by: Laura Browne-Lambert
Jace scribbled a number that looked a bit like a seven, but also not, in the hopes that Mr. Eagan would think it looked close enough to the correct number to give him credit. Unlikely – Mr. Eagan usually marked ambiguous answers wrong, but maybe he would catch the tenth-grade geometry teacher in a generous mood today. Jace shrugged and moved down the page, absently shoving his naturally straight, brown hair back under his beanie. When he finally took it off, the hair would be mussed and bent from the weight of the hat, but that did not matter. As long as he kept his long ponytail hidden away, he felt more himself.
He made a few more guesses without bothering to care how many questions he actually marked with a real answer. The only math he worried about was how much cash he had stashed away in the can under his bed – and if he would have a chance to shove the cash in his jeans before the meeting this afternoon. Just in case.
He dropped the worksheet on Mr. Eagan’s desk long before the bell rang and sat stewing in his seat until class was dismissed. Usually, Jace would pull out a piece of scrap paper and doodle, but nerves made his hands sloppy. His knees bounced nervously instead. The shrill ring of the bell announced the end of the day. Half the students jumped to their feet, bottlenecking at the door.
“Hang on!” Mr. Eagan exclaimed. He took his time rolling his chair around to the front of his desk, a stack of papers in his lap. “Don’t forget to pick up your pop quizzes from yesterday. You can leave in the order I call you.”
A collective groan echoed through the room. A few people sat down, but most of the congregation by the door held their position as if guarding the door would magically move their names to the top of the list.
“Michael,” Mr. Eagan called. Mike, naturally had made it halfway out the door and had to shoulder his way back into the room to snatch his quiz from the teacher’s hand. Mike shoved his way back through the crowd and out the door as Mr. Eagan continued. Keith plodded up from the back of the room, Megan and Sara came from the group by the door, and Carlos from his usual spot by the window.
“Jessica.”
Jace’s eyes rolled toward the heavens. He pulled himself to his feet and trudged to the front of the room. “It’s Jace, Sir,” he said quietly.
“Not according to the student roster,” Mr. Eagan replied, bending the paper slightly as he held it out.
“Stupid, fucking roster,” Jace whispered under his breath.
“Detention, Miss Miller,” Mr. Eagan said. “If you’ll be so kind, I’d like you to grab the broom from the back and sweep the classroom before you leave.”
I’m so stupid, Jace thought grimly. Way to totally screw myself over. Jace set his bag down with a huff and stalked to the closet.
“No attitude, please,” his teacher called.
Jace shoved down his comeback before he could get in more trouble and snaked the broom under desks and around the legs of their attached chairs. Whoever designed desks like this anyway? he thought as the last student left the room.
Mr. Eagan rolled over to the windows, his wheelchair whooshing almost silently across the floor. “Chalkboard too, please,” he said as he used a long hook to pull the windows shut.
Jace brushed away the equations, waiting until each number had disappeared before he erased the triangles one line at a time. Glumly, he reached deep into the trash can, an eraser in each hand and clapped the erasers together sending plumes of chalk dust into his freckled face. He coughed lightly, though most of it was caught by the walls of the canister.
“Am I finished?” he asked as he lined the erasers along the slim shelf at the bottom of the chalkboard.
“You are,” Mr. Eagan said from where he sat, watering a small trio of plants grouped together on the windowsill. He looked up. “You know, I’m not unsympathetic, Jessica,” he said. “These are just the rules. It’s my job to enforce them.”
“Sure, Mr. Eagan,” Jace said. The look on his face grew more sullen, and his mood turned dour. Backpack slung over his shoulder, Jace tore out of the room and into the empty hallway. He would surely have missed the bus by now. His mother would be on her way to her meeting with the principal. He was supposed to go with her, but maybe – maybe it was better if he started home now. He could say he forgot about the meeting, grab that can of cash from under his bed, throw a few changes of clothes in his backpack, be ready for the inevitable. Did he need his social security card? His mom probably had that stashed away in the lockbox. He definitely did not remember the password.
Jace spun the combination lock and pulled his locker open. A long stare into its contents failed to tell him what he needed, so he pulled books out at random and shoved them into his bag. As he zipped it shut, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Mom: Almost there. Hope you didn’t forget.
Maybe if he hurried, he would not have to face her. Jace looped the bag’s straps around his shoulders and jogged down the stairs and out of the building, the double doors slamming behind him. He made it to bend in the driveway before he saw his mother navigating her beat up Chevy onto the campus. The truck slowed, and his mother stuck her head out the open window.
“Where are you going?” she called in place of a greeting. “Jess, we have our meeting in five minutes.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jace responded, failing to come up with a reasonable excuse for walking the wrong direction.
“Get in.”
Jace rode the short distance to the main parking lot in the passenger seat and followed his mother back into the building. She asked him questions that he mostly ignored and responded with vague answers like “fine,” “yup,” and “sure.” By the time they seated themselves in Principal Bentley’s office, Jace had checked out. He took a minute to count the pieces of furniture he could see in the room to refocus.
One desk. Three chairs. Two bookshelves. Four filing cabinets.
CW: transphobia
Image Description: A painting in shades of blue, pink, and white form geometric shapes that imitate stained glass. Blue, pink, and white are the colors of the transgender pride flag.
Credit: Laura Browne-Lambert
“Is the problem her grades, Martel?” Jace heard his mother ask. Phew. At least the fact that he heard her voice meant his head was back in the room – even if the panic had settled like a furnace in his chest.
“No, not exactly. Her grades have slipped a little this quarter, but not so much that we’re worried about her passing tenth grade.” Principal Bentley rested a black oxford-clad foot on his knee and readjusted his suit jacket with well-manicured hands. “She has time to bring them back up.”
“Then why am I here? She’s not getting into fights, is she?” Her flyaway, auburn hair flopped around her face as she spoke. “She knows how to bicker as well as any kid her age, but I can’t imagine her causing any real trouble.”
Principal Bentley waved his hands placatingly. “No, no, it’s nothing like that.” He paused to clear his throat. “Ms. Miller, I’m obliged by the state to inform you about certain changes in your daughter’s behavior. Are you aware that Jessica has been changing her style of clothing—”
“—Well, she’s always been a bit of a tomboy. I can’t tell you how much trouble it is to get her into a dress.” Jace’s mother glanced his way.
“She’s been wearing men’s clothes, Ms. Miller, deepening her voice, convincing other students to call her Jace.” Principal Bentley pulled out an English essay with Jace scrawled across the top of the page as evidence.
Jace’s mother turned to look Jace in the eye. “And why would that be?”
Jace thought about the emergency funds he had failed to grab before this conversation. There was no pretending. No going back. “Because I’m a boy, Mom.” His throat closed behind the words and black spots danced in front of his eyes. If he just passed out, he could pretend this was not happening.
Her face went frighteningly blank and she sat silently for a long moment, her eyes on Jace. Finally, Jace’s mother turned back to Bentley, pulled her shoulders back, and tossed her fluffy hair over her shoulder. “I’m not sure what the problem is, Martel.”
Principal Bentley opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, like a fish trying to breath air. “I’m sorry, Ms. Miller – Margaret – I understand that this is an uncomfortable situation, but as one of our students, Jessica is our responsibility. I need to know if you’ve been encouraging behavior of this sort at home.”
“I have not, but I, frankly, don’t see how this is any of your concern.” Jace’s mother shook her head. “I need you to tell me if my child’s going to finish high school, not what clothes he’s decided to wear.”
He.
Jace’s mind had been floating through most of the conversation, but screeched to a halt at that word.
He.
“I know you watch the news, Margaret. You’re an informed person,” Bentley said. “If you’re supporting transgender behavior at home, I am required to inform the state. As I said, your daughter’s wellbeing is my responsibility—”
“Not anymore.”
“I’m sorry?”
“She – he is not your responsibility anymore. I’m removing J—Jace,” she stumbled over the name for the first time, “from this school effective immediately.” The woman stood abruptly. “Come on, Honey, we’re finished, here.” She flapped her arms, ushering Jace out the door and leaving an oddly chastened Principal Bentley behind.
Jace followed her out to the car in a daze, so out of sorts that his mother led him around to the passenger side, opened the door, and buckled him into his seat before settling herself behind the wheel. What had just happened?
“We can’t afford to live in one of them northern states, but maybe Virginia or Maryland,” she said as she pulled the car out of the parking lot and down the driveway. “We could stay with your Auntie Liz while we get ourselves situated.” She paused for a moment, waiting. “How does that sound?”
“You – you want to move?” Jace asked, confused by her proposition.
“I want us to live somewhere they can’t take you away from me over this.”
“Because you’re okay with it? Just like that?”
Her sigh suggested that a complex assortment of emotions ran through her head as they spoke. “No, Jess – Jace, I’m not just okay. I’m gonna need some time to process this, but the thing that bothers me most is that you didn’t think you could just tell me. What did you think I was going to do?”
Shame and embarrassment sank into Jace’s chest. Distantly, he thought that probably was not healthy, but he did not have the energy to deal with those emotions in this moment. “I don’t know what I thought, Mom. I thought maybe I’d get kicked out or I’d have to run away.”
“Seriously?” She looked at him through the corner of her eye.
Jace lowered his gaze and shrugged his shoulders. “I even have some emergency money stashed away, just in case.”
“Do you have it on you?”
“No, but only because I got detention and ran out of time to go home and get it before we saw Bentley.”
“Principal Bentley,” his mom corrected automatically. She took a steadying breath. “Well, I’m not thrilled to hear that,” she said plainly. “I didn’t realize there was a chance I would lose you, today.”
“That ship’s sailed.”
“Good.” She shifted her grip on the steering wheel. “And you don’t need emergency money. We’ll do this together. We can try to find a new school here or I can call Lizzy tonight. We have options and I’ve got a little something stashed away for emergencies.” She cleared her throat. “You can use that money for something else. Put it toward college or get a haircut. Or we can go get you clothes that actually fit you. If you’re my son, you’re going to look like a gentleman.”
A small smile cracked the corner of Jace’s mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”
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