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It was another week before she saw Devin Albright again. In part, it was because she didn't share any classes with him; she had in the past, but not this year. In part, it was because she had no intention of staying in one place long enough for anyone to find her—though she did start telling Nancy how to find whatever hidey-hole she was planning to use for lunch. (Every now and then Nancy got lost and didn't show up. Madison wondered if this was the fabled male affinity for spatial navigation coming into play—and if Nancy was doing the traditional female thing: stopping to ask for directions.) And in part, it was because she wasn't sure she wanted to try her luck. He had been nice to her once; by her calculations, she wasn't due for charity for another month or so. The Madison of three weeks ago wouldn't have hesitated to look him up, she realized. The Madison who had lived then would have been confident that good things would come her way. This was the Madison from Before, and to the Madison of today she seemed unbearably naive. But Nancy wasn't enough. She was a good friend and kind, but that ironic smirk of hers rarely left her face, and sometimes Madison's patience wore thin. It was hard to keep positive with Nancy needling everything and everybody—sure, she was funny, but sometimes Madison wanted for something else. The Madison of Before would never have felt this way, she realized; the Madison of Before had always been surrounded by praise and good cheer. "Or at least sycophants," said Nancy the one time Madison mentioned it, which showed her that Nancy at once understood it and had absolutely no intention of taking it seriously. She didn't bring it up again. She couldn't turn to her parents. She wasn't even sure what she wanted. She didn't have the words to explain; she didn't have the inner sensitivity to detect it. Feelings, Before or After, had never been Madison Bechtel's strong point. All she had was a growing sense that Nancy's style of friendship wasn't what she wanted. But from a lifetime of experience she knew that Stan and Cassie Bechtel could not give her what she longed for. She didn't know what it was, only what it wasn't: not Nancy's gloating; not her mother's waffling as she tried to decide whether she was speaking to a daughter or a son; not her father's distant, emotionless words; not Connor and his bad jokes and his teenager's toilet humor. He was like Nancy that way, incapable of taking anything seriously. He and Nancy might listen to her feelings, yes, but they would not honor them; and her parents didn't yet know how to listen—weren't sure who they were listening to. As she did her homework on Thursday night, she pulled out her cellphone every five minutes on Thursday night and verge on calling Devin Albright. Fifteen seconds later doubt would seize her and she would put the phone back. It was a wonder she got anything done. By Friday she had decided. And when Nancy plopped down next to her and said in a too-casual voice, "Sooo... Planning to contact Devin any time soon?", Madison had her answer. "No, not really. I've just... I mean, with finals coming up next week, I've got too much on my plate already without trying to make new friends." That was, of course, not the truth—though in some ways, it kind of was. She did have too much on her plate; there were too many things she was already scared of for her to want to add more to it, to voluntarily subject herself to the friend-making process where she must impress this new person (Devin) and show herself off to best advantage. It was like going on a date. What a nightmare that would be right now. "Oh," said Nancy, in a false voice, "I understand." And with that in mind, maybe Madison should've predicted that Devin should suddenly arrive at today's hiding place and say "Oh, fancy seeing you here!" with surprise so unconvincing as to wave a flag, and then sit down next to them without so much as asking permission. What got Madison was the speed at which it had happened. Between her telling Nancy where she planned to be this lunchtime, and Nancy actually arriving there, perhaps three minutes had passed. That was not much time for her to contact Devin and tell him how to get here. Had they planned this? Were they, to use this week's vocabulary word, collusioning? She turned to Nancy. "What, are you making all my decisions for me now?" "Absolutely," said Nancy. "I've signed you up for the Marines, by the way. I think it'd be a good career move for you." Madison scoffed. "Yeah right. The first time I got into battle, I'd get shot." "No you wouldn't," Devin said. "Who'd shoot a woman?" Madison couldn't think of any response to this. "How was the homework," Devin asked Nancy. "What, for Pittman?" Nancy said. "Terrible. You know how he is. Thinks his subject's the most important one. What, do we not have any other classes besides his?" "Pittman teaches History AP, right?" Madison said. "I don't take that class." They ignored her. "I have no idea why I signed up for him anyway," Nancy said. "I hate history. Especially when it's taught by a seventy-year-old half-senile teacher. I swear, he's told us about the Revolutionary War from first-hand experience." "I love history, personally," Devin said, "but not when it's taught like this. The thing about history is that it's all interwoven, like a tapestry. Chopping it into chapters like this... I mean, it's like pausing a song right in the middle. You lose all the connections. You stop seeing how it all actually really fits together." "Have you noticed that your speaking voice is higher than hers?" Madison said to him. They ignored her. "Well, but there are pauses, aren't there?" Nancy said. "I mean, nothing really happened between, like, World War I and World War II, right?" Fine, be that way, Madison thought. "What, are you kidding?" Devin exclaimed. "Everything happened between WW1 and WW2. World War I caused World War II." "What?" Nancy said. "How come?" Madison, despite herself, listened. "Well, when the war ended, all the Allies came in and hammered out the peace treaty, right?" Devin said. "And the countries that lost... Well, Britain and America and France and stuff were like, 'We don't just want them defeated, we want them humiliated.' And they imposed all these mean strictures and rules and laws on Germany designed to, you know, strip them of their pride and make them feel lousy about themselves. And directly out of that you got Germans who were saying, you know, 'Hey, well, screw this, this is ridiculous, we're better than this, we deserve better than this.' And they had a point, 'cause it was pretty harsh over there. But the problem was, one of those people was named Adolf Hitler, and he took it... A little far." "Wow," said Nancy. "I think I see your point." "It's all interconnected," Devin said. "It's like life that way. You have all these factors coming in and they all have an effect on a person, and sometimes it's really hard to tell where one factor ends and another begins, or how they interacted or stuff like that." "Wow, a historian and a psychologist," said Nancy with affable sarcasm. "Be still my beating heart. Could you possibly be more of a nerd, Devin?" "Well, at least I'm not wearing glasses," said Devin, with ineffectual indignance. It was like he couldn't muster the force to squash a banana. He was so... Feminine that way. "Oh, thanks," Nancy said with likewise-hopeless offense. "What, do I secretly have Superman's glasses or something? I put them on and nobody can see who I am?" "Who's the nerd now?" Devin cackled. This was all getting way too chummy for Madison's liking. She said, "Devin, how come you have a white last name?" Nancy gave her a look of complete incredulity. "What? Did I just mention his dead mother or something?" Madison said. "He's... What, Korean?" "Japanese, actually," said Devin, smiling, "but close." "But he has an American last name, and he doesn't speak with an accent." Actually, that wasn't true: he had a little of the sibilating lisp that had become the stereotypical hallmark of gay people. (Was he?) But in any case, that too was a Caucasian thing; she seriously doubted Japanese people used it when they were gay. "So what's up with that?" "Nothing much," said Devin. "My mom emigrated from Japan and met Dad in college; his family emigrated back in the 1880s. I think he said he's like half-Baltic, half-Park Place or something. Anyway, we speak English around our house because it's the only language my parents had in common, and then when they married Mom took Dad's last name." He gave a self-effacing shrug. "And then she had me." "Well, I can see why you're interested in all the factors that affect people," Nancy said. "Look at everything that's gone into making you. You have your Japanese mom and her culture's upbringing, and your American dad and his culture's upbringing, and then whatever culture his ancestors had which was passed down to you—and then you have your genes, and then your home life, and then your life outside of home, and then whatever native talents or propensities you came with. That's a lot of stuff." "...Yeah," said Devin. "That's a lot." He was completely still for a moment, and Madison wondered what was going through his head. But then he roused from his lethargy and turned to Nancy. "What about you? Where'd you come from? What makes a Nancy Butler?" "Oh, well, sugar and spice and everything nice, obviously," said Nancy sarcastically. "God, I dunno. Um. I'm more boring than you. My mom and dad met through my uncle, who was my dad's coworker and then his friend. He set them up one day and sparks flew immediately. And supposedly my mom was quite the looker when she was young, so I don't know what happened to me." "It's 'cause you cover up," Madison said. Then two pairs of eyes that faced her and she realized she had said the thought out loud. "Oh?" said Devin. "What do you mean?" And Nancy gave her a disgruntled gesture of assent. So Madison went on. "I've told her hundreds of times," she said. "The reason nobody notices her from a physical standpoint is because she slouches, and she wears unflattering clothes, and that terrible 80s-throwback hairstyle. And she doesn't wear contact lenses, even though she has them. You don't want to look pretty, Nancy, even though you could. So you don't. And people detect that. Now, the ones who are respectful leave you alone, because they can tell that's what you want. But the assholes, who wouldn't've left you alone no matter what you looked like, keep sniffing around because that's what they do. So of course you have bad experiences with men: you deliberately turn away all the good ones, and you only leave the morons like Craig. Hell, they'd go after a man if he had a pussy." "Oh?" said Nancy, looking directly at her. Madison realized what she'd said and shut her mouth, her face turning red. Nancy realized what she'd said and shut her mouth, her face turning red. And silence might have reigned forever had Devin not looked from one to the other and said, "Well... We could run an experiment." Madison snorted. That's me, the human experiment. Good thing to be. "Why, what the hell experiment would that be?" "Well... I have a Sharpie in my backpack," said Devin in his meek, milksop voice. "We'll go into the men's bathroom and write that, for a good time, people should call Madison at... What's your phone number, Madison?" "Fuck you," said Madison. "No, in numbers, please, I don't text that much," Devin said. Nancy cackled. "At least he isn't using the excuse to get into the girls' bathroom again." This was all getting too chummy for Madison's taste. "So, we were talking about how Nancy uglies herself up to avoid people." "What, as opposed to you spending two hours on hair and makeup before a date with Craig?" Nancy laughed. "I'm a time-saver, bitch. I only spend an hour getting ugly." "Well... Nancy, I have to say, I think Madison's got a point," Devin said. "I think that, if anyone were to look at you and actually pay attention, they would see that you could be beautiful, if you wanted. But I've been in classes with you for years now and I never saw it until now—because, yeah, you do kind of deflect male attention. You put up a shield of unattractive features, and that's enough to shield your attractive ones. But all the unattractive things are purely cosmetic. You could remove them if you wanted." "Yeah, but I don't want to, okay," Nancy growled. "Oh?" said Devin. "Why not?" Before Nancy could open her mouth, Madison intercepted him. "Don't ask. If she trusts you enough, she'll tell you." And Devin nodded and seemed to accept that. "Well, then, that leaves us with you," he said. "What about you, Madison? What's the confluence of parentage and experience and DNA that makes Madison Bechtel?" Madison wanted to glare at him, but Nancy was looking at her expectantly—probably glad to shift conversation off the perilous topic it had dwelled on earlier. And Madison wasn't entirely sure she did want to glare at him. It might break the mood. It was nice to talk this way—nice to have, for once, for just once, a normal conversation. "What makes me?" Madison said. "What's the DNA that makes me?" She snorted. "I'm surprised that isn't all over the school already." "Umm, I have to say," said Devin in that delicate voice of his, "that if your DNA was all over the school, I'd be extremely confused, because according to what I've heard, you don't actually have a penis." Madison found that she was laughing. So was Nancy; and then, nervously, a moment later, so was Devin. It was the first time she'd laughed in almost a month. She had almost forgotten what it felt like. "So, um, if I may ask..." said Devin when they were done. "What is exactly up with you? I've heard some terms bandied about and I think I trust maybe ten percent of it, so—if you don't mind talking about it, that is—I'd like to find out from the source." Madison shrugged and told him. "Wow," said Devin. "That's a lot of DNA. Amazing that just one gene could make such a huge difference on your whole... Well, on your everything." "Yeah," said Madison, less than reverent. "Amazing." "You were supposed to be a guy," Devin said. "I wonder what you would've been like." "Tall," said Nancy immediately. "Look at her, she's almost six feet as it is." "Don't I know it," said Devin, who was (at best estimate) perhaps 5'8. "And probably handsome, too, since you're very beautiful as it is." "Hopefully she wouldn't be one of those long-hair people, though," Nancy said. "I mean, some of them look hot, but others..." "What, like the really scraggly hair?" Devin said. "But then I guess that's the same as everyone," said Nancy. "Some of us spend a lot of time maintaining our looks, some of us don't. Males as well as females." "Pimples," said Devin in a mournful tone. "I'm like the Black Death sometimes." "She never gets them," said Nancy, pointing at Madison. "Evidently that's part of her condition—I guess because she's impervious to testosterone. She just... Never gets them. I swear, sometimes I'd be willing to trade it all just for that alone." "Ooh, me too," Devin exclaimed. "Would you?" Madison said, and the tone of her voice made them stop. "I'd take an eternity of pimples just to be normal." As always, Nancy laughed it off. "Oh, right. You've never had pimples, Madison, you have no idea what you lucked out of. But hey: everlasting pimples? Maybe we could sell you to OPEC. Solve the nation's energy crisis. The new savior of America: Madison Bech—" "Nancy," said Devin. "Hush." And Nancy stopped her diatribe and looked over at him, confused. Devin ignored her. "Madison," he said. "You are just as normal—or as abnormal—as you think you are." "Yeah, well, right now I think I'm pretty fucking freaky." "Yes, I can imagine," Devin said. He was kneeling in front of her, his hands on her shoulders, trying unsuccessfully to look into her downcast face. "It's hard to find out just how unique you are. It's hard to find out just how alone you are. But it's all in your mind. It's all in how people perceive—" "Everybody knows, they all think I'm a freak too," Madison muttered. "It's all in how people perceive your perception of it," Devin said. "Look at Nancy—look at what we just talked about. Look at what you saw about her. You saw something critical: that people treat her like she's unattractive. That she causes people to treat her like she's unattractive. That she thinks she's unattractive. Regardless of the facts, regardless of the truth. And because she thinks it, and exports that attitude, everyone else believes it. And it's exactly the same for you." "This is completely different," Madison mumbled, trying to fight her tears. "Ha," Nancy said. "Completely different? Why, because yours is genetic and mine isn't? How are my looks not genetic? How are anybody's looks not genetic?" "Mine too," Devin said. "A European last name and an Asian face—Madison, I speak to you of this from experience, I'm not making this up. The more you let it be a big deal to you, the more other people will make it a big deal to them." "So it's all in my head," Madison said. "All of it is just... In my head. If people are treating me differently, it's my fault." Before her vision blurred she saw Devin shoot an anxious glance at Nancy. Then she wrenched free of Devin's hands and turned away from them, determined not to let them see her shame. Behind her, she heard Nancy say, "Do you really think that's true?" "What is?" "That... It's all in our heads." "Didn't we just prove it?—the three of us?" "Yes, but then, what does that make Madison?" said Nancy, and there was genuine concern in her voice, without any of the mocking so prevalent with her. "I mean, if she sees herself..." "Then that's her choice," Devin said firmly. "Haven't we all felt isolated and alienated by our peers? We can choose whether to let that stop us or not. Both choices are valid. It depends on what kind of life you want to live." She heard the smile in his voice: "Me, I didn't want to be completely devoid of human contact, so I chose not to let it stop me." "But... Madison isn't just... I mean, you're normal, by and large. So am I. But Madison..." "Don't say there's something wrong with her." "I wasn't going to. There isn't. She's a perfectly normal, perfectly beautiful woman. But you can't deny that she's... Different." "No, you can't. Not after all that's gone around at this school. But you can still choose whether to let that stop you or not. What about people in wheelchairs? Heck, what about Stephen Hawking?" "But... Some people..." "Yes, some people. The jerks, right? The ones who keep sniffing around even though they've received your leave-me-alone signals? The ones who keep bugging you and me and Madison because they like causing pain?" There was no answer. "Screw them. Forget 'em. As a wise old man once put it: 'If you're holding out for universal popularity, Hagrid, you will be in this hut for a long time.' You can't please everybody. Some people don't want to be pleased. So don't try. It doesn't gain you anything to hurt yourself. Especially not for people who don't deserve that kind of effort." Madison felt that she had enough of herself together that maybe she could turn around now. Maybe. She decided not to risk it for the moment. "Hagrid, huh," said Nancy. She sounded amused. "You too?" "What, do you know anyone who isn't?" "She isn't," Nancy said, and Madison knew without looking that Nancy was indicating towards her. "I keep trying to get her to, but she says she doesn't like reading." "No, that's not true," Madison protested. "I'm okay with reading." She was a lot more okay with movies, but she'd read if there was nothing better to do. "I just don't have time nowadays." "Uh-huh," said Nancy. "Every time I give you a book you're excited about, I get it back in three months 'cause you haven't touched it. And these are books you're excited about. I tell you about them and you're like, Ooh, that sounds good—but then you actually get them and forget it. You don't like reading." "Okay, so I don't like reading," Madison retorted. "It takes me like two hours to get through my English reading sometimes, okay? I don't want to spend more hours with my face pressed to a book." "Two hours?" said Nancy. "What the hell is Clydely assigning you guys?" "It was like a chapter or something," said Madison. "Maybe two. It was about fifty pages." "I can read that in half an hour," Devin said. "I can read that in an hour or so," Nancy said. "Well, goody for you guys," Madison said. "I can't. Takes me hours." "And more of the mystery is unveiled," said Devin, smiling. Madison scowled at him. "Is that all I am to you? A mystery?" "What else are human beings?" said Devin, smiling. "What else, other than a mystery—one to be slowly unveiled and understood, one bit at a time as you start seeing all the little different pieces that go into making one. What other mystery is worth solving?" Madison was saved from having to answer this outrageous statement by the ringing of the bell to end lunch time; wordlessly she gathered her things and set off for her next class. It was Friday and there were only two classes to go before she could escape for the weekend. Not that home life was any better. After all, the only friend she really had was Nancy. "Oh?" was Nancy's response when informed of this distinguishing quality. "Devin doesn't count?" "We've only talked twice," Madison protested. "And that makes a difference? It only took one conversation before you and I were friends." "Well... He's... For being a guy, he's kind of girly." "So are you." "...Fuck you," said Madison, and hung up. Was it too much to ask for?—to get away from her reality for just five minutes? At least Devin was good at that. How the hell was she supposed to stop letting the matter bother her if others wouldn't stop letting the matter bother them? At least Devin's gaze didn't burn the way others' gazes did. At least... And there it was. Not even Nancy could do it, not quite yet—not even Nancy could treat her like a normal human being. With Nancy there was long, great familiarity, old habits and long-forgotten jokes like a scab over the wound, that let her relate to Madison in something resembling normalcy. With her parents, with Connor, there was no semblance at all; they were trying to rebuild their impressions of her in their heads, trying to square the Madison of Before with the Madison of Now—and, while they had long familiarity on their side, they didn't have the intimacy, the sharing, the deep knowledge that Nancy had. All their rebuilding was plain upon their face. But with Devin there was no wound at all. It was like he had accepted her already, already and completely. She needed that, she realized. And if Devin was the only one who could give it to her, then all the worse for her, because if Craig should be the only one who could treat her like a normal person, then she would take it. Someone who didn't stare. Someone who didn't judge. Someone who didn't need to keep bringing up that... that... that thing all the time. Someone with whom she could be, not a freak, not a spectator sideshow, but just... Madison Bechtel. Whoever she is. Three hours later Nancy called back. "Look, I'm... I'm sorry about. That comment I made. It was thoughtless." "No, don't worry about it, it's not... I shouldn't let that stuff get to me. You were just trying to make me smile." A bit of a giggle. "If it was someone else I might've laughed." She meant that if the joke had been about someone else, she might've thought it funny, but Nancy read it different. "Tch, yeah. I think we proved that. I mean, when Devin joked about it... But then we know I have all the tact of a sledgehammer." "Wait. Did Devin joke about it?" "The thing about your DNA all over the school, remember?" Madison had almost forgotten. Maybe she hadn't even noticed. "So... Well, I kinda hoped... I mean, life is easier when you can laugh at yourself, Maddie." "I know," said Madison. "But not yet." "Yeah, I noticed." "But I'll tell you when." "Okay." For the rest of the week, Devin joined them over lunch. On Tuesday Madison still resented it a little—she felt like Nancy was going behind her back by telling Devin where to find them. But Nancy simply said, "So tell him yourself"—and when Madison didn't on Wednesday, the silence between them was so overwhelming that after fifteen minutes Madison called him and did just that. Somehow, she just couldn't be at ease with Nancy. There was too much tension between them now, despite the apologies, despite the sharing. Devin was like lubricant, smoothing the interactions, making them happen. As if by common consensus, they didn't talk about the weighty things; instead they chattered, gabbered on, about whatever came to mind. Devin and Nancy found that they had a lot in common—both of them were unashamed nerds, and had a love for fanciful literature—but Madison found out that she had some things in common with him too, like a disinterest in math despite their relative skill in it (one of the few classes they shared was pre-calculus) and a love of chick flicks. Nancy promised never to let him live down the fact that he had cried over Titanic, but Madison told him, in the properly lofty tone, to ignore Nancy, whose tastes seem to center around making fun of bad movies. And beyond that, Devin made things seem normal. When he was near, Madison could pretend that all the awful new facts of her life had gone away, that she needn't worry about them anymore. That she was Madison Bechtel—young, pretty, and seventeen, without a care in the world. Devin added a whole new dimension to their conversations. In previous years it was just Nancy and Madison; Wanda and Jessica and Hazel had accepted Nancy only because she was the friend of their queen, and never extended to her anything more than polite acceptance. And this was the Madison of Before, too, who had reached out a hand in compassion to her friend without really understanding what she'd gone through. In the end, they didn't have all too much in common; sometimes she suspected Nancy of staying because she didn't actually have any other friends. And now that Madison was gone, replaced with an older, tougher, wiser one—okay, maybe that was staging it a little, but Before-Madison certainly seemed young and stupid to the Madison of today. This new Madison was more equipped to understand Nancy's dull jokes, her cynicism, her blunt insensitivity, the wan face joker's she turned to the world like a shield. And yet though the understanding between them was greater, Madison longed for a breath of the old innocence, the younger self she had once been; she wanted someone who, just for a few minutes a day, could be positive. Of course, Devin sometimes overdid it. He seemed so permanently upbeat that she wondered if he was on drugs. And yet that wasn't true either, merely her new-found cynicism speaking up. Devin knew when to be bright, and when to be subdued. He knew the right time for his jokes (something Nancy never had), and how to couch a phrase in a non-offensive manner (something Nancy never had). He didn't dismiss her feeling—he was the first person to ask after them, besides Nancy's dutiful questioning, and the first to actually take any interest in her answers. And it wasn't that he was always positive either, though he tried his best. It was simply that he believed what Madison said. Nancy doesn't treat anyone like a person—not even herself. She laughs at herself just as much as she does anybody else, and denigrates everyone the same way. Whereas Devin... He treats everyone like a person. Even some crazy thing like me. It's one of the dumbest things they do. It's one of the greatest things they do. Finals were finals—a day of feverish preparation followed by a ninety-minute test that was never quite as bad as she feared they would be. Coming out of the room, she was proud of herself: this was a critical time for grades, since she would be applying for college soon, and despite the upheaval in her life she had managed to bear down and focus. Which was not to say that she expected good grades or anything; she'd be satisfied to scrape past with Bs. But she thought she might have some compassion from her teachers when it came to the red pen. She had to admit she was relying on that a little more than she should. But frankly, she was happy she'd managed to come into the tests and been able to answer even half the questions, much less what actually happened, which was that she left almost nothing blank in the whole four days of testing. And then it was summer vacation. To celebrate Connor's first successful year in high school (assuming it had been; Connor was well capable of inciting mischief that would only show up after finals had ended) and celebrate his 15th birthday, they were taking a three-day family trip to the theme parks in the Los Angeles area, plus a day to fly there and another to fly back; and then it would be vacation time, with nothing to do but lounge around at home or see her friends. Madison had never looked forward to it less in her life. After all, who the heck was she going to hang out with? Three months of unmitigated Nancy would drive her mad, and she didn't think any of her other friends counted. Maybe Devin did—maybe—but they'd only been talking for, what, a couple of weeks now? That wasn't necessarily enough exposure for her to start asking him to come visit—or, preferably, to invite herself over, since three months of unmitigated Connor would drive her mad too. Especially since, in what Cassie Bechtel called a "moment of unintended weakness," her parents had bought for his birthday the electric guitar he had been coveting. Madison anticipated that it would be difficult for any of them to secure peace of mind over the next few months. So it was on Thursday night, after unceremoniously tossing all her school supplies in a corner and vowing that she would never look at a textbook again—a vow she knew she'd be forced to break in September—she went to her mother's study and knocked on the door. "Actually, I'd wondered about that too," Mom said after Madison had explained her case. "Dr. Winters recommended counseling—do you remember that?—and obviously you've been a little too busy with the last few weeks of school to start up with it. But it would give you something to do." "What, see a shrink?" Madison said. And yet she thought that her mother might have a point. Even if it's only one hour a week, it'd be one hour a week less I'd have to worry about. Mom continued. "My thought—being an old dusty parent and all—was for you to maybe take some summer classes at White Plains Community College. You could take subjects for fun instead of for grades, and you'd be surrounded by a more... Mature demographic. People for whom your... Particular issue... Might not be as big of a deal." Madison doubted that. Of all the boys she knew, the only one who hadn't freaked out about her condition was Devin; Craig's reaction was far more in line with what she would expect from men as a whole. Men just didn't seem to be as comfortable with messy, weird things—maybe because they didn't have to deal with bleeding out of their delicate parts every month. And even then, how far did Devin's compassion go? Somehow she knew that, if it had been he she'd dated, and if he had been the one to hear the revelation, he would not have been able to control his reaction. Recover from it, yes; apologize for it, yes. But not control it. And in some ways, it would've hurt even more than that jerking-away from Craig, because she was used to the idea of Craig being an asshole; it was par for the course. Whereas Devin, who was always so kind... Let's face it. From a romantic standpoint, I'm just doomed. There isn't a person on earth who wouldn't turn away from me after learning what I really am. If it had been Devin, and he had turned away—even for just an instant—I would be hurt, yes (of course I'd be hurt), but I'd understand. Hell, I wouldn't even blame him. And yet she knew she would look into what Mom had suggested. She had had too much experience with desperation recently to want to flirt with it more. "That sounds interesting," she said aloud. "It might be worth looking into." "Plus, you'd have a chance to make some new friends," Mom said. "White Plains serves the larger community, so you'd meet people from other schools—people who haven't necessarily heard about... Your condition. You could start over." Yes, but I'd have to tell them eventually. How could I lie about this for the rest of my life? "Is Nancy still your friend?" Mom asked. "What? Nancy?" Madison said. "Yeah. Yeah, she is." "Good, I didn't think she was the type to abandon people over something as minor as this." "How can you call this minor," Madison said. "It's not like... It's not like I just have an extra finger or a third nipple or I'm missing a rib or something. I'm a guy, Mom. I have testicles. I have fucking balls!" "Yes, you do," said Mom, not flinching. "And you've always had them. You're still the same person you were when you were born." "Yeah right," Madison snorted. "The only question," Mom continued, "is whether you're going to let it stop you." "Let it stop me?" Madison retorted. "How can I keep it from stopping me! It's a fact, Mom! It's not gonna go away!" "That's true enough," said Mom. "But it's up to you to decide how big of a deal it's going to be in your life. Madison, you're very lucky: except for not being able to have kids, you are a perfectly functional woman. Did you know that a lot of women with Complete Androgen Insensitivity Disorder can't have sex well because their private parts didn't develop fully? Their vaginas aren't deep enough to accept full penetration. You don't even have that, honey: Dr. Winters says your vagina looks completely normal, except for the missing-a-cervix part. Instead of trisomy-21, or missing a chromosome, or even something worse that would've caused you to spontaneously miscarry in the womb—instead of schizophrenia or bipolar disorder or Sudden Infant Death Syndrome—instead of any of those things... You can live your life as a perfectly normal woman. "Or, you can choose to think of yourself as a freak. "You get to choose, Madison. How this affects your life is up to you." Madison was silent for a moment. "I get to decide to be a girl?" she said. Her mother leaned forward in her chair and speared her with a glance. "Yes." "Can I decide to be a boy instead?" Madison said. If this phased Cassie Bechtel, she didn't show it much. "I'm sure you could, if you wanted to. Do you?" Madison ignored the question. "And would I get to belch like Dad does?" "Well..." Mom gave her an angular look. "You might. But if you did, your folks might, I dunno, throw you out of the house for unladylike behavior." "So why don't you do that to Dad?" Madison asked. "Because he's not a lady, of course," Mom said, grinning. "Anything else?" "Yeah, actually, I..." said Madison. Now the conversation had come full circle to what she'd wanted to talk about in the first place, and suddenly she wasn't sure how to proceed. Or if to. "Well. I've made another friend besides Nancy." "Oh?" said her mom. "And this requires parental approval?" "No, it doesn't," said Madison, blushing. "But... We've only been friends for a couple of weeks. And... I don't want to be stuck with just Nancy for company all summer." "Okay, so... What's the problem?" "Well... I don't know if I know him well enough." "Ohhh, a bo-oooy," said Mom. "Maybe this does require parental approval." "Mo-ooom, not like that," said Madison, blushing. And then: "I'm not gonna get involved with anybody right now. Not after Craig." She didn't think of him at all nowadays. Except to kick herself for being dumb enough to trust him. "So... You don't know if he thinks you two are close enough to be invited to hang out over the summer?" "...Yeah, basically," said Madison. "I mean, he's really shy." "So why don't you just ask him one day and see what happens," Mom said. "But... What if he isn't interested?" Madison said. She couldn't think of much of a better way to ruin a growing friendship than to push things too far, too fast. Except maybe trying to kiss someone who wasn't interested. Come to think of it, wasn't that just the same thing? "Madison, you just said that he's shy. Do you really think he has so many people lining up to be friends that he'll turn one away?" Madison saw that this was true. If someone came to her and offered her friendship, she would not turn the person down no matter who they were. And wasn't she, Devin and Nancy all in the same boat?—having only two whole friends in all the world? "Who is this mystery man of yours?" Mom asked. "It's Devin," Madison said. "The boy who found you in the girls' bathroom?" Mom said. "Umm... Yeah, that would be him," said Madison. "Hmm. I like him already," Mom said, grinning. "Mom!" The sliding three-note inflection every teenager uses to tell her mother she's embarrasing her. "You don't need your dusty old parents' approval, Madison—but just so you know, you have it." Mom smiled. "Any boy who helps you out is okay in my book." "Mom, don't go matchmaking us," Madison said. "I'm not," said Mom, too innocently. "I'm just... Expressing an opinion on your friend Devin, that's all." "Right," said Madison, leaving the office. She wondered for a second if Mom somehow knew more than she was letting on. But Madison couldn't see how that could be, seeing as, so far as Madison knew, Mom didn't know anything about Devin, excepting what she (Madison) had just told her. And yet the thought lingered in her mind. If there was only one thing Madison knew about her parents, it was that they knew much more about their childrens' lives than they let on.
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