of hearts. The card of betrayal. The card of heartbreak. The love triangle card. Whoever you were thinking about, this will not end well for you.”
“Oh,” I say, then sit back in the chair. The reality sinks in, sending chills down my back. I say it again for good measure. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry to tell you that bad news.” She grabs her pen and starts scribbling on the heart card. “Promise to not hold it against me?”
“I hold you personally responsible,” I say.
“Pony, these cards are only guidance. Your fate isn’t sealed. You decide that.”
I get up to leave, and she hands me the heart card.
“Take it as a reminder.”
I look down at the card. She has scribbled her phone number on the edge of it.
“And call me when you’re ready to move on.”
I pocket the card. I turn to walk away but stop. “Gretchen, I’m trans.”
“Pony,” she says, “that only makes me like you more.”
“Cool,” I say, then walk out, head down, praying that I won’t run into Kelly. It sucks that I’m ditching Max, but I can’t get spotted. Even if she is an ally, I can’t run the risk of being outed. Before exiting, I turn around and see people having fun. I can’t help but feel on the outside of it all.
NINE
Wednesday, September 25
GEORGIA, 6:10 P.M.
Stop eating my tots. Stop eating my tots. STOP EATING MY TOTS.
“You don’t mind, do you, sis?” Izzy asks, ten tots too late.
“Have as many as you want, sis,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Truth,” she says.
Cheerleader tradition #3478: Seniors mentor sophomores, sister style. Izzy is a decent “li’l sis,” and I’m a terrible “big sis,” but I’m trying to make things right by taking her out after a brutal practice. The cheerleaders have commandeered a picnic table in the middle of Sonic at peak time. The whole team is spread out and having a ball.
I’m dedicating time to Izzy and her future. Mentoring today’s youth is a selfless act on my part, but it’s cool; I have plenty of time lately. I have been boy-less since Pony rejected my friendship and dropped the bomb about Jake and Taylor. The universe is making sure that I keep my “no dating for a year” promise whether I like it or not.
Football season has kept me busy. And school too, I suppose. But my time and energy have been devoted to my undercover writing for the Reporter. Ms. Randolph agreed to let me publish without a name attached. She thought it might create mystery.
As a joke, I turned in five hundred words about the cafeteria food. To my surprise, the searing op-ed of Sloppy Joes Monday—which I wrote like a fancy restaurant review—was published (by “Anonymous”) the next week. Seriously, no one reads the school newspaper, but it felt like I was walking on water to read my words out there in the world.
After that, I met with Ms. Randolph, and we came up with some story ideas. She told me that my sloppy joe piece had the highest click-through rate ever. I can only imagine what that means. Ten clicks, maybe? Couldn’t be more than eleven. I’ve had another article published, and I’m working on another one demanding goat yoga during gym class once a week.
Mia yells my name, bringing me back to earth. She’s at the other end of the table, waving her hand and holding up her phone. Picture time. I put my arm around Izzy and smile. Mia snaps a couple and gives a thumbs-up. Time to impart some wisdom on a young and still-forming mind. “Izzy, you are a great cheerleader. You have a bright few years ahead of you.”
“Truth,” she says.
I remember being in Izzy’s shoes. Trying to be cool to impress the seniors. Saying whatever I thought would get me there.
“Iz, do you have any hobbies? Things you do outside of cheerleading?”
“Um. I hang out. Talk to guys. My parents make me spend time with them. Is that what you mean?” she asks, then takes another damn tater tot.
“Kind of,” I say, moving my tot tray out of her reach. “I just don’t want you to have any regrets about high school.”
“Regrets?” she asks with crumpled eyebrows.
“Yeah,” I say. “I have a few.”
“G, we all heard the story about the party last summer. But whatever. You shouldn’t regret that,” she says.
Is my li’l sis trying to comfort me? Gross. No.
“I’m just saying, don’t get consumed with cheerleading. It’s not everything.”
Izzy looks at me and nods like she’s getting