To Own The Libs

 

“The disciplinary hearing of Miss Victoria McPearson is now in session,” Dean Anderson said. “I think all parties are present.” He picked up a sheet of paper and read aloud, “Miss McPearson will be assisted by… Mx? Mx Elanor Yates. Correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Elanor nodded.

The dean nodded back. “Okay. And the injured party, Miss Jillian Durand, will be assisted by Miss Heather Graham.”

Elanor’s counterpart – a short, blonde woman – nodded in confirmation.

“Good. I think we can start with presenting the facts of the case.”

It was Friday afternoon, three days after the ‘incident’ had taken place: it had taken this long for the school to arrange for the disciplinary hearing. As I sat there, beside Vicky, holding her hand reassuringly, I kept flashing back to the previous hearing I’d been involved with, Joe’s. The situation was very similar, except that Joe hadn’t shown up at all, so it had been remarkably brief – I’d told the dean what had happened, and without anyone there to dispute my account I’d been taken at my word: within minutes, Joe had been expelled.

This time, however, the hearing would likely be much longer: Elanor had worked tirelessly, barely sleeping over the previous few nights, to come up with a workable defence strategy, and they seemed confident enough. They’d promised Vicky to fight tooth and nail for her, and I for one believed them.

As Jillian stood up from her seat and, followed by Heather Graham, walked to the chair to the left of Dean Anderson – the hearing was taking place in a conference room, with tables and chairs arranged to resemble a courtroom in layout: it reminded me of when I’d gone to Syracuse to get my name change – I glared daggers at her. I noticed she’d done her make-up carefully, to emphasise the bruise on her cheek, which was standing out proudly in all its blueness: it looked really nasty and painful, but I couldn’t find it in me to feel even a shred of sympathy for Jillian.

“Miss Durand, if you please,” Heather said once Jillian had sat down. “Describe what took place three days ago, on Tuesday evening.”

Jillian nodded. “I’d just finished my lessons for the day, and I stopped by a café to get a coffee before returning to my dorm,” she said. “After I’d done that, I went to the toilet. As I was coming out of the bathroom, someone ran towards me and punched me.”

Heather nodded. “I have here a doctor’s report,” she said, pulling a sheet of paper out of a folder. “No lasting damage, luckily, but the bruise will take a few weeks to fade completely.” Dean Anderson took the report, nodding in acknowledgement, and Heather continued. “And, Miss Durand, could you recognise the person who attacked you? Are they in this room right now?”

“They are,” Jillian said, pointing at Vicky, who shrunk into her chair. “They’re sitting right there.”

You absolute bitch, Vicks uses she and her pronouns and you fucking know that, I thought; Jillian was lucky looks can’t kill, because otherwise she’d have dropped dead on the spot – from the glare I was giving her, and from the withering stares of Anna and Nora, who were sitting behind me in the audience. Elanor, for their part, carefully kept their expression neutral.

“Please let the record show that Miss Durand has pointed to Miss McPearson,” Heather said. “Do you have any idea why Miss McPearson would attack you?”

“None whatsoever,” Jillian replied.

Heather nodded. “No further questions.”

Dean Anderson turned his eyes to our table. “Mx Yates?”

Elanor took a deep breath, and stood up. They’d worn a suit that day, and they looked amazing in it: they reminded me of several legal dramas I’d seen on TV.

“We do not dispute Miss Durand’s version of the events, Dean Anderson,” Elanor said carefully, keeping their voice level. “What she described is exactly what happened. However, we intend to show that Miss McPearson’s actions had some… mitigating circumstances to them.”

The dean looked at them for a moment, and then nodded. “Do you have any questions for Miss Durand?”

“Yes, actually,” Elanor replied. “Just one. Miss Durand, had you ever met Miss McPearson before Tuesday?”

“Yes, twice,” Jillian said. “Once back in November, and once in January.”

“Okay,” Elanor said. “No further questions.”

The dean nodded again. “Miss Graham, do you have any other witnesses to call?”

“No, sir,” Heather replied.

“Alright. Then, Mx Yates?”

“I would like to call Miss McPearson herself to testify,” Elanor said; Vicky looked at them, nodded, and made her way to the chair Jillian had just vacated.

“Miss McPearson, why did you attack Miss Durand?” Elanor asked directly; they’d coached both me and Vicky on the questions they would ask, and together we’d decided that straightforwardness was the best option. To show that we – that Vicky – had nothing to hide.

Vicky gulped. “I attacked her because… Because I thought she had attacked Lily.”

“By Lily you mean Miss Lily O’Connor, who is sitting right there,” Elanor said, turning to point at me.

“Yes, that’s right,” Vicky answered.

“And why would you think that?”

“Lily came out of the bathroom just before Jillian. I mean, Miss Durand,” Vicky said. “And she looked… Well, she looked terrible. Something had clearly happened to her. Something ugly. I’d only see her look like that once before.”

“When, exactly?” Elanor said.

Vicky locked her gaze with me before answering, and I could see an apology in her eyes. “When she was assaulted, two months ago.”

The memory of Joe punching me, the feeling of being in danger with no way out, flashed through my mind. Thankfully, it was only a brief moment: I’d known the mention of my assault was coming, so I had had time to mentally prepare myself, and I was able to keep my fight-or-flight response under control. I still gripped the armrests of my chair tight enough to leave nail marks in the hard plastic.

“So, just to clarify,” Elanor said. “You saw Miss O’Connor come out of the bathroom, looking ‘terrible,’ and realised she’d probably been assaulted.” Vicky nodded. “So when you saw the person you thought was responsible, you sprung into action, to protect your friend.”

“That’s right,” Vicky said.

“No more questions.”

“I have a question,” Heather said, standing up from behind her table. “Why would you think Miss Durand was the one who assaulted Miss O’Connor?”

Vicky looked at her. “Because Miss Durand has a track record of being…” She stopped, seemingly hesitating.

“Of being what?” Heather prodded her.

“Transphobic,” Vicky replied.

From my left, I heard Jillian scoff; I turned to glare at her again, even harder.

“First of all, you have no proof of that,” Heather said. “And, second, no assault even happened.”

“But Miss McPearson thought it did,” Elanor said. “Because of how Lily reacted.”

“Miss Durand has nothing to do with whatever happened to Miss O’Connor. With whatever triggered her.”

Elanor raised an eyebrow. “‘Triggered’ her?”

“Yes, triggered her enough to make her run away. Miss Durand did nothing to Miss O’Connor,” Heather replied, waving her hand dismissively.

“Didn’t she?” Elanor said, a smirk forming on their lips.

Heather hesitated. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Did you have any other questions for Miss McPearson?” Elanor asked; when Heather answered in the negative, they continued, “Then, with Dean Anderson’s permission, I would like to call Lily O’Connor to testify.”

I stood up from my chair, as did Vicky; we swapped places, walking past each other, stopping briefly to share a reassuring smile.

“Dean Anderson, sir, I object,” Heather said. “Miss O’Connor has nothing to do with what happened on Tuesday, why are we listening to her?”

“Because she was involved, actually,” Elanor said; from their tone of voice, they sounded like a kindergarten teacher, patiently explaining a simple fact of life to a young child. “Seeing her flee the bathroom was what caused Miss McPearson to attack Miss Durand. And also, Miss O’Connor is privy to some information which I believe Dean Anderson should be aware of.”

Dean Anderson looked at them for a moment, and then nodded. “You may ask whatever questions you have for Miss O’Connor, Mx Yates.”

“Thank you, sir,” Elanor replied; they turned to me and nodded and I sat down, carefully smoothing my skirt under me. I’d carefully chosen my clothes for the day: a skirt-and-blouse ensemble, with a light jacket, tights, and the low heels Nora had bought me. I’d done my best to look like a prim-and-proper girl, completely innocent and innocuous.

Elanor looked at me for just a moment before launching into our well-rehearsed script. “Miss O’Connor, did you know Miss Durand before meeting her in the bathroom last Tuesday?”

“…How is this relevant?” Heather asked, but the dean silenced her with a glance.

“I did,” I replied. “I met her the first time last November, actually.”

“Interesting,” Elanor said. “Would this be the same occasion In which Miss Durand and Miss McPearson first met each other?”

“I believe it is, yes. It was at a GSA meeting. My first GSA meeting, actually.”

“Describe what happened at that meeting, please.”

“How is this relevant?” Heather asked again. “What’s the point you’re trying to make here?”

“Yes, I’m asking myself the same thing now,” the dean said. “If you have a point, Mx Yates, you better get to it quickly.”

“Yes, sir,” Elanor said. “I’ll come right out and ask you directly, then: Jillian was transphobic at that meeting, wasn’t she?”

“She was,” I replied; at the same time, Jillian, who had until then sat in silence, stood up and shouted “I was not!”

“She was,” I repeated. “I forget her exact words, but she basically said that being trans isn’t a real thing, that trans people are just pretending, and that they can go back to being their original gender any time.” I paused. “She was asked to leave the meeting because of that. Because of her transphobia.”

“You have no proof of that!” Jillian shouted again, as Heather tried in vain to get her to sit down and shut up.

Elanor pulled out a sheet of paper from a folder with a flourish. “I have here a list of nearly a dozen people who were present at that meeting,” they said, handing it to Dean Anderson. “And these are signed affidavits, in which those same people swear that what Miss O’Connor described is exactly what happened. I’m sure that if you call them to testify, they will confirm it directly.”

Finding enough people to testify against Jillian for what she’d done in November had been easy enough: Elanor had asked Lena, Allie, and Patrick for their help, and they’d readily agreed.

“Then, when Vicky and I – and some friends – met Jillian again in January, by complete chance, she was transphobic to me again,” I continued. “She said my friends were just ‘humouring’ me, as if I wasn’t really a woman.”

“You’re–” Jillian began.

“Shut up,” Heather cut her off.

“So Miss McPearson saw Miss O’Connor leave the bathroom in a panic, looking as if she’d been assaulted. And then out of that same bathroom, right on her heels, comes another person, someone she knows for a fact is transphobic,” Elanor said. “I would think that, in Miss McPearson’s shoes, it would be reasonable to assume Miss Durand had attacked Miss O’Connor somehow.” They turned to Dean Anderson. “Wouldn’t you agree, sir?”

“But I did nothing to him!” Jillian said, pointing at me. “I mean her,” she corrected herself after a second.

“Shut up!” Heather hissed.

“You did,” I said. “When we met on Tuesday, you outed me to everyone in the bathroom. To every single person who was in there. ‘You’re not a real woman,’ you said.” I paused for effect. “And then everyone in the room turned to look at me. I felt their eyes on me. I felt in danger. That’s what triggered me,” I spat out, staring directly at Heather, who at least had the decency to look away. “That’s why I had a panic attack, and ran away.”

“Witness list. Affidavits,” Elanor said, pulling out several sheets of paper from the folder.

That was what had kept them busy for the better part of the previous few days: somehow, I had no idea how exactly, Elanor had managed to track down four people who were in that bathroom at the time Jillian had outed me. Even though they had zero clues to start from, even though at first it seemed hopeless, somehow they’d managed it. They’d conjured up a small miracle.

“Even if I said that, and I’m not saying I did–” Jillian said.

“You did,” I replied.

“–they were still not justified in attacking me!” she exclaimed, pointing at Vicky: this time, Vicky didn’t shrink away, but instead glared back. “Words aren’t violence. You were never in any physical danger,” Jillian continued, staring at me intensely.

Heather didn’t say anything, she just looked at Jillian for a moment, and then closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

“Yeah, you’re right, she wasn’t,” Elanor said as they grabbed another folder, a tinge of sarcasm in their voice. “After all, it’s not like there’s any evidence that outing trans people puts them in danger of being violently assaulted, sometimes even killed. It’s not like we have proof of that in news articles like this one,” they said, pulling out a sheaf of papers, stapled together, and dropping it on the table. “Or this one. Or this one. Or this one. Or this one,” they continued, pulling out more and more articles. “Or even dozens of scientific papers which say the exact same thing. Careless or malicious words put people in direct danger. They’re literally violence.”

“So what, are you saying they shouldn’t be punished for what they did?” Jillian said. “They fucking assaulted me! If the roles were reversed, you’d be shouting for their expulsion! You’re only doing this because they’re your friend!”

I laughed. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jillian,” I replied. “Vicky is not my friend.”

Jillian blinked. “What?” she asked; Elanor eyed me warily – what I’d just said was off-script – but I looked back at them for a moment, and they nodded.

“I said that Vicky isn’t my friend,” I repeated. I turned to look Vicky in the eye: what I was about to say was for her benefit, not for Jillian’s. “You have no idea

what Vicks did for me. From the first time I met her, she accepted me completely, without reservations. She never once questioned my identity: I said that I was a girl, and that was good enough for her. Ever since then, she’s been by my side. She’s helped me with anything I needed, supported me in everything I did. She gave me resources I wouldn’t otherwise have been able to access, at great risk to herself, and without asking for anything in return. When I was…” I hesitated, and gulped. “When I was assaulted, and couldn’t stay in my dorm room, she offered me a place to stay, just like that, without blinking. I wouldn’t be half the woman I am now if it weren’t for her. So no, Vicky isn’t my friend. She’s my sister.”

I felt tears roll down my cheeks, and I was surprised to notice I was crying – I hadn’t quite realised how emotional I’d been getting as I described everything Vicky had done for me. Vicky was crying too, openly weeping, but at the same time she was smiling: I returned her smile, took a deep breath, and turned towards Dean Anderson.

“Look, I know she made a mistake. But you need to understand that’s all it was: a mistake. In the end, Vicky is a good person,” I said. “And she doesn’t deserve to be expelled.”

“She does, actually,” Heather said. “It’s in the Bradford McKinley rules of conduct. No matter the circumstances, Miss McPearson attacked Miss Durand, without any provocation. If that doesn’t merit expulsion…”

I very briefly turned my head to glare daggers at Heather, then looked at the dean again: he was moving his gaze slowly between all the people before him, and seemed unsure of what to do.

“Dean Anderson, sir,” Elanor spoke up. “May I have a word? In private.”

The dean looked at them for a moment, and then nodded and beckoned them over. “You too, Miss Graham,” he said; Elanor and Heather both approached the dean’s table, and they began speaking in hushed tones. After a minute or so, the dean’s eyes turned hard, and he glared at Elanor, who had a cheeky smirk painted on their face; then, after a moment, they resumed talking. In the end, after a few more minutes, I saw Heather sigh deeply: she shook her head, walked over to Jillian, and pulled her away to the other side of the room.

I watched the two of them as they talked: as the conversation went on, Jillian clearly grew more and more agitated, and Heather made several placating gestures. At one point, Jillian shouted “I won’t stand for it!” and Heather answered, just as loud, “This is the best you’re going to get, you idiot!”

That seemed to calm Jillian down; enough that the two of them resumed talking quietly, at least. It took several more minutes still, but in the end, her face looking like she’d just sucked on an especially sour lemon, Jillian hung her head and nodded: Heather looked across the room to Dean Anderson, and gave him a thumbs up – but she wasn’t smiling.

The hearing was quickly brought back to order. Since no one had any more questions for me, I was dismissed, and I sat back down next to Vicky – after receiving a tight, teary hug from her.

“Alright,” Dean Anderson said. “I have considered what happened, and I have reached a decision based on the totality of the evidence. While it’s true that Miss McPearson’s actions would normally merit expulsion, I have to recognise that there are significant mitigating circumstances around the event.” He looked directly at Vicky. “Four months’ probation, starting from the beginning of the next academic year. If you break another rule before this time is up, no matter how minor, you’ll be expelled right away. If you don’t, we’ll just forget about all this. Do you understand, Miss McPearson?”

Vicky nodded hesitantly. “Yes. Yes, I understand,” she replied.

“Good,” the dean nodded back. “Then we’re done here. You’re all dismissed.”

“You realise this changes nothing, right?” Jillian said, approaching us. “Neither of you–”

“Oh, fuck off,” I snapped. “You know how much I care about your opinion, you miserable little shit? Somewhere between ‘not at all’ and ‘minus infinity.’ So just get lost, will ya?”

Jillian blinked: she clearly hadn’t expected me to talk back to her. “Wh-what?” she sputtered.

“You heard me. Begone, you bigot,” I answered: without waiting for her reply, I grabbed Vicky and Elanor by the arm, and pulled them away, towards Anna and Nora, who were waiting for us with a smile on their faces.

-----

“And then what did you say?” Anna asked.

Elanor took a swig of their beer, and looked around at us, sitting on the couches in the living room of the house Vicky and I shared with Katie and Mel. “I said…” they took a deep breath, and slipped into a deep voice – deeper than I’d ever heard them use. “I told him, I seem to remember you not wanting any negative publicity for the college. Well, I happen to have a friend who’s a journalist, what do you think of this title? Trans woman expelled from Bradford McKinley for defending a friend from transphobia. Wouldn’t want that to get out, right?” They laughed, took another drink, and continued, “You should’ve seen his face!”

“Oh, I did see his face,” I said with a grin, taking a drink from my own bottle. “I was sitting in a good spot, and I gotta tell you, it was a spectacle.”

“No, hold on a second,” Nora said, gesturing with her beer. She lowered her voice, and continued, “This is basically blackmail, isn’t it? Are we sure this is right?”

She’d tried to keep a straight face, but in the end she couldn’t – she burst out laughing on the last word, and we all joined her.

“No, of course it’s not blackmail,” Elanor replied, chuckling. “I didn’t say anything at all. There’s nothing on the record.”

“Oh my god, I love you,” Anna said, grabbing Elanor’s face between her hands and kissing them deeply.

“Boy, I was having some doubts about going on to law school after graduating,” Elanor said when they came up for air. “But you know what? This was way too fun and exciting. I’m definitely going to law school.”

“And I’ll call you should I need a good lawyer… again,” Vicky said, punching Elanor on the shoulder. “Thank you, Elanor. And thank you, Lily,” she continued, turning to me. “What you said in there was just… I never realised how much I needed to hear someone say something like that about me. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied. “I just hope I wasn’t too out of line.”

Vicky shook her head. “No, you weren’t out of line at all. I feel the same way. And you know you can always count on me, Sis. For anything.”

I leaned forward and hugged her tight; after we separated we exchanged a smile. “I’ll go get some more beer,” she said, and she stood up and walked over to the kitchen.

“Not too much, you’re not supposed to be breaking any rules, remember!” Anna called after her.

“Quiet, you!” Vicky shouted back with a laugh.

I smiled at the exchange. God, I loved my friends. I was going to miss them very much when I eventually went back to being a man.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder; I turned around, and found myself looking into Nora’s eyes, which were slightly clouded by the alcohol. “Lily, listen, I’ve been meaning to ask something. For a while now.”

I lifted a questioning eyebrow. “Yeah? What is it?”

Nora gulped. “I… My room-mates aren’t home tonight, they’re away for the weekend. Want to come over?”

Another eyebrow joined the first one as they rose in surprise: there was no mistaking what Nora’s invitation meant.

Logically, I knew I shouldn’t have.

But at that moment, maybe because of the booze I had in me, or maybe because of the euphoria of having managed to prevent Vicky from being expelled, logic gave way to instinct.

“Yes. Let’s go,” I said, standing up from the couch. I grabbed Nora’s hand, and we moved to the door. “Folks, Nora and I are going to… We’re… Um.”

Anna gave us a knowing grin. “Oh, just go, you two.”

“Yeah, make yourself scarce,” Elanor added.

“Have fun!” Vicky shouted from the kitchen.

I nodded. “Yeah. See ya.”

I dragged my girlfriend outside, and closed the door behind us; then I turned around and looked into her eyes. “Well, Queen Nora? Shall we go?”

Nora grinned. “Of course, my princess. Follow me.”

She grabbed my hand and led me away, towards her house. The alcohol coursing through our veins made us euphoric, and we found ourselves talking loudly with each other, and almost running in excitement, until, finally, we were there.

Laughing drunkenly, we all but crashed through the door.