The Sun Seekers

Chapter 1-2

Her next class was art. Unfortunately, she noticed Danny was now in that class, too, and he plunked himself down at her formerly all-to-herself table. “May I join you?” he asked. “Nobody else likes me.”

She wanted to ask, “What makes you think I do?” but Dusty was smiling. Her face crinkled as she tried not to smile herself, but it didn’t work. Every now and then, Dusty was the boss. It used to be, well since puberty knocked her over and rolled her up in a cement blanket of fear and worry, that he was happy. Dusty was her alter-ego, her inner child, her imaginary playmate. The latter one is what her mother called him, but Whit knew that Dusty was the person she was supposed to have been. Maybe she’d been part of a set of twins and he had died and nobody had told her. Maybe she’d absorbed him in the womb. Maybe God got it wrong or Satan had hit her up while her mother carried her. Maybe her mom’s hormones had been messed up. Maybe she should have killed herself before she understood what was wrong with her.

Nothing could spoil art class, not even Danny sitting with her. It was the only safe haven she had all day. She was very lucky she had been able to take two semesters of it, but she had flat out refused to take Home Economics or gym. Seniors were allowed some choices, thank God, and never going to gym again was hers. Undressing with all those girls, ugh. Besides, the gym was cold.

She had no idea she was one of prettiest made girls there. She just hated how she looked. So did Dusty, but Dusty had a plan. It involved killing her off.

Danny sat sprawled awkwardly beside her. His elbow bumped hers. His knee bumped hers. She side-eyed him to see if he was doing it on purpose, but he was blushing furiously so she forgave him. In fact, she had to stifle a laugh. Finally she understood there was someone else in her school who felt as clumsy and uncomfortable as she did, though likely not for the same reason. She thought, Well if a transgendered girl like me (it’s the first time she’d used that word in her mind) is like, one in thirty-thousand people, and what did they say, a boy like him would be one in ten thousand, last I read on the internet, then—no. Hell no. Maybe he’s just gay.

Dusty took over. Dusty was a w***e. Or wanted to be, Whit thought uncharitably. “Are you gay?” he whispered hopefully into Danny’s delectable ear.

Whitney told him to shut up. Now she was blushing furiously. She did laugh out loud though, at the looks that paraded over Danny’s face. She also noted his breathing doubled, he grabbed onto the table with both hands, dropping his art supplies all over the floor, and whispered back, “Oh my God, does it show?”

And they both started to giggle. One of them risked a look at the other and when their eyes met, it only got worse. They giggled and tee-heed until the teacher, Mr. Jay, gave them a dirty look. That didn’t help much, because after he glared he smiled. It was obvious he hadn’t wanted to smile, but he was young (and cute) and did anyhow. When they started snuffling into their hands and tears were running down both red faces, the teacher took pity and pointed at them and nodded toward the door. “Out,” was all he said.

Once out and with the door shut firmly behind them, there was a moment when Whit thought they might hug each other, or at least fall against each other in order to help stifle the laughter, but it passed. She only leaned weakly against the wall, steadying herself with a hand on Danny’s shoulder. He was a few inches shorter than she was, but equally weak from their fits. “I’m so sorry,” Whit finally got out, wishing she could tell Danny about her imaginary friend.

“I-it’s okay,” Danny got out, his face starting to be less red. “But how did you know—I mean, really, does it show?” Now he was serious, confused.

“No, I just hoped so,” Whit heard her arch-enemy say. “Crap. s**t. Piss.” That was pure Whitney. “I better tell you, Danny, there’s just no way around it.” She shook his shoulder and moved in close. This was all her female self, now. “I’ve never told anyone else,” and tears were leaking out of her eyes. “But—I think I’m transgendered.” There, it was out, she’d said it. That made it real, didn’t it? It felt like it was real. It felt so damn true. “And I call my inner self Dusty.”

As one, they sank to the floor, very close beside each other, with the hall all to themselves, and their hands joined. “I thought that was only butch lesbians,” Danny said. “You’re not like that, you’re pretty and cute and have great boobs, er…Not that I…um.” Here came his blushes again. Furiously this time, and he snorted a few times trying not to laugh again. Making things worse, which he was good at, he added, “All the guys say that, about your, um, br-br-boobs.” And then he was holding a sobbing girl with beautiful breasts. I will never understand girls, he was thinking, even if they’re actually guys.

Just as Whit calmed herself down to hiccups, and Danny was making soothing noises and patting her back, the door to the art room opened and Mr. Jay came out. “Is this a bad time?” he asked, his mouth quirking. He knelt down beside the two kids. He was happy he could wear jeans to work, as art got messy, at least it did in his classes. When he got home, covered variously in finger paint, oil paint, water colors, chalk or markers, Aiden, his husband, just shook his head, kissed him if he could find a clean spot, and pointed him to the shower.

“Uh, Whit, would you like to go to the girls’ room?”

“No, don’t ask her…” Danny started.

Whit made a heavy gurgling sound in her throat.

“Are you all right?” asked Mr. Jay, who suddenly felt at a complete loss. Did she have her period? Did Danny hurt her? Mr. Jay knew nothing about girls. Nothing.

Unfortunately, Danny and Whit made eye contact with each other. Whit’s chin began to quiver. Danny started to breathe funny. He snorted. Whit somehow, someway, got it together, except, Dusty took over. Where she had been going to say politely, “I’m all right now,” Dusty said instead, “I need to go to the f*****g boys’ room.” And she found herself standing up, brushing off her butt, and stalking down the hall to the boys’ restroom. She entered, and the door shut behind her.

Mr. Jay stood up. He felt faint. “What? She’s moody, isn’t she? Is it her time of the month?”

Danny also had made it to his feet. “Mr. Jay,” he got out. “Haven’t you ever met a transgendered person—before her? Oh, and I’m gay.” He felt his chin rise in the air and he dusted off his butt the same way Whit had. He had no idea why he had said that. Then he turned and looked at Mr. Jay. “I’ve never told anyone that before, and it feels so real now, I mean, it is real, you know? I guess it’s probably a lot worse for Whit. What should I do?”

Danny looked so troubled that Mr. Jay actually wrung his hands. Then he squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Go get her—him—out of there before the bell rings. Both of you come see me after school, and I’ll have some ideas for you. In the meantime—just tell her—him—that she’s—he’s—going to be all right.” He managed to breathe. He was completely off balance emotionally himself, and had zoomed back to his own high school days as fast as ugly memories can take you. It was like PTSD. He looked straight into Danny’s eyes, noticing the wrinkle in his forehead that showed how worried he was. Nice kid, Mr. Jay thought. “And, Danny,” he added sincerely, “you’re going to be all right, too.”

Right, Danny thought as Mr. Jay went back into the art room. It sounded like both the door and the teacher breathed sighs of relief. What could an old man like that possibly know about the real problems kids faced every day, nowadays. Mr. Jay was probably over thirty for crying out loud.