The stars twinkled like diamonds without light pollution to dull their sparkle. They enveloped the world in a mystical darkness very few got to see every night. One of these lucky few included twelve-year-old Shayla Brookes. Tonight, like most nights, she was having trouble sleeping. The sound of crickets droning on put most people out in seconds, but not Shayla. She lie awake growing irritated by their song. It wasn’t the noise. It was the kind of noise. The dry breeze blowing through the trees. The occasional moo of a cow whose sleep had been disrupted. Coyotes howling in the distance. This mix of natural sounds were quiet. Too quiet for Shayla.

            So, she tossed and turned. Wondering what was wrong with her. Why she couldn’t sleep with the best white noise nature had to offer. Well, maybe not the best, she thought. She remembered last Spring when they had a rare thunderstorm. It rained all through the night. The thunder boomed and rumbled. It shook the earth. That was the last time she had gotten a good night’s sleep. The rain hitting the roof. Cars driving through the shallow puddles on the road. Water flowing through the gutters. It had lulled her into the deepest, most comfortable sleep of her life.

            The memory of the storm had triggered young Shayla’s imagination. In her world, it was raining. She could see the droplets on her window. Faraway thunder approached like a monster lurking in the shadows. The clouds blocked out the stars and moon. It was very dark now. The rain pattered with no real rhythm or beat. The drops came at random. A perfect cacophony. The storm played in her head even after she fell asleep. It followed her into her dreams and comforted her through the night.

            When she awoke, she was disappointed to find brilliant sunlight bursting through her window and filling her room with its rays.

            “Shayla!” her mother called from the kitchen, “Are you awake? It’s time for school!”

            She rubbed her eyes and yawned before replying, “Yeah, mom. I’m up!”

            The girl pulled off her covers and got dressed in a pair of dark grey jeans, a black t-shirt, and a lumberjack flannel. Shayla admired herself in the mirror. It was her favorite outfit. She had to beg her mother to buy it for her instead of a nice dress. Shayla had never been fond of dresses, but her mother insisted on them. It wasn’t the only thing they had different opinions about. Shayla had been dying to have short hair since she saw a picture of Gerard Way at a CD store, but her locks remained long. She had thought about cutting it herself, but she feared the wrath of her mother more than anything.

            Shayla shuffled into the kitchen where her mom was making pancakes. Her mother, Shannon, wore her hair up in a tight bun. An apron was tied around her waist. Her dad was sitting at the table dressed for work. He sipped his coffee and read the newspaper.

            “Good morning,” her mother began building a plate of pancakes for her daughter.

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            She sat down at the table next to her father, “Good morning.”

             Shannon brought the plate of pancakes, the butter dish, and a bottle of maple syrup over in one trip. She set each down with the grace of a ballerina, then returned to the kitchen. She returned with a bottle of orange juice and a carton of milk. Shayla grabbed the milk and poured it into an empty cup in front of her.

            “You know I hate that outfit,” her mother sat down across from her and began building her own plate.

            Shayla bit her tongue and buttered her pancakes.

            “What happened to that nice skirt we bought you at the beginning of the school year?”

            “Nothing,” Shayla said, “It’s in my closet.”

            “Well,” her mother said, “I think you should wear it more often. It makes you look like a girl.”

            Shayla had to take a bite of her pancake to stop herself from retorting.

            “What happened to you?” Shannon said, “You use to be so girly. Now you dress and act like a dude.”

            “What’s wrong with that?”

            She didn’t mean to say it. The words escaped her mouth. A knee-jerk reaction originating from her strong will and big mouth. There was a stunned silence between the mother and daughter. Bill, her father, continued to read his newspaper. Shannon looked at her daughter as if she had just been slapped. Shayla glued her eyes to the ground.

            “You know why it’s wrong,” she said.

            Shayla braced herself for more. The usual lecture about God’s gender roles and the importance of fulfilling them, but she didn’t say anything else. The rest of breakfast was silent except for the clanking of silverware and the sound of Bill turning the pages of the newspaper. The deafening screech of the school bus broke the tension.

            “Well,” Shayla stood, “That’s my ride. See you later.”

            She threw on her backpack and ran for the door.

            “Shayla, honey,” her mother followed her.

            “I can’t be late,” she said as she swung the door closed behind her.

            Her mother watched her get on the bus and stared out the window long after it had disappeared from sight. Bill wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her head.

            “What did we do wrong, Bill?” she said on the verge of tears.

            “Nothing, darling,” he said, “She’ll grow out of it.”