Just Super

“What if it gets out?” I ask Emily, once she’s done with her story.

“There isn’t an ‘it’ to get out,” she answers. “It is me. And I’m it. That’s what I meant when I said I’m not sure I’m human.”

I reach over and boop her nose.

“You feel human.”

She smiles at me. “Good.”

“So what happened next? You woke up super strong? And what do you mean it is you and you’re it? And—”

“Uh-uh, I’m done for now. I’ll tell you more some other time. Queer Hearts?”

I remind myself of my promise to back off, then check the time. We should just be able to fit in an episode.

“It’s okay, Frank. You’ll be okay.” Emily is trying to calm me down.

Elle, my favorite character on Queer Hearts, just got kicked out by her parents for being gay, and I lost it. Emily has her arms wrapped around me and I’m crying like a baby into her shoulder. I feel so weak and stupid.

“It’s stupid,” I say. “It’s just a show.”

“I’m sorry I made us watch it.”

Great, now I’m making Emily feel bad. Again.

“I’m gonna go home.”

Except I don’t have a home. Not really. I have a room, and when I get out of there, I’ll be staying with my aunt and uncle, in somebody else’s room. 

“You don’t have to…”

But I do. It’s two minutes until curfew. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I manage to choke out, and flicker away.

I appear on my bed and scream into my pillow.

Once I’ve run out of steam I get out my old phone, the one Mom finally unlocked. I dial.

It rings three times before I hear a click.

“Frank?” Mom says, over the phone.

“Yeah, Mom.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“Why don’t you come home so we can talk.”

“You know I can’t right now.”

“We’ll get this straightened out and you can come home soon. They can’t keep my son away from me.”

“Mom—”

“I forgive you, and—”

“You forgive me?”

“Of course I do. You’re my son.”

“No, Mom! I’m not!” I don’t think I’ve ever yelled at her before.

“Don’t start that again, young m—”

I hang up.

I don’t bother blocking her. I just turn off the phone.

I am never going back. 

I’m almost late Wednesday morning. I didn’t sleep well, and managed to ignore thirty minutes of the alarm on my phone telling me to wake up. I manage a quick shower, but don’t have time to grab breakfast before flickering to the pickup area for Checkers to take me the rest of the way to school.

The most annoying part is that I get to The School fifteen minutes before classes start. It’s just that if I’d missed this round of transports, it would have been another twenty minutes before Checkers came back by the Residence. It feels like something they do on purpose as a little extra ‘fuck you’ to the residential kids.

Once Checkers drops me off, I decide to walk into the school instead of flickering straight to class. I’ve got the time, and, as always at The School, it’s a beautiful day. I’ve walked about twenty feet when something comes flying at my face.

I reflexively flicker to the side and snag it out of the air.

It’s a protein bar.

“I thought you might be hungry,” Emily says. 

I hadn't noticed her there.

“Are you going to make a habit of throwing things at my head?”

“Maybe.”

She tosses a bottle of water at me.

She could have waited a couple of seconds and handed me the bottle. I smirk and flicker next to her, bottle appearing in my hand.

“Nice,” she says.

“There’s no way your early warning system told you I needed food.”

“It wasn’t needed. When I checked the Wall this morning, I saw that you’d posted three times between two and four am. And you didn’t even see my messages this morning. That means you couldn't sleep, and so then had trouble waking up. The rest is left as an exercise for the reader.”

Okay, for one thing, I’d posted on the Wall under my alt. No one is supposed to know that that’s me. For another, she is deeply and annoyingly thoughtful.

“I’m starting to think that you might like me.”

“What was your first clue? When I told you that I do?”

“Sadly, yeah.” It is sort of embarrassing.

We continue into the school, not talking. It feels nice walking near her, but I can’t help but notice the looks we’re getting from some of the other kids. Emily notices me noticing and shrugs.

“I called my mom last night,” I tell her.

She stops and gives me her full attention.

“It didn’t go well,” I continue. “She’s ‘willing to forgive me.’”

She steps up and gives me a big hug. I don’t step away this time. After a second, I hug her back. The five minute bell rings.

“Lunch?” Emily says. “Or, I can be late.”

It’s an A day, so we share a lunch period.

“Lunch is good.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry, Frank.”

Emily and I are sitting on one of the out of the way benches in the courtyard. I canceled with Peter for today.

“I’ll be okay,” I say. “Like you said, we’ll figure something out.”

I check a notification that just came in on my school phone.

“They want me to come into the office again after school,” I tell her.

“Do they say why?”

I shake my head.

“Want me to come with?” she asks.

I think for a moment.

“I’ll be okay. But thank you.”

“I know you’ll be okay, but, moral support?”

I narrow my eyes.

“Is this . . .”

“No, I don’t need to be there. But I’d like to.”

“Having you there would feel like cheating.”

I hold up my hand to stop whatever she’s about to say.

“Which, honestly, I’m mostly in favor of. But I’m a big girl, and you can’t protect me from everything.”

“Just keep me posted, okay?”

“Promise.”

We don’t talk much as we eat, but there are lots of little touches. Her leg bumps my leg. Her hand brushes my hand. It doesn’t make my problems go away, but it does let me push them off to the side a little.

Peter comes by the table right before the end of lunch to thank me. He got a B on his test this morning, which was a lot better than the F he got on the last one. I notice that the bracelet he was wearing is gone.

“Got tired of the dental hygiene bracelet?” I ask.

He looks down at his wrist.

“Shit.” He hurries back the way he came, scanning the floor.

I look back to Emily, who is beaming at me.

“What?” I ask.

She keeps smiling. I roll my eyes, then the bell rings. We walk in silence to her next class, then I flicker to mine.

“Have a seat, Ms. Doyle,” Principal Ruehl says.

I plop down into the chair in front of her desk.

“We have spoken with the local authorities in Chicago, and they do not believe there is sufficient evidence to charge you or Ms. English with making threats.”

That’s great. Except—

“Does this mean I have to go home?”

I don’t wait for her to answer.

“I can’t. I called her last night. It was bad.”

I tell her about the phone call. I can tell that she is not even slightly happy.

“Would you be so kind as to wait in the outer office for a few minutes?”

It feels like more than a few minutes. A lot more. I’m looking at my phone to see just how long it has been when I get a message from Emily.

Em: ?

Me: No charges, so I might have to go back

Em: What? No!

Me: Sitting outside Ruehl’s office while she does _something_

Me: Door opening

Me: ltr

“Ms. Doyle?” Principal Ruehl leans out her office door.

I return to the chair in front of her desk and wait for her to speak.

“You may stay in the room at The Residence for another evening, if you wish. I spoke to your caseworker, and there is not sufficient evidence of your claims of abuse—”

“I didn’t say I was being abused, it’s just—”

“Frank,” she interrupts me, “I’m sorry. What you have described qualifies as abuse. Persistent misgendering, kicking you out, use of slurs. The problem is that it is your word against your mother’s.”

“What about the video?”

“Even if it showed enough, it is technically an illegal recording, since Illinois is a two-party consent state—” she holds up a hand to keep me from interrupting “—no one is going to pursue a sixteen year-old from out of state for it, but it isn’t admissible. Further, the video didn’t capture the worst of it, and your mother maintains that the ‘Get out’ was aimed at Ms. English.”

Fuck. I am not going back. I am not. No one can make me. I can—

“I’m sorry,” Ms. Ruehl interrupts my thoughts, “but without evidence, the DCFS will not take action. Would you like me to invite your mother here? We could talk to her, try to—”

I don’t want to see her, but if she were here…

“I have a question about the law,” I break in.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this, Frank?” The principal seems genuinely concerned.

“No. Not really. But if it might stop me having to go back, I want to do it.”

I’m sitting in the chair off to the side of her desk, wearing the most boring clothes I have—a pair of girls’ jeans, a pastel green v-neck t-shirt, and my lavender trainers. We decided this would work better that way. She presses a button on the phone on her desk. 

“Please send Mrs. Doyle in.” she says into the intercom.

skip to summary

I’m not sure what it is, but something flashes across her face. It’s an expression I can’t quite read before it’s gone, but I think it might be satisfaction.

I grip the large cup of water I’m holding as my mom walks into the office. I can’t tell what emotion she’s trying to show, but her expression is radiating “FAKE!” 

“Mrs. Doyle,” Ms. Ruehl says, “thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“I just want to get Frank home as soon as possible.”

“Of course, of course. As soon as we clear up a few minor issues.”  Ms, Ruehl picks up a stack of papers from her desk and straightens them against its surface.

She continues. “Firstly, your daughter—”

Mom stiffens at that, but doesn’t say anything.

“—has some concerns, and we’d like to put her at ease.”

She turns to me, then continues “Ms. Doyle, would like to explain?”

Mom twitches every time the principal genders me correctly. It’s almost funny. Almost.

“Mom,” I say, carefully, “it hurts when you misgender me. It—”

“Misgender?” Mom interrupts.

“She means when you address her or refer to her,” the principle emphasizes the pronoun, “in a way that denies her gender.”

“Like when you call me son, or young man.”

I can see her struggling.

“I never mean to hurt you,” she says.

“Then why did you tell me to get out? Why did you tell me to never come back?”

“I was angry. You’d broken the rules I gave you.”

“You locked me in my room. You wouldn’t even let me out to get food.”

“I did those things because I love you, Frank. You’re my s—child. You belong with your mother.”

“Call me your daughter.”

“What?”

“She would like you to acknowledge that she is your daughter,” Ms, Ruehl answers before I can.

“And I need to know you’re not going to try to make me wear guy clothes.”

“We can talk about that when we get home, Frank.”

“I think it’s important that you reassure your daughter that you’ll respect her identity.”

“That’s none of your business. He’s my—”

“She,” Ms. Ruehl corrects her.

“What?”

“You said ‘he.’ Your daughter’s pronouns are she/her/hers.”

“Fine, she’s my child, and what I tell her to wear is no business of yours—”

Ms. Ruehl taps a pen on her desk. That’s my signal.

“Mom! I’m the one—”

“Do not interrupt me young—”

I flinch and ‘accidentally’ squeeze my cup too hard, sending water all over my lap.

Ms. Ruehl looks at me. “You can go change, if you’d like, but return as quickly as you can, please.”

She knows full well that I don’t have to go anywhere to change, since I’d told her, but Mom doesn’t, not yet. I flicker to my bathroom at the Residence, grab a towel, and flicker back, now wearing my full goth-punk-princess regalia. Now that I know how to do the makeup, I even manage to show up with that. My mom gasps, as I use the towel to begin cleaning up the spilled water.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Mom’s mouth opening and closing. If I weren’t so angry, sad, and on the edge of freaking out, I’d have a hard time not laughing at the sight.

“What the hell are you wearing?!” she finally manages to get out.

I turn to face her, my expression one of confused innocence. This frequently came in handy back when I was still actively pursuing assholehood. “What’s wrong with it?”

I steel myself. I know she’s going to say something bad. I know it’s going to hurt, but I’m not going to run away this time. I have to be here to hear it. She turns away from me, to the principal.

“This is your fault. You and the other perverts at this school. You’ve turned him—”

“Her,” Ms. Ruehl and I say at the same time.

“—HIM into this freak. HE is my SON and I am taking HIM home immediately. I did not raise HIM to be some tranny faggot. HE—”

It takes every scrap of willpower I have to not flicker away at her words.

Ms. Ruehl stands quickly, almost knocking over her chair.

“That is quite enough! Your daughter

will not be going anywhere with you,” she isn’t shouting, but it’s a close thing. She presses a button on her desk. 

Checkers appears in the room near my mother.

“Please allow Checkers to return you to your home,” she continues.

“Not without my son!”

Ms Ruehl looks at me. “Frank, you may go. We’ll speak again shortly.”

I flicker to my room at the Residence.

I don’t cry. Not yet. This isn’t done.

Five minutes later my phone buzzes with a School app notification. I flicker straight to Ms. Ruehl’s office. She’s seated behind her desk.

“I’m very sorry that you had to go through that, Frank,” she says.

“Was it enough?” I ask.

“More than enough for now.”

That’s a huge relief. Illinois’s laws about recordings don’t apply here, so the recording we just made can be used to help me. The slurs were probably enough, but the fact that she didn’t deny that she kicked me out and locked me in my room without food also helps.

I’m honestly impressed by Ms. Ruehl. As much of that was her ideas as mine. I wouldn’t have guessed that she had this kind of thing in her. I wonder what she was like at my age.

“Just a moment, Frank.”

She picks up her phone, which, as far as I could tell, did not ring or vibrate.

“Yes?” She listens. “Thank you.” More waiting. “I will let you know once I talk to her.”

She hangs up and looks at me.

“That was Ms. Alvarez, your DCFS caseworker. The recording was sufficient, and you are removed from your mother’s custody pending a full investigation.”

“How long will that take?”

“At least a few weeks. You will—”

“I’m not going back. Not ever.” I realize what I just did. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I’m really not, no matter what.”

“What I was going to say is that you will be staying with your aunt and uncle in the meantime. Ms Alvarez has talked to them and that is cleared.”

I was pretty sure it would be, but that’s still a relief. That still leaves the question of what happens if this isn’t long term.

“I want to make one thing clear,” she continues. “You will not be returning to your mother until and unless you decide to do so. If it is necessary, we will help you pursue emancipation.”

“Emancipation?”

“In most states, including Illinois, a minor sixteen years old or older can, in some circumstances, effectively become their own guardian. I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Thank you so much,” I say, “but…”

“But?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Helping you?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to have been one of the biggest problems at the school for you for the past couple of years. Why do I deserve this?”

“It’s not about deserving. It’s my job to help my students when they need help.”

“Don’t you have something more important to do?”

She steps up to me and places a hand on my shoulder.

“No.”

I don’t understand. My own mother hates me for who I am. Why doesn’t Ms. Ruehl? I feel an urge to lash out at her. To make her hate me like she should. But I think about Denise. I think about Emily. They'd both be so disappointed in me.

More importantly, I’d be disappointed in me.

Instead I speak quietly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I appear in my room at The Residence. Yes, I flickered from The School to here. Since I was now here of my own free will, I'm no longer bound by that annoying rule.

I message Denise.

Me: Can you talk?

My phone rings.

“Hey,” I answer it.

“Tell me,” Denise says.

So I do. I make it through the whole story without crying. My emotions are still mostly turned off for the moment.

“So why are you talking to me instead of Emily?”

“Because if I talk to her, she’ll tell me to come over, and I will. I can’t keep my emotions turned off around her, and I don’t want to turn up at her place and cry all over her.”

“Why not?”

“I feel like that’s all I’ve done. I don’t want her to think of me as some broken girl who always needs rescuing.”

“You’re not broken, and you wouldn’t be asking her to rescue you.”

“But I’d be leaning on her. Again.”

“If she were going through what you’re going through, but wouldn’t come cry on your shoulder, how would you feel?”

“I should call her.”

“Yeah, you should.”

“Thanks.”

“Hang up and text her.”

Then she hangs up before I can.

I message Emily.

Me: Is it okay for me to come over?

Em: ofc

She’s standing right in front of me when I appear in her living room, already leaning in for a hug. I step into her arms and half-collapse against her. I do end up crying all over her, but at least I’m able to lead with the good news. We move to the sofa and I dump all my feelings on her.

Once I run out of tears, for the time being, we decide to work on homework. I flicker back to my room to grab my laptop, and we set up at her dining table. Once again, it’s not really about helping each other. It’s more about sharing a space.

“Hello, Frank,” one of Emily’s moms greets me as she comes in the front door, followed by her wife.

“Hi, Emily’s moms,” I reply.

They roll their eyes at that.

“Did you two eat?” the other mom asks.

I’d completely spaced on dinner. I look at Emily, who shakes her head.

“Oops,” I say.

“There’s left over lasagna in the fridge. Want me to stick it in the microwave for you?” other mom says from the kitchen.

“Yes, please,” Emily says.

Emily finishes writing something, then goes into the kitchen.

“There’s some salad, too,” she says. “Want some?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Pretty soon we’ve put away our school work and are eating. When we’re done, I help Emily clean up.

“Could we finish that episode before I go?” I ask. It’s sort of like getting back on the horse when you fall off, except there’s no horse, and I get to sit next to Emily.

Soon we’re on her sofa again, a little closer than we were last time. After a few minutes, I feel her head on my shoulder. Her arm presses against mine. I’m not really sure what to do.

As a (supposed) guy, I would have put my arm around her and pulled her in closer. Is that what I should do now? I could just lean my cheek on the top of her head. I could do both. Her head lifts off my shoulder and she looks at me.

“You’re overthinking things, aren’t you?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I sigh.

She takes my arm and puts it behind her shoulders. I pull her up against me and rest my cheek on the top of her head. I sigh again; this time it's a happy sigh.