David Levithan - Every Day

His father, a quiet man, understood and supported him in a quiet way. His mother took it harder. She respected Vic’s desire to be who he needed to be, but at the same time had a difficult time giving up the fact of having a daughter for the fact of having a son. Some of Vic’s friends understood, even at thirteen and fourteen. Others were freaked out—the girls more than the boys. To the boys, Vic had always been the tagalong, the nonsexual friend. This didn’t change that.

Dawn was always there in the background. They’d gone to school together since kindergarten, friendly without ever really becoming friends. When they got to high school, Vic was hanging out with the kids who furiously scribbled poems into their notebooks and let them lie there, while Dawn was with the kids who would submit their poems to the literary magazine the minute they were finished. The public girl, running for class treasurer and joining the debate club, and the private boy, the sidekick on 7-Eleven runs. Vic never would have noticed Dawn, never would have thought it was a possibility, if Dawn hadn’t noticed him first.

But Dawn did notice him. He was the corner that her eye always strayed toward. When she closed her eyes to go to sleep, it was thoughts of him that would lead her into her dreams. She had no idea what she was attracted to—the boyish girl, the girlish boy—and eventually she decided it didn’t really matter. She was attracted to Vic. And Vic had no idea she existed. Not in that way.

Finally, as Dawn would later recount to Vic, it became unbearable. They had plenty of mutual friends who could have done reconnaissance, but Dawn felt that if she was going to risk it, she was going to risk it firsthand. So one day when she saw Vic piling in with some of the other guys for a 7-Eleven run, she jumped into her car and followed them. As she’d hoped, Vic decided to hang out in front while his friends played in the aisles. Dawn walked over and said hello. Vic didn’t understand at first why Dawn was talking to him, or why she seemed so nervous, but then he slowly realized what was happening, and that he wanted it to happen, too. When the chime of the front door marked his friends’ exit, he waved them off and stayed with Dawn, who didn’t even remember to pretend she needed something from the store. Dawn would have talked there for hours; it was Vic who suggested they go get coffee, and it all went from there.

There had been ups and downs since, but the heart of it remained: When Dawn looked at Vic, she saw Vic exactly as he wanted to be seen. Whereas Vic’s parents couldn’t help seeing who he used to be, and so many friends and strangers couldn’t help seeing who he didn’t want to be anymore, Dawn only saw him. Call it a blur if you want, but Dawn didn’t see a blur. She saw a very distinct, very clear person.

As I sift through these memories, as I put together this story, I feel such gratitude and such longing—not Vic’s, but my own. This is what I want from Rhiannon. This is what I want to give Rhiannon.

But how can I make her look past the blur, if I’m a body she’ll never really see, in a life she’ll never really be able to hold?

I arrive the period before lunch and park in my usual spot.

By now, I know which class Rhiannon is in. So I wait outside the door for the bell to ring. When it does, she’s in the middle of a crowd, talking to her friend Rebecca. She doesn’t see me; she doesn’t even look up. I have to follow behind her for a ways, not knowing whether I’m the ghost of her past, present, or future. Finally, she and Rebecca head in different directions, and I can talk to her alone.

“Hey,” I say.

And it’s there—a moment’s hesitation before she turns. But then she does, and I see that recognition again.

“Hey,” she says. “You’re here. Why am I not surprised?”

This isn’t exactly the welcome I was hoping for, but it’s a welcome I understand. When we’re alone together, I’m the destination. When I’m here in her life at school, I’m the disruption.

“Lunch?” I ask.

“Sure,” she says. “But I really have to get back after.”

I tell her that’s okay.

We’re silent as we walk. When I’m not focused on Rhiannon, I can sense that people are looking at her differently. Some positive, but more negative.

She sees me noticing.

“Apparently, I’m now a metalhead slut,” she says. “According to some sources, I’ve even slept with members of Metallica. It’s kind of funny, but also kind of not.” She looks me over. “You, however, are something completely different. I don’t even know what I’m dealing with today.”

“My name’s Vic. I’m a biological female, but my gender is male.”

Rhiannon sighs. “I don’t even know what that means.”

I start to explain, but she cuts me off.

“Let’s just wait until we’re off school grounds, okay? Why don’t you walk behind me for a while. I think it’ll just make things easier.”

I have no choice but to follow.

We head to a diner where the average age of the customers is ninety-four, and applesauce seems to be the most popular item on the menu. Not exactly a high school hangout.

Once we’ve sat down and ordered, I ask her more about the aftermath of the previous day.

“I can’t say Justin seems that upset,” she says. “And there’s no shortage of girls who want to comfort him. It’s pathetic. Rebecca’s been awesome. I swear, there should be an occupation called Friendship PR—Rebecca would be ace at that. She’s getting my half of the story out there.”

“Which is?”

“Which is that Justin’s a jerk. And that the metalhead and I weren’t doing anything besides talking.”

The first part is irrefutable, but even to me, the second part sounds weak.

“I’m sorry it had to all go down like that,” I say.

“It could’ve been worse. And we have to stop apologizing to each other. Every sentence can’t start with ‘I’m sorry.’ ”

There’s such resignation in her voice, but I can’t tell what she’s actually resigned herself to.

“So you’re a girl who’s a boy?” she says.

“Something like that.” I sense she doesn’t want to get into it.

“And how far did you drive?”

“Three hours.”

“And what are you missing?”

“A couple of tests. A date with my girlfriend.”

“Do you think that’s fair?”

I’m stuck for a second. “What do you mean?” I ask.

“Look,” Rhiannon says, “I’m happy you’ve come all this way. Really, I am. But I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I’m cranky as hell, and this morning when I got your email, I just thought: Is all of this really fair? Not to me or to you. But to these … people whose lives you’re kidnapping.”

“Rhiannon, I’m always careful—”

“I know you are. And I know it’s just a day. But what if something completely unexpected was supposed to happen today? What if her girlfriend is planning this huge surprise party for her? What if her lab partner is going to fail out of class if she’s not there to help? What if—I don’t know. What if there’s this huge accident, and she’s supposed to be nearby to pull a baby to safety?”

“I know,” I tell her. “But what if I’m the one that something is supposed to happen to? What if I’m supposed to be here, and if I’m not, the world will go the wrong direction? In some infinitesimal but important way.”

“But shouldn’t her life come above yours?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re just the guest.”

I know this is true, but it’s shocking to hear her say it. She immediately moves to soften what sounds like an accusation.

“I’m not saying you’re any less important. You know I’m not. Right now, you are the person I love the most in the entire world.”