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CHAPTER ONE
Sally
I’m never going out untucked again.
The gas station clerk has been staring at me since I walked in. I’ve spent the last five minutes staring at the same section of drinks. I’ve burned the contents of the fridge into my head. First, the energy drinks, then coffee, and lastly, tea. After running my eyes over the selection for the hundredth time, I anxiously glance over at the front counter.
Yep.
He’s still staring at me. Nerves bubble up from my stomach. Maybe he just thinks I’m a stupid kid trying to steal something or buy alcohol—even though I’m pretty sure all the kids from school get their beer from him. Lotte always says if you flash your tits, then the clerks will just let you buy whatever.
If I’m being honest, I’d rather him think I’m stealing than the alternative. I hate it when people stare just because they know I’m trans. I look down at my outfit. White crop top with different-colored butterflies and a light-blue tennis skirt. My stomach is barely showing, though that’s not something I normally worry about. The intrusive thought that clouds my mind is whether there is a minor bump showing everything I try to hide from the world.
I thought I would stop being this self-conscious about passing after I graduated. I’ve spent five years becoming this version of myself, and there’s still more to achieve, but one weird look, and I’m contemplating running away.
Running away sounds nice.
I take a green tea out of the fridge, steeling my nerves as I walk up to the counter.
“This all, Sally?” he asks, sounding disinterested in my response. My stomach has drops to the floor, and I let out an audible squeak.
He raises his eyebrow at me, draping his eyes over my figure not once but twice. His eyes glaze over slightly as they stop at my chest.
“Sally, you’re like a tranny, right?” My eyes widen, and my cheeks flush.
“Um…yeah.” My voice sounds foreign under its nervous quiver, unlike the screaming in my head.
Did I really just respond like that? I’m still so weak-willed that I can’t correct someone when they throw a slur at me.
The glaze over his eyes vanishes, and his gaze drags down to my skirt for a second before finally coming back up to my eyes. He really checked to see if there was a bulge.
“Shame.” He scans the drink, disinterested in the conversation again. “ You were kind of hot.”
I need to get out of here before I throw the can at him or cry. Maybe I should do both. Both sound nice.
“Thank you.” I quickly throw two dollars at him instead of the drink. Why the fuck did I say thank you? Curse my moms for teaching me manners above all else.
“Tell Lotte to come in sometime,” he calls after me as I run out of the store.
Fuck you, dude.
I want to get out of here as quickly as possible. Without missing a beat, I pile into the red sedan right outside. I continue to stare at the drink in my hand.
All the effort I put into being as feminine as possible feels pointless.
“Sally,” a familiar voice brings me out of my spiral. My eyes meet the golden-brown ones of my sister, Ariella, better known as Ella.
Ella Reed, my sister and best friend. Most people don’t guess the former, though. They can clearly see we are best friends, but when comparing us side by side, we look nothing alike. She has dark-brown curls that spirals down her back and golden skin dusted with freckles. Her whole appearance contrasts mine, from my pale skin and blonde hair with pink highlights. Even our styles are completely different. Ella loves looking like the kind of girl that can kick your ass with ripped jeans, a tank top, combat boots, and a leather jacket.
We weren’t always thick as thieves. When she was first adopted, we said maybe three words a day to each other. That was how it went for the first few months. I was still fresh in my transition, with only a year on blockers and a few months on hormones.
“Are you okay? Hey, Sally.” She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” she repeats.
I shake away the thoughts with the embarrassing realization that I was just staring at my tea without answering Ella. My knuckles tighten around the hem of my skirt.
“Yeppers,” I chirp, hoping that my fake happiness tricks her.
She furrows her brow, obviously noticing my bullshit acting job.
