Chapter 22: 22. Out With The Old…

Sitting across the kitchen table from Mum, I can't help but feel guilty. She's upset--genuinely upset, not some sort of crocodile tears--and I can't really argue that it's due in part to my thoughtlessness.

It's been about five hours since I told the school I was planning on transitioning, and I'm still kind of riding that high. As Mum and I eat our dinner--a classic beige tea tonight, chips and beans and chicken dippers, because sometimes what you really need is that shit food--I decide I should probably fill her in on the day. After all, I'm going to need a girls' uniform soon. Mum will probably be the one to pay for it. And so, between mouthfuls of breaded chicken, I explain to her what the plan is.

It would be accurate to say that she hasn't reacted in exactly the way I would have wanted her to. She's not mad about me transitioning, she assures me--even if she still can't understand how I feel, she's not about to tell me that the way I feel is wrong. She's just upset that I didn't keep her in the loop. I can see where she's coming from, to be fair. Not that she's owed any detail about my life unless I choose to give it, but... it's been a little over a week since Beth moved out. I know full well how hard that is. Had I not fallen in with Jessie and the girls, I'd be a profoundly lonely, miserable excuse for a boy right about now. It's only through happenstance and luck that I'm not lonely, that I now know I'm not a boy. And Mum hasn't had that. There was no gender epiphany for her--at least, I don't think there has been. She's not suddenly found new friends. She's been working from home by boss' orders for nearly a month. Her own fault, her own bigotry that caused it, and I don't have too much sympathy on that front, but it's left her cut off from the limited social circle she maintained. I don't even know if Mum has friends outside her workplace--she's never mentioned them, nor had any visit the house during my lifetime. With Beth gone, I've become the only thing keeping her from complete isolation.

She probably worries that she's losing me too.

I might be more nervous about the whole ordeal if I were alone. I'm not, though. Even aside from my friends, I know the school has my back. The receptionist, it turns out, is a trans girl herself. She told me a bit about herself earlier: how she'd known she was a girl from a young age, how she'd transitioned at the age of twelve. She told me how the old administration was terrible about it. Senior teachers would turn a blind eye to bullying. The headmaster mandated that she continue to change for PE with the boys. And because the environment was so hostile, the courts got involved. She explained some of the wherefores, but my knowledge of the legal system is functionally zero. I think I glazed over at that part. In short, the old head got the push. A new, more welcoming environment was actively fostered. The school now has specific trans policies in place. "And besides, every teacher here knows that if they make life hard for a trans kid, the Equality Act will slap them down."

The plan, now, is quite simple. For the next four days I will continue to live this miserable charade. I will wear the mask of Harry, keep my head down, spend what time I can with Jessie. We plan to make the most of our time being publicly together without running the risk of homophobic abuse from our peers. On Friday, my transition will be announced to the students in my year-group. On Friday, the last anchor keeping the mask of Harry in place will be lifted. On Friday, the charade will end; Hannah, and Hannah alone, will live. I count down the days with relish.

I explain the plan to Mum as we eat our tea. As the meal passes, her face softens. The shock of the upset passes. By the time I'm done telling her everything, she's found a smile for me. "We'll have to get you a new uniform, I suppose," she says. "I'll get the tape-measure after tea so we can get you fitted properly."

"Not just a uniform," I tell her. "A whole new wardrobe."

She grimaces. "Hannah..." She starts slowly. "Look. I know I said some bad things in the past but I don't want to you to think I don't support you one hundred percent of the way. If you're to be my daughter then I'll have two daughters. I'll get used to it--for your sake. That's how much I love you. But honey, I can only afford to spend so much. I can get you a uniform, no problem, and some other things too. But you might have to make do with some of your older clothes as well, at least for the time being. Is that okay, hun?"

I make a non-committal grunt. My dreams are filled with skirts and dresses and pretty things by the hundred, and the clothes I wear as Harry are scratchy and uncomfortable--but I know there's logic to what Mum says. I know it makes sense. How much would it cost to buy me an entire new wardrobe in a single outlay? Hundreds of pounds easily, even if we stuck to budget brands. If Mum doesn't have several hundred pounds spare to spend at short notice, then she doesn't have the money. No amount of moaning will change that. Knowing Mum, too much moaning will actually make her dig her heels in. If I see her side of it, I can probably wrangle at least a couple of skirts out of it.

"Tell you what," says Mum. "Why don't we set aside some time tomorrow? We can go through all your drawers, and throw away everything you know you won't wear again. Just pick out the things you like the most."

I consider telling her that I don't really like anything I own, save for my dress, but when I think about it a little harder, there are a few graphic tees that I find kinda funny. They can stay for now, I guess.

Plus, it's my birthday in a month. I'll finally be sixteen--and better, Nana will probably give me money as she always does. Bless her heart, she's never understood how to pick out a present. Even when Beth and I were small and our Christmases and birthdays consisted entirely of any brightly coloured plastic tat that made a noise, Nana gave us money in an envelope. I hated that as a kid--a waste of a present. Now, it seems like a miracle.

*

The week seems to drag by. True to her word, Mum helps me sort through all my old clothes after school on Wednesday--we end up with two black sacks full of stuff to donate, and a dozen or so items I can bear to keep. I think Mum expected me to keep more. She doesn't complain, though.

Thursday is probably the worst day though. The receptionist warned me that it would take a few days for my new name and gender to appear in the system, which I'd not worried much about at the time--as long as the system was right by Monday, which she told me it would be, I didn't really mind how long it took. On Thursday, though, it becomes clear that the system has finally updated. The teachers obviously haven't been told, though. In all five of my classes that day, as well as morning form, the teacher hesitates when they get to my name. Twice--in history and in maths--they look oddly my way, then call for 'Harry'. In morning form, and the biology and chemistry double-header I have just before lunch, the teachers seem to decide to avoid any misgendering or outing by just calling for 'Carden', without forename or pronoun attached. Old Mr Gilfoyle, the sub who is covering for my usual geography teacher last period, doesn't seem to even realise there's been a change--why would he? He only subs for my classes about three or four times in a normal year--and gets halfway through saying 'Han--' before I butt in with "here". Fortunately none of my classmates seem to notice.

Not that it'll matter by this time tomorrow, anyway. But it would be a shame to get this close and not be able to come out to the world on my own terms.

And then, at last, the day is here. Friday. The last day of Harry, the first day of forever. All the Girls are waiting for me at the school gates when I get there. Jessie kisses me, Emma hugs me, Kiah beams at me, Olivia hugs me. "We're so excited for you," says Emma.

"You must be terrified," says Kiah.

I nod. "A bit," I say. "But, like, I'm excited as well? Probably excited more than scared, really. I've got you girls. I don't really have any other friends here, never have--what's the worst that can happen? Sure, the rugby team will probably hate me but they already hate me, and I hate them. They're pricks. No loss."

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Emma and Olivia exchange a significant look, which worries me, but don't pass comment.

"Remember, we're on your side," says Kiah. "Always."

"See you Monday, Hannah," adds Olivia. "And don't you dare come to school looking cuter than me."

The Girls head inside, leaving me and Jessie alone. It hits me that the next time I hang out with them--with anyone--I'll be a girl in the eyes of the world. As part of the plan, I've got permission to head home early from school, before the assembly where my new identity will be told to the school. It means no lunch with the Girls.

Jessie leans in for another kiss. "I'm proud of you, cutie," she says. "And don't ever think that this means we're not girlfriend and girlfriend. I still want to be with you. I'm sorry I don't have the courage to be out yet."

I smile at her. "Courage will come in time," I tell her. "Jessie, I wouldn't be who I am without you. Literally. So you don't have to apologise for being you." I take another kiss.

I can still taste Jessie's lips when I sit down for my first lesson of the day. Sweet. I'll miss her kisses in the mornings. Between that and my upcoming coming-out, I'm too distracted to focus on my work. Minute after minute goes by--but I spend more time staring at the face of my watch, watching every second tick by, than I do putting pen to paper. Mrs Kilgallon, my teacher, is unimpressed by this. I can see her sour face ruminating on what to say as she glares at me. Before she says anything, though, the bell rings for the end of the lesson. I haven't even done a quarter of the work I was supposed to, but I don't mind too much. I've got plenty of months to get back up to speed before my exams. Months where I'll actually be me, and not this moribund façade. As I pass her desk, Mrs Kilgallon hisses to me: "I hope your work is better when you're a girl, Carden."

Rather than acknowledging her, I just walk quicker.

I don't really want a repeat of Mrs Kilgallon's comments--which really sting, moreso than I'm expecting--and that seems to focus my attention on my classwork for the next few lessons. And when I realise that focusing on my work makes this interminable day go quicker than watching the clock, I focus even harder. Of course, I'm still distracted. In every classroom, all day, I find myself taking note of the people around me. How many of them like me? How many of them even know who I am? I suspect I haven't ever even registered on the radars of a good number of my peers.

In a few hours, they'll all know who I am. Crucially, they'll know Hannah.

I wonder which of them will hate me for daring to be who I am.

Lunch, at last, arrives. I stuff my books into my bag and sling it over my shoulder, and follow the throng of students down towards the main foyer. Instead of heading for the dining room or the quad, I veer off. Into reception. A different receptionist is on the desk today, an older woman.

"Hi," I say, "I'm supposed to sign out at lunch today? I've got an appointment."

The woman looks at me. "What's your name, love?"

I swallow. "Hannah Carden," I say.

"Hannah?" Her eyebrows rise almost off the top of her forehead. She glances at the computer screen in front of her, then nods her head. "You're the trans kid, I take it? Sign this so we have a record that you've left the premises." She hands me a sheet of paper on a clipboard, and I scribble my name and the time. And then at last I'm on my way.

As soon as I'm out of the school gates I let out a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding in. There's no going back now.

Harry Carden is dead. In his place is me. Hannah.

Forever.