Emilia crouched, stance wide, breathing hard. Across from her, Max Valente, called ‘the Stallion’ by his buddies, held a basketball two handed. He’d picked up his dribble and was working his pivot foot. He’d have to pass or shoot, and though Emilia had failed to stop him all period, she wasn’t about to stop trying.
Emilia knew of Max Valente as most freshmen knew of popular seniors. Max was a celebrity at Parkdale High School: tall, handsome, star of the basketball team, and smart enough to take five honors courses. He was outgoing and friendly and even as Emilia faced him down for the umpteenth time that 8th period PE class, he grinned. It wasn’t a smirk, he wasn’t mocking her, rather he was enjoying himself. His eyes shone as he looked at her, bobbing this way and that, keeping his pivot foot firm, looking for a way around her.
Emilia shuffled side to side, keeping him penned as best she could. Max was a senior boy, eighteen years old and taller than most teachers. He was a man among children. Emilia was a freshman girl. She’d enjoyed a growth spurt this year, but, physically, she was no match for Max. Even so, she found herself paralleling his moves, making him work for each step, each pass, each...
Max went for the shot, straightening from his crouch. Emilia reacted, half a beat behind, knowing he was faster than her, taller, stronger. Still she leapt, stretching her arm above her head, willing her body to react fast enough. Even though it was just 8th period PE, just a pick-up game at the end of the school year, Emilia pushed herself. She didn’t care about winning a game where the score was nebulous at best, but if she could successfully defend against Max “the Stallion” Valente, even just once, she’d call that a win.
She felt the barest of contact as her fingertips brushed the basketball surface. The ball sailed over her head, struck the backboard, and sunk through the net.
Max laughed. “Not bad, kid. Keep it up.”
Emilia watched him run backward down the court and her heart swelled. Max Valente had complimented her. She didn’t have delusions of affection. He was handsome enough, but Emilia wasn’t interested in him physically, and there was no way he was interested in her as anything more than a temporary opponent. But he was a star athlete and he’d complimented her athleticism. It made her head buzz and her fingers tingle. She felt like she’d grown several inches.
A senior boy she didn’t know took the ball and passed it to another boy on their team. Playing basketball during 8th period PE in the last week of school was an uneven affair. The class was a mixed bag of ages, interests, and ability. Most seniors had ducked out early, anticipating the freedom of graduation. Those who’d stayed were members of the basketball team. The basketball season had ended a couple months ago and this was their last chance to play on home court, even if their teams were padded with underclassmen who didn’t care.
The senior boys who’d chosen Emilia for their team, against their better judgment, coordinated an approach and the shorter of the two dribbled down court while Max coordinated his own squad of disinterested underclassmen. Under the power of Max’s charisma and popularity, they moved where he told them to.
Emilia’s senior boys didn’t give her instructions. They’d largely ignored her all period. Emilia watched the boy with the ball go down center court while the other moved down the right. Taking that as her cue, Emilia jogged down the left. The rest of their team milled about, putting in just enough effort not to get yelled at.
Though they’d been running up and down the court for nearly forty minutes, Emilia wasn’t tired. She breathed hard and sweat stuck her gym clothes to her skin, but she jogged easily, feeling light and graceful.
Max moved to meet the other boy at the top of the three-point line. Emilia found a spot between the three-point line and the key. A brown-haired girl on Max’s team moved to cover her, though without much enthusiasm. Emilia knew the girl vaguely. Her name was Maria and rumors swirled about her.
Some said Maria had cheated on her finals. Some said her brother had been arrested. Some said she’d gotten pregnant. Emilia had no patience for rumors, but it was hard not to overhear those flitting about Maria Jordan.
The first senior boy passed to the other. Max backed up a few steps, but stayed with the first boy rather than moving to the second. Two of Max’s teammates moved to cover the second senior. He looked at his other teammate, found he was still covered by Max, then he found Emilia. For several moments, he grimaced, uncertain. After a moment more, he sailed a pass over the knot of kids in the key.
Following the arc, Emilia realized the pass would go over her head, so she hurried backward, strides long and sure. She backed up nearly to the sideline, letting the basketball bounce once before she lunged forward, caught it, and dribbled to the post, driving for a layup. For a moment, her focus narrowed and the way was clear. In the next, the brown-haired girl, Maria, was there, blocking her path. It was too late to deviate. Emilia twisted as she jumped, tossing the ball against the backboard where it rebounded and fell neatly through the hoop. Her body crashed into Maria’s and they both went down.
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Emilia hopped up, unhurt and grinning ear to ear. A senior had trusted her with a pass and she’d delivered. She’d made the shot. It felt good. Looking around, Emilia found Maria sprawled on the floor. She held her hand out but Maria scrambled up without taking it. She gave Emilia a look of mixed confusion, hurt, and revulsion.
“Are you okay?” Emilia asked.
Maria waved a hand and turned away. “Whatever.”
Emilia bit her tongue. She’d had no success making friends at school, and had largely given up trying. Even so, she hadn’t expected to be so thoroughly dismissed. It stung more than she’d like to admit.
Mrs. Pond, the PE teacher, blew her whistle calling for them to head to the locker rooms so they had a chance to change and shower before the bell rang. Emilia shook her head and tried to forget Maria.
“Hey.”
Emilia turned at a tap on her shoulder.
It was Max Valente, still grinning, sweat shining on his forehead. “I don’t remember you from the girl’s team.”
“I’m not on the team,” Emilia said. She found herself grinning in response.
“Why not?”
Emilia shrugged. “I’m probably not good enough.”
Max shook his head. “You’re definitely good enough. You should try out next year.” He gave her a nod and hurried to meet his friends.
Emilia watched him for a bit, wondering. Maybe she was good enough. Maybe she should try out. After a moment more, Emilia made her way to the other side of the gym. She loved athletics, but between being a social outcast and certain she had no chance, she’d never bothered to try out. But if Max frickin’ Valente thought she was good enough, perhaps it was worth a shot. Skin abuzz, thoughts in the clouds, feeling ten feet tall, she walked into the locker room.
Emilia strode into the locker room with significantly more confidence than normal. The other girls chatted as they changed, but Emilia kept to herself. She made her way to her locker in one corner, turning away from the others, and digging out her clean clothes.
And that’s when she realized something was off, something was different, something about her.
She had been just a kid the first time someone had asked her if she was a boy or a girl. He had been a tall kid with a dirt-smudged nose, on the playground at Sherwood Park. Emilia remembered he’d worn grass-stained football pants with the pads in and a black t-shirt with “Youth League” printed on the left breast. His voice was a sneer and the kids behind him giggled. He crossed his arms with the authority of height and age.
Emilia’s throat had closed with embarrassment. Of course she was a girl. She’d always been a girl. Just because she liked to play soccer didn’t mean she wasn’t a girl, did it? But what if it did? Sometimes she didn’t feel like she fit in with other girls. She couldn’t recall how old she’d been, but she remembered feeling very small.
“Biological sex is a combination of a variety of factors,” her mother had told her.
“Gender is nothing but a social construct,” her father had added.
Emilia hadn’t known the boy and never saw him again, but the moment stuck. Her parents told her it wasn’t anybody’s business and biology was far more complicated than a binary and she could be as girly or boyish as she wanted. And that’d been fine for a few years, until she’d made the mistake of shouting the word “Neither!” when the biggest bully in fifth grade asked that same question: “Are you a boy or a girl?”
Soon everyone knew.
It shouldn’t have mattered. Some days Emilia wanted to wear makeup and be cute. Some days she wanted to play hard and get grass stains. Some days she wanted both. And as far as she could tell, neither had anything to do with her shape. Neither had anything to do with being a boy or a girl or neither.
But now she stood in the girls’ locker room feeling definitely, physically, male, and it mattered a great deal. She didn’t undress. Instead, she packed her clean clothes in her gym bag.
A cold stone of fear thudded in her belly. The others never let her forget she’d claimed to be neither a boy nor a girl in fifth grade. What if, all those times she’d been mocked by her peers, they’d been right? What if she really was different? Wrong? A mistake? What would she say to her parents? To the school? To her classmates? Would she have to change locker rooms? Bathrooms? Change her name? What if they said she’d always been like this? What if they accused her of being a liar, a pervert, pretending to be a girl so she could spy on girls?
No. No one could find out.
She hurried from the locker room without waiting for the bell. She didn’t know if anybody noticed her difference, but she wasn’t going to linger and find out.
Emilia unhooked her bicycle from the rack in front of the school, ignoring the milling students waiting for friends, boarding busses, and headed for the parking lot. She pushed off, headed for home, trying not to think about what she’d felt. She must have been mistaken. It was just a feeling, nothing more. Emilia shook her head trying to still the spiraling thoughts. She didn’t want to think about it at all, she just wanted to get home, but the seat of her bicycle pinched in an unfamiliar way, and she shifted awkwardly.
Emilia hated being embarrassed. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t made a mistake. This wasn’t her fault. There was no reason she should feel bad about it. Even so, embarrassment crawled up her throat to her jaw and clenched, it tickled her nose and prickled her eyes. She sneezed, then clenched her jaw harder, refusing to cry.
When she got home, Emilia wheeled her bicycle into the garage from the side door. Neither of her parents were home yet, so the garage was largely empty. She put her bicycle in its designated spot, near the door, making sure to put down the kickstand. She took meticulous care in arranging the bicycle just right. Doing anything she could to focus her mind and avoid thinking about what came next.
With her bicycle stowed, Emilia went into the house and climbed upstairs to her room. She closed the door with a careful click. She was the only one home, but still she pushed the little button on the doorknob to lock it. Cursing her shaking hands, Emilia carefully disrobed, folding each garment and placing it carefully in her clothes hamper, trying to mask her embarrassed fear even from herself.
Finally, she looked at herself in the mirror.
She was as she’d always been.
Her body flooded with relief and her knees gave out. She crumpled to the carpeted floor, sitting with a bang and jolting her tailbone. She yelped at the shock, and the tears she’d so valiantly held back sprang forth. She hated crying even more than she hated being embarrassed.