Page 5 of Across the Green Grass Fields

“Why are girls starting puberty so early, anyway?” grumbled Hugo. “I don’t remember any of the girls needing bras before they were thirteen, and now it’s like some sort of a race.”

“It was always a race, dear, it was just a race you weren’t running,” said Maureen. “Ten is young, but it’s not that unusual. There was a girl in my class who was wearing D-cups by the end of third grade.”

Hugo shuddered. Regan, who didn’t fully understand what that meant, just frowned.

“There’s really nothing wrong with me?” she asked.

“Really,” said Maureen.

“Really-really,” said Hugo.

“I was born this way, and there’s nothing you can do to change it?”

“We wouldn’t change it if we could,” said Maureen. “You’re perfect. You’ve always been perfect, and you always will be.”

Regan, whose ideas of perfection were closely linked to conformity, didn’t say anything. She sat silently as her parents hugged her, first separately, and then together. She twisted her hands in her lap, tangling her fingers like the roots of a tree, and blinked back the tears threatening to spill over and run down her cheeks. She didn’t want to cry in front of her parents. Only babies cried in front of their parents, and she wasn’t a baby.

“Was there anything else you wanted to ask, sweetheart?” asked her father, letting go and leaning away from her, so he could see her face. He could see the brightness in her eyes, but he didn’t call her on it. This was all a bit overwhelming for him, and it wasn’t his body under discussion. It was understandable that she’d be a little upset.

“No, Daddy,” she said, with a shake of her head. Then: “May I be excused? I have school tomorrow.”

“All right, pumpkin,” said Maureen. “Brush your teeth before you go to bed.”

“Yes, Mom,” said Regan, and slid off the couch, heading for the stairs. She didn’t look back.

Her parents exchanged an anxious glance. “Did we do the right thing?” asked Maureen.

“We agreed to tell her as soon as she was old enough to notice that something was different,” said Hugo. “She noticed, she asked, we told her. I think it went about as well as it could have gone, all things considered.”

Maureen sighed and leaned against her husband, closing her eyes. She wanted him to be right. She wanted everything to be all right. But she kept seeing the shock and betrayal on Regan’s face. They had kept secrets from their daughter. Whether it had been for her own good or not, they had done it, and now they were going to face the consequences.

Upstairs in her room, Regan turned on her computer, bringing up Wikipedia. “Intersex,” she typed, and began to read.

She was still reading an hour later, when her father knocked on the door and told her it was time to turn off the light. Her eyes were dry as she kissed his cheek and climbed into bed. Her mind was whirling, and she thought she’d never be able to fall asleep, but when Hugo flicked off the light, it was as if he’d flicked her off as well. She fell immediately into a deep and surprisingly untroubled slumber, which lasted all the way until morning.

4

SOMETIMES WE MAKE BAD CHOICES

REGAN SAT AT THE kitchen table, poking listlessly at her oatmeal, pushing raisins beneath the surface. Her schoolbag waited next to her chair, ready to be slung over her shoulder as she ran for the bus.

Her mother stood by the sink, rinsing the pot she’d used to make the oatmeal. “Your riding lesson today is with Caroline,” she said. “You like her, don’t you? You said she has a good sense of what you’re capable of, even if it’s not what you’re doing right now.”

Regan nodded, head bobbing up and down like a puppet’s, and she shoved another bite of oatmeal into her mouth.

“Sweetheart, I need you to talk to me. I know we dropped a lot on you last night, but I need to know you understand it, and aren’t going to be eating yourself alive all day.”

“Huh?” Regan looked up from her oatmeal, spoon dangling loosely from her fingers. “Oh, yeah, Mom. I’m fine. I understand what you told me.”

“I’m so glad,” said Maureen, too relieved to question further. It had taken her a long time to understand what the doctors were trying to say; she was a smart woman, but this was her daughter they’d been talking about, and sometimes that had made it difficult for her to see things clearly. “You don’t have to go to school if you don’t want to.”

“We’re having a history test today. I don’t want to have to make it up next week.” Regan slid out of her seat. “The bus will be here in a few minutes. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” said Maureen, and watched Regan collect her bag and lunch and walk out of the kitchen. There was an odd finality in the moment, one that would come back to haunt her over the next six years, long after the search parties had given up combing the woods and the flyers had faded to illegibility in the store windows where they hung, endlessly hopeful, endlessly futile.

The screen door banged behind Regan as she left, cutting across the lawn to the bus stop. She was one of three students who were picked up this close to the edge of town, and the other two, the Ellery boys, were already there. As always, they ignored her, and she studiously returned the favor, staring blankly into the distance. Medical terms and confused, half-formed ideas chased each other around her head like untrained puppies, running into things and going sprawling, making it impossible to focus. It was almost a relief when the bus pulled up in a gout of exhaust and a rush of hot engine air, the door creaking open to admit the trio.

The boys sat up at the front with their friends, fellow princes of the playground. Regan slouched toward the middle of the bus, where a few members of Laurel’s outer circle were already seated, passing scented markers back and forth, whispering, and playing with each other’s hair.