don’t have much in common, but we get along well enough. He’s nice to me and warm. He doesn’t really have a choice. I’m his girlfriend’s best friend, and that’s sacred.

  He and Stephie finally remember I’m there, and get unstuck. Frank combs his short black hair with his fingers, a little embarrassed.

  “You all right, Ciel?”

  “Not bad. You?”

  “I’ll get by.”

  We met at Stephie’s a few times during the summer, so this is not the most moving reunion in the world. Stephie takes one of her notebooks and slips it under her arm.

  “Okay, time for us to go. Good luck with your first class! See you at noon here?”

  “Yes,” I tell her, with the bravest face I can manage as I watch them move off toward the stairway. My throat tightens as they go. Eiríkur always used to walk me to my classes last year. We would hold hands, discreetly, to keep people from bugging us. I miss him so much. And I don’t think I know anyone in my math class. I’m off to a bad start.

  I head for my classroom, thinking about what Stephie said. It’s true, I could just tell my teacher I’d like her to use a different name from the
one on her list. Then I walk in and see she’s not even there. Unhappy, I move quickly past the other students, not meeting their eyes, and choose a table by the windows.

  Three minutes before the bell sounds. Finally, the teacher, Mrs. Campeau, walks in. She looks pretty cool. Young, with short hair. I’m sure she would understand if I asked her to change my name. Do what Stephie did. Hide the fact that I’m trans. But go up and speak to her in front of everybody? Too intimidating.

  Two minutes left. I steal a glance around. I must not be the only one who’s stressed out. Maybe there are other trans people in the class. People trying their best to disappear, like me.

  One more minute. Some people come running in. A girl I don’t know sits down at my table. She smiles. I smile back. The teacher gets up from her chair. I start to perspire.

  The bell rings.

  ♥♥♥

  “So, did you survive?”

  As she promised, Stephie is waiting for me at our locker at noon.

  “More or less. Aren’t you with Frank?”

  “He wants to eat with Viktor and his gang. What do you mean, more or less?”

  “English was okay. But my math class…. The teacher is nice enough, but when she read out our names, she was so surprised when I raised my hand after she called mine that she repeated it, just to be sure. Then the girl sitting next to me looked and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, ‘Are you a guy?’ I pretended I didn’t understand. But during the whole class, I knew she was analyzing my face, as if that could answer her question. I felt like a rat in a laboratory.”

  “No! Poor thing!”

  “Don’t worry, it wasn’t so bad. With a little luck, the next time we have math, she’ll go sit somewhere else, and I’ll have the table to myself.”

  “I hope so! My morning was pretty dull. I had English first period, and the teacher put me right to sleep. But in biology, I was with Felicia and Annabelle. You remember them?”

  “Kind of.”

  “We were in the same class for two years in a row.”

  “Really?”

  “Felicia has braces and an Afro. Annabelle is tall, with glasses.”

  “Oh, of course!”

  “She doesn’t wear glasses now, she switched to contacts.”

  I went along with Stephie because I was embarrassed, but the truth is, I have no idea whom she’s talking about. I have a lot of trouble remembering names and faces, and more likely than not, those two girls never spoke to me. A lot of times, people recognize me in the street, but I don’t know where I met them. I must be spending too much time in a parallel universe.

  “They asked me if I wanted to eat lunch with them. I said ‘maybe.’ You want to?”

  “Sure, if you do.”

  “I made them promise not to tell anyone I’m trans. You might laugh, but at first Annabelle just stared at me. I had to explain what that meant. She looked at me, completely confused, then she said, ‘Oh, I remember! You looked like a boy at the beginning of grade school. I thought it was just your style, you know, the short hair and everything. I never made the connection.’ Meanwhile, Felicia squinted at me and didn’t say anything.”

  “Hashtag OopsYouShouldn’tHaveSaidAnything.”

  We go up to the cafeteria on the second floor. Stephie spots the table where Annabelle and Felicia are sitting with some other people. They look vaguely familiar. Both of them smile when they see me.

  The one with the Afro says, “Ciel! I’m happy you’re eating with us.”

  Really? They even remember the name I chose. The tall one gives me a serious look.

  “I was wondering if you were ignoring me in math. When you walked into the room, I called to you because I wanted us to sit together, but you headed straight for the window.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  “That’s for sure! You looked completely lost in your thoughts.”

  It’s more embarrassing than I thought. Sometimes I don’t know which way is up. How come all of a sudden, these girls are acting like they’re my best friends, when we never really talked to each other? Did someone cast a spell on them, so they think I’m super cool? Or are they so terrified to be in high school that they’ve lowered their friendship standards?

  I’m happy to be part of a group, though it is a little strange. I’m not used to the company.

  Stephie gives me an encouraging smile from her side of the table.

  3

  The Big Sibling

  “Don’t you think it’s weird? That’s the first time I’ve ever talked to them, and they act like we spent our whole grade school playing Fortnite together.”

  After lunch, Stephie and I leave the cafeteria, waving to Annabelle and Felicia.

  “You’re worrying for nothing. I’m sure they just want to see some familiar faces. Eating with us is their way of staying in contact with our old school.”

  “What if it’s a plot, and they’re spying on us so they can expose us to everyone?”

  Stephie bursts out laughing. “Where do you come up with that stuff? You should let people be your friends sometimes. Not everyone is trying to get you.”

  We stop at our locker, where Georgette the crocodile is patiently waiting. Stephie is in my French class, which is good, because it’s the one I have most often.

  The first bell rings. All around, people start moving, making a racket—the correct response to audible stimuli—like a pack of robots. Stephie and I grab our stuff and head for French. We have five minutes before the second bell.

  The classroom is on the third floor. You have to take the hallway where we first-year students have our lockers, then cross the atrium in the middle of the school. From there, the main staircase leads up to the second and third floors. There’s only one problem. The atrium is an intimidating place. From what I can see, between classes, dozens of students, most of them from the higher grades, sit on the benches and talk and laugh at the top of their lungs. Some of them even have beards! Worse, they stare at you as if you don’t exist, looking right through you, as you make your way toward the stairs. Good thing Stephie’s with me. Every time I have to walk past that spot, I want to disappear into a crack in the floor. That’s how I feel when people look at me.

  We climb the stairs, and I whisper to Stephie, “I wouldn’t mind going to a school where everyone is trans.”

  “There wouldn’t be many students there.”

  “Maybe not, but at least I wouldn’t always be afraid that people are making fun of me. And you wouldn’t have to hide that you’re trans.”

  “It’s not that I want to hide it, I just don’t want it to influence the way people treat me. If one person finds out, everyone will call me ‘he’ for the rest of my life.”

  “See? That wouldn’t happen if we were at a trans school. You’d have something in common with everybody else. I was thinking of doing a video on the subject for my YouTube channel.”

  “You’d let the fact that you’re trans define where you can go? That sure puts some limits on you.”

  “If I feel more comfortable that way, then why not? You know, since I left my house this morning, I haven’t gone to the bathroom, because I don’t want to go to the boys’ or the girls’. I’m too afraid of the potential drama.”

  Stephie stares at me in disbelief. “You mean you’ve been at school six hours and you haven’t peed?”

  I pull on my jacket lapels, snapping my imaginary suspenders with pride.

  “At least six hours.”

  “Why don’t you go to the infirmary, like back at our old school? I’m sure there’s a quiet place there.”

  “I don’t know where it is.”

  Stephie sighs. Am I letting her down? She knows very well I’m not comfortable in places that are for boys only, or girls only.

  “Listen, this is what we’re going to do
. The second bell rings in two minutes. The bathrooms will be empty, no one there but us. That’s the best time to go.”

  “Are you sure? We’ll be late to class.”

  “We’ll tell the teacher we got lost.”

  On the third floor, we head toward the girls’ bathroom, right next to the stairs. Two or three students are drying their hands in a hurry, then rushing to their classroom without looking at us.

  The second bell rings.

  Stephie pretends to check her mascara in the mirror as she keeps an eye on the door. I slip into a stall.

  My heart starts beating faster. I hate walking into a class late, especially the first day, but the feeling of letting go, after spending hours holding it in, is really worth it. I flush the toilet, exit the stall, wash my hands quickly, then we sprint down the corridor that, unfortunately, feels like it’s a mile long. Everything is going wrong!

  When we reach the door, Stephie peers in through the glass.

  “The teacher is taking attendance.”

  “Should we go in?”

  “I suppose.”

  I look at Stephie, unsure. She looks back. Which of us will open the door?

  I put my hand on the doorknob and turn it slowly to make as little noise as possible. I let Stephie go in first, and follow her to a table at the front of the class, where there are two free chairs. No one wants to sit in the first row, especially not on the first day.

  Our French teacher, Madame Walter, is tall, and about my father’s age. She looks up from her class list and considers us in silence as we settle onto our chairs. When she speaks, her voice is kind.

  “I won’t mark you as absent this time, but don’t make a habit of it.”

  Stephie must be worried. Her reputation as a perfect student is in danger.

  “Sorry,” she answers, “we were in the bathroom.”

  Madame Walter lifts her eyebrows, then visits her list again.

  “Let’s see, who did I mark as absent… Stephanie Bondu, I suppose?” she says to my friend.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must be Liam Johnson?”