Parrotfish by Ellen Wittlinger Page B

grown man, like Dad, and, although I was happy with the identityof “boy,” I wasn’t at all sure about making the transition to “man.”
    Mrs. Norman continued to call me Angela, of course, since no directive had come down from God. Ms. Marino called me Grady, loud and clear, no matter how many groans and giggles issued from the class. And Ms. Unger turned out to be pretty great, or at least as great as somebody who’s basically a grouch can be. Not only did she let me use her shower and bathroom, but she told me I could leave a box of pads in there for whenever I needed them.
    Which was a big relief. The whole bathroom issue was a much bigger problem than I’d imagined it would be. Before this I probably never used a school bathroom more than once a day, if that, but now, suddenly, I felt like I had to pee all the time. So even though Ms. Unger’s office was way the hell on one end of the school and most of my classes were on the other end, it was comforting to know that at least there was someplace I could urinate—or hide out—without fear, even if it meant being late to my next class.
    I would talk to Mr. Reed in TV Production about all of this sooner or later, for sure. He was a good guy and I didn’t think he’d make a big deal out of it. But of course I wasn’t 100 percent sure,and the idea of my favorite class being ruined scared me. As a matter of fact, I was surprised at how much general fear and anxiety lurked inside me these days. I’d never been a fearful person, never even understood phobias like fear of heights or water or snakes or any of those things. And while I knew that my coming out as a transgendered person was going to throw certain people for a loop, I somehow hadn’t realized how much it would throw me.
    I didn’t meet people’s eyes as I walked down the hall or through the cafeteria. Suddenly, I wasn’t raising my hand in class. My legs were shaky as I changed into my gym clothes in Ms. Unger’s office, and I jumped at every noise, thinking somebody would come in and see me wearing the binder. And worst of all, as much as I hated to admit it, I was afraid of that damn Danya.
    On the plus side, however, was Sebastian. He was waiting for me by our lockers first thing Tuesday morning, notebook in hand. He had enough information about parrotfish to publish a book. I looked through the pictures he’d printed from Internet sites and listened to his excited yakking while the snickering hordes walked behind us. Sebastian didn’t even seem to notice them, and having something else to focus on helped me pretend I didn’t either.
    It turned out that Sebastian also had lunch the same period I did. I’d never noticed him there before, since he liked to sit at a small table in the corner behind a stack of books. And he wasn’t one of those kids who read at lunch because no one will sit with them—it’s more like no one would sit with him because all he wanted to do was read. I could tell he was making a big sacrifice by asking me to join him.
    Sebastian was the only kid I’d ever seen actually eating the hot-lunch choice. He was picking away happily at something called “meatloaf and mashed potatoes” that was drowned in brown goo. I had to move my chair back from the table a little, because the smell of the stuff was enough to make me gag on my hot dog and fries.
    “Do you like Stephen Jay Gould?” he asked, picking up the book on the top of his pile.
    I shrugged. “Don’t know—never read him.”
    Sebastian’s eyes widened. “Really? You have to.”
    “I’m not much of a science person. I like writing and filmmaking. That’s what I really want to do, I think. Write screenplays.”
    “That would be cool. I want to find a way to use science in my films.”
    “You mean, like science fiction?”
    “More like science fact. Documentaries. But Ilike all kinds of movies.” He pulled a heavy book from the bottom of his pile. “I got this from the library—have you seen