Parrotfish

  MALACHITE: Felt like a million bucks, lemme tell you. At last I could stop being barefinned and pregnant all the time. I put on those supertights and I was the alpha dogfish! These days I leave the toilet seat up and everything!

  SEBASTIAN: [hesitates a moment] Ah . . . Malachite says the transition was miraculous. He feels that becoming a male fulfills his biological imperative.

  MALACHITE: I said that?

  SEBASTIAN: Can you tell us, is there anything you miss about being a female?

  MALACHITE: Oh, sure, let’s see. I miss sitting around in the algae all day long with a bunch of fishlets hanging on my scales yelling, “Mommy, I don’t want to sleep in my mucus sack tonight!” Or, “Do I have to eat zooxanthellae for dinner again?” Oh, yeah, it’s a ball being female.

  SEBASTIAN: Malachite says, no, being male is just fine with him.

  MALACHITE: You can say that again, cowboy!

  “Hello?” From the thickness of her voice, I presumed Eve had already been crying. It could be a soggy conversation.

  “It’s me,” I said, as I had so often during the past twelve years.

  She sniffed. “Oh! It’s you! I guess Sebastian told you to call me.”

  “He didn’t tell me to. He mentioned that you were upset, that Danya’s been spreading stories about the two of us. What a surprise.”

  She let out a deep breath. “Why did I ever start hanging around with her? She’s horrible. I know, you told me, but Angie . . .” She stopped and grunted. “Grady, Grady, Grady. It’s not that I don’t want to use your new name—it’s just that you’ve been Angie since we were little kids. It’s hard to think of you as somebody else. It’s confusing. What if I suddenly became Beverly or something? Could you stop calling me Eve overnight?”

  “Beverly? That would be hard, I admit.”

  “Anyway, I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting. I felt terrible about it—really, I felt sick—but once I started hanging around with Danya and her friends, it was like I was stuck or something. If I didn’t do everything she wanted me to, she turned on me. I didn’t know how to get out of it, and I was scared of her. God, I’m so tired of being a big chicken all the time. I wish I could be more like you.”

  “Hey, you told me about Danya’s trick. That wasn’t something a big chicken would do.”

  “Are you kidding? I was terrified!”

  “But you told me anyway, and now you’re paying for it. And I . . . I just wanted to say thank you.”

  It occurred to me that for the past month or more I’d been waiting for Eve to understand what was going on with me, and to forgive me for it. But now that seemed backward. Maybe it was my job to understand what was going on with her, and to forgive her for that.

  After a long silence Eve said, “So, are you not so mad at me anymore?”

  I laughed. “Yes, I’m not so mad at you anymore.”

  “Thank God! I missed you so much . . . Grady!”

  “I missed you too,” I admitted.

  “At least one good thing came out of all this,” Eve said. “At least we got to know Sebastian Shipley.”

  “We” did?

  “He is such a great guy, don’t you think?” Eve continued. “I mean, I know he probably just asked me because of those silly rumors Danya started, but still, it made me so happy, I started to cry!”

  I was a few steps behind her. “What are you talking about? What did Sebastian ask you?”

  She giggled rather uncontrollably. “Didn’t he tell you? He asked me to the Winter Carnival dance!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  When I came downstairs Thursday morning, Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, her hair unbrushed, her chin cupped in both hands. She was wearing her ratty old bathrobe that had lost its belt before Charlie was born.

  “Mom’s sick,” Charlie announced as he refilled his bowl with red and green cereal. “I’m going to Dan’s house. It’s our last day of school until January second!”

  “You’re sick?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Can’t drive. You can have the car. Take your sister.”

  “Is it the flu?”

  “I guess. I’m going back to bed.” She scooted her chair away from the table and pushed herself carefully to her feet.

  “Should I make you some tea?”

  She motioned no. “Can’t eat.” Then, as she shuffled to the stairs, she suddenly remembered something. “Oh, damn! I didn’t take in any clothes for you for Saturday night. Or let anything out for Charlie either. I was going to sew today, but now I don’t have the strength.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I assured her. “It won’t matter.”

  She leaned against the wall. “Your dad will be upset. You know he likes his pageant to be perfect.”

  “Oh, it’ll be perfect,” I said, grinning. “Just wait.”

  “Just the idea of having to cook a turkey . . . ugh. I hope nobody else gets this, or we’ll have to cancel the whole thing.” She sounded vaguely hopeful as she trudged upstairs.

  “Hey, if I’m not Tiny Tim this year, does that mean I don’t get the candy?” Charlie asked, taking a brief pause from inhaling sugar.

  “That’s right. You have forfeited your right to the licorice and peppermints.”

  “So I’m just getting those stupid socks again?”

  “What difference does it make? You still get your real presents the next day.”

  He frowned. “I know, but I like opening presents in the window and acting real happy about them. It’s hard to be happy about socks!”

  “Just pretend you open the box and a dog jumps out,” I told him. “It’s called Method acting.”

  *

  Laura and I were almost late getting to school because she was talking to Jason on the phone.

  “You’ll see him in ten minutes!” I said. “If we actually leave the house now!”

  She finally hung up and followed me out to the car. She didn’t seem too upset about Mom’s illness, or about my driving her to school in broad daylight either. In fact, now that Jason had invited her to the Winter Carnival dance, Laura didn’t seem to be upset about anything.

  “It’s supposed to snow tomorrow,” she said dreamily as we drove along.

  “You don’t like snow,” I reminded her. “You don’t like cold weather or winter or any month between October and March.”

  She laughed. “Oh, Grady, don’t be silly. That was when I was a kid. Snow is . . . romantic.”

  Romantic? Laura obviously had visions of Jason Kramer picking her up in his one-horse open sleigh, the mare prancing, the harness bells jingling, snowflakes catching daintily in her eyelashes. She’d blocked out the more likely scenario of having to wade through slush in her new suede shoes and then wait for the heater to kick in in Jason’s father’s car.

  Still, I was glad to see that having a genderswitching sibling hadn’t actually ruined my sister’s life. She had friends, she had a boyfriend, she had her Doctor Zhivago dreams.

  And she still had the ability to surprise me. “I am so glad Danya got suspended. You know, a lot of people really hate her,” Laura said.

  “You are? They do?”

  “Of course I am. Grady, she tried to humiliate you in front of the whole school!” she said, as though I might be unaware of that fact. “Everybody thinks she’s awful. She’s so manipulative. We’re all tired of her getting away with it.” We’re all tired? Everybody thinks she’s awful? Suddenly my sister, the freshman, was the mouthpiece for all of Buxton Central High School? “Eve isn’t the first person she’s told lies about, you know—she’s hurt a lot of people. I mean, if it came down to choosing between you or Danya, most kids would much rather be your friend.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Really, Grady, most kids think it’s pretty cool that you aren’t afraid to be who you really are. I mean, they’re a little confused about how it happened, but they think it’s cool that you just put it right out there. ‘I?
??m a boy now—deal with it!’ This girl in my art class even told me she thinks you’re cute.”

  I stared at my sister, whose body had obviously been taken over by a very sympathetic alien. She was smiling contentedly and staring out the car window at her own bright future. Never mind that two weeks ago she despised me, certain that my behavior would destroy her high-school experience—she was happy enough to claim me now. Did I have Jason Kramer to thank for this? Whatever. I decided to just shut up and appreciate it.

  I didn’t catch up to Sebastian until lunch, at which time I slid my tray onto the corner table and began a barrage of questions.

  “You asked Eve to the dance? When did you decide to do that? You didn’t even tell me!”

  His smile was large and sappy. “I like her,” he said.

  “You like her? What does that mean?”

  “Sorry, I thought you spoke English.”

  “Well, when did this—”

  “Yesterday, after I talked to you. I suddenly thought, ‘Why not? All she can say is no—that won’t kill me.’ And I figured she might want to show up with a guy to erase the label Danya was pinning on her. And I guess she did.”

  I glowered. “That’s not why she’s going with you.”

  “Why do you say that? Have you talked to her?”

  I nodded. “Last night. She was very happy you asked her. She thinks you’re a ‘great guy.’”

  “She does? Wow.” He stared off into the distance.

  I leaned over and drummed a finger against his temple. “Maybe you’ve forgotten—we have to film the dance. How can you have a date?” I wasn’t sure why I was acting so crabby about this, but Sebastian’s sudden interest in Eve had caught me off balance.

  He waved away my objections. “Once we get the cameras set up, we don’t have to man them every minute. There’ll be three of us, you know, and you and Russ don’t have dates. Do you?”

  “You know I don’t. And Kita says she’s going alone, so I don’t think Russ does either.”

  “So, no problem. You guys can watch the cameras while I dance with Eve.”

  Yeah, no problem, except for the forlorn feeling of abandonment I was trying to fight off. I’d just gotten my oldest friend back, and now she was hooking up with my best new friend. I couldn’t help wondering where that left me.

  Suddenly Sebastian slapped my arm, hard. “There she is,” he said, then stood and waved to Eve. She’d been standing in the middle of the cafeteria, holding a tray and looking lost. She couldn’t sit with Zoe and Melanie anymore: Even though Danya was suspended, they wouldn’t dare allow her at their table. And kids were staring at her, watching what she’d do next, a situation I was sure was among her worst nightmares.

  Sebastian to the rescue. “Eve!” he called out, not worried in the slightest about who might stare at him.

  Relief flooded her face when she saw who was calling her. She zipped over and slid into the empty chair Sebastian brought over to our tiny table.

  “Thanks,” she said, her back to the rest of the room. “God, this is awful. Is everybody still looking at me?”

  “No,” Sebastian lied.

  “Kind of,” I said. “Try to ignore them. In a few days they’ll forget all about it. Look, they hardly even stare at me anymore.”

  I’d meant that as a gentle joke, but Eve started to tear up—she was on the verge anyway. “Grady, I feel so terrible about what I did to you. You’re probably thinking that I deserve this. I do deserve it.”

  Sebastian looked frightened by her sudden dampness, but I was used to it. “Hey, look at me, Eve. Do not cry. That will just give the idiots more to gossip about.”

  She nodded and took a deep breath, trying to get herself under control.

  “I’m not mad at you anymore,” I said. “And I don’t think anybody deserves the crap that Danya dishes out. We’re both going to stand up to her and show her that she doesn’t have the power to hurt us. Right?”

  “Right.” She sniffled a little and sighed. “What would I do without you, Grady? You’re the best.”

  Sebastian’s tentative smile was hardening into shoe leather. I could tell he was feeling as left out as I had been a few minutes before. “Yes,” he said, “Grady is definitely the best.”

  “You both are,” Eve insisted. “You’re the two best guys in this school!”

  Guys. I think Eve was surprised at the ease with which she’d said it too, but I was completely overwhelmed.

  This time Sebastian was the one to lean across the table. “Grady!” he said. “Do not cry!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Friday was one of those days when the teachers pretty much give up trying to teach anything and just show movies and pass out cookies. It was the last day before winter vacation week and the day of the Winter Carnival dance; the last thing anybody wanted to think about was Jane Eyre or trigonometry. You could be sure that six or seven girls would have to leave school early for “a dentist appointment,” which everyone knew was code for “the hair salon.”

  I can’t say I was really feeling the excitement of these upcoming events. Yeah, I’d be going to the dance, but only to shoot video and watch my two best friends become a couple. Of course, Kita would be there too, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up about what that might mean—it wasn’t too likely she was going to smooch with me in front of the entire school. And the night after that I could look forward to destroying one of my father’s grand passions in life. Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas.

  Russ Gallo wasn’t in a celebratory mood either. In TV Production he stood behind me making little grunting noises while I edited the footage from the chorus recital. I was more than a little nervous, wondering if anyone had told him about me getting into the car with Kita earlier in the week. Or . . . anything else.

  “Man, I just don’t get it,” he said finally. “I went to the damn concert! I sat through the whole thing, and I hate that kind of singing. All those sopranos warbling around trying to find the right note. And then she doesn’t even appreciate it! What does she expect of me?”

  Was I supposed to answer that? “You mean Kita?” I said. Duh.

  “Yeah, Kita! I was there—you saw me!”

  I nodded. “But you didn’t exactly enthuse over the performance, Russ. I mean, singing must be pretty important to her.”

  He shrugged. “I guess so. But does that mean I have to love it? I showed up—there were several other things I would rather have done that night.”

  “Well, showing up is sort of the minimal requirement. Did you tell her you’d rather be doing something else?”

  He sighed. “Maybe. I don’t know. She’s always saying I don’t understand her, that I don’t try hard enough. I do try, but I still don’t understand her. I don’t understand girls.”

  “I heard you broke up.” I was trying hard to say nothing while still saying something. I’d already given up trying to edit the video.

  “Did she tell you that? I don’t want to break up with her—she’s just being crazy again.”

  I cleared my throat and dared to look at Russ. “So, you still . . . like her?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair as if he were plowing a field. “Man, I love her. She’s beautiful and smart and just . . . awesome. But she drives me insane!”

  That I could understand. “Yeah, Kita is pretty amazing.”

  Russ pulled up a chair. “Look, you’ve gotten to know her pretty well recently. And I know she likes you. So, I was just wondering . . . has she said anything about me? I mean, what am I supposed to do to get her back? I really miss her, Grady! What do you think I should do?”

  For God’s sake, Russ wanted advice from me on getting back together with the girl I was in love with! How did this happen? Was there a spot right in the middle of Sebastian’s football field for nonsexuals? The gender-free? People who everybody felt comfortable telling their sad stories to, who could fill in for either a male or a female, whatever the situation demanded? People you wouldn’t
mind if your girlfriend kissed?

  Still, the more I imagined that field, the more I knew I did belong there, right on the fifty-yard line, far from Paris and J. Lo, far from Sly. And maybe that was a good thing. Even if capital-M Man and capital-W Woman weren’t goals I was likely to reach—were those the only acceptable goals? I was a boy who had once been a girl. I was some of each. Which was beginning to feel okay.

  “I know,” Russ whined. “I sound like a fool. But I don’t want to lose her, Grady. I really don’t.” His miserable, sad eyes appealed to me.

  So, I told him. “Kita thinks you don’t really value her or her opinions. She thinks you’re selfish. And you treat her as if she weren’t as important as you.”

  “What? She’s totally important to me!” His eyes were round as he took in what I was saying. “She thinks I’m selfish? She told you that?”

  I nodded. “She thinks it’s a male chauvinist thing. You know, testosterone poisoning.”

  “Wow.” Russ leaned way back in his chair the way guys with long legs always do, without fear of falling over backward. “That’s weird, because I don’t feel that way at all. I mean, I don’t even know how men are supposed to act. I’m just winging it. And sometimes I think I’m not fooling anybody anyway—they all know what a big sissy wimp I really am.”

  I was still trying to process Russ Gallo thinking he was a big sissy wimp, when he suddenly righted his chair, looking chagrined. “I’m sorry, Grady. I shouldn’t be complaining to you about all this. I know you have your own stuff going on. It’s just that you’re an easy person to talk to.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, and it really was. “If anybody knows how hard it is to figure out how to be a man, it’s me.”

  He nodded. “I guess that’s true. Anyway, I’d never tell all that stuff to any of my guy friends. Even if they felt that way, I doubt they’d admit it. Guys don’t.”

  “Sometimes I think—” I began, then hesitated. Could I really say this to a teenage male?