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October 2015
Luke shoved his fingers in his ears just as the referee’s whistle screamed through the air. The sound sliced right through his skull, and he couldn’t help wincing.
Great. Another Saturday wasted watching a bunch of overgrown boys chase a ball with sticks like their lives depended on it. How is this helping the social structure of the world?
The bleachers rattled beneath everyone’s feet, parents cheering, students yelling, drums banging from somewhere in the back row. The whole thing smelled like grass, sweat, and cheap hot dogs. He hated it. He hated all of it.
To his left, Mom was clapping like she was at the Olympics. To his right, Dad had his phone out, already recording. They both looked like they were about to cry or explode. Maybe both. Who the fuck knew? But Luke knew why. It was because their golden boy was captain of the lacrosse team now. Big deal.
Luke stared at the field, trying not to roll his eyes as his brother Gabe ran across it like he owned the place, shouting orders at his teammates. Everyone loved him. Mr. Perfect Grades, Perfect Smile, Perfect Future. Meanwhile, Luke was just the weird little brother who’d decided to stop being Lola last year and had made the entire family walk on eggshells ever since.
He could practically hear what everyone thought when they saw them together: That’s Gabe Davies brother?
Yeah. Lucky him.
Luke dropped his hands from his ears when the whistle finally stopped, but the noise didn’t. It never did. The cheering, the chanting, the fake enthusiasm that made his skin itch. He slumped lower in his seat, hoodie half over his face, wishing he could disappear into the metal bleachers.
His mom nudged him. “Sit up, Luke. Your brother just scored!”
“Wow,” Luke muttered, not even looking up. “Call the news.”
His dad lowered the phone just long enough to glare at him. “Can you at least pretend to care? Your brother’s worked hard for this.”
Luke groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I am pretending. See? Go team.” He waved his hand limply toward the field, then dropped it. “Can I go home now? This is torture.”
“Luke,” his dad warned, voice tight.
“What?” Luke shot back. “It’s not like he’s curing cancer. He’s hitting people with sticks.”
Mom sighed softly, the kind of sigh that said please don’t start.
But Luke was already halfway there.
“Seriously,” he said, leaning forward so they could hear him over the crowd. “How come lacrosse gets all this crap? The banners, the pep rallies, the field lights. Like, what about the art club or the debate team? Nobody’s chanting their names. It’s just—” he waved a hand again—”toxic jock worship. It’s ridiculous.”
His dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “Luke—”
But Luke’s father didn’t get to finish, because a group of girls walked past the front of the bleachers, all glossy hair and fake laughs. One of them (Amber, of course) looked up at him and smiled that too-sweet smile. “Hi, Lola,” she called, dragging out the name like it tasted good in her mouth. The girls snickered as they passed.
Luke froze for half a second, heart clenching, before he spat, “Eat shit, Amber.” Loud enough that at least two parents turned their heads.
“Luke!” his dad hissed.
Luke shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek, pretending it didn’t sting as much as it did.
Mom’s eyes softened. She didn’t say anything to scold his language. She never did when it came to stuff like this. But she gave him that look. The one that meant she knew. She knew how hard the past year had been. How every day felt like starting over, like explaining yourself to people who didn’t want to understand.
Luke turned back to the field, jaw tight, hoodie pulled higher. Gabe was still out there, shining under the floodlights like nothing bad ever touched him. The golden boy, running circles around everyone while Luke sat in the stands, just trying to breathe.
He slumped lower on the metal bench, eyes fixed on the field but not really watching. He didn’t care about the game, not really. What he cared about was not being looked at. Which was hard when everyone still remembered who he used to be.
He hadn’t chosen this, no matter what people whispered. He hadn’t woken up one day and thought, Hey, being trans sounds fun. Can’t wait for everyone to treat me like a freak for existing. It wasn’t like that. It was just that pretending to be someone he wasn’t had felt like slowly drowning, and now that he was finally breathing, everyone acted like he’d set something on fire.
Changing everything (like his clothes, his voice, his fucking name) hadn’t been some shiny new beginning. It was awkward and weird and full of mistakes. He’d hated what he looked like for so long he wasn’t even sure what “liking himself” was supposed to feel like. People thought being trans was this big brave decision, like choosing a college or getting a tattoo. They didn’t see the parts that came after. Like the second-guessing, the exhaustion, or the way every mirror felt like a lie you couldn’t stop telling.
He hadn’t wanted to be trans. He just didn’t want to be Lola anymore.
And yeah, the haircuts helped. The binder helped. His parents helped. But it was still exhausting, like rebuilding a house everyone else had already decided to burn down.
He watched Gabe on the field, surrounded by guys who looked like they were born knowing exactly who they were. The kind of boys who didn’t have to explain themselves to anyone. Who could joke about anything and people still laughed. Luke envied that sometimes—the ease of it. The confidence. The way they filled space like they deserved to be in it.
He didn’t feel that way. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The final whistle finally blew, snapping him out of it. The bleachers erupted in cheers. Parents stood up, yelling and clapping and waving banners that said things like GO BEARS! and CAPTAIN #12. His mom and dad both jumped up immediately, grinning like idiots.
Luke waited a beat before standing, slow and reluctant, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pocket. He trailed behind them as they hurried down the bleacher steps toward the field, his sneakers clanging against the metal. Everyone else seemed to move with purpose, like they couldn’t wait to touch the grass, to be part of the victory.
Luke just dragged his feet, his body heavy, his throat tight.
The field lights made everything glow too bright and too goddamn happy. Gabe was in the middle of it all, helmet off, grinning, sweat-slick hair sticking to his forehead. His teammates clapped him on the back and shouted his name. The perfect golden boy, shining under the noise.
Luke followed his parents through the crowd, eyes half-lidded, heart beating that old, tired rhythm: You don’t fit here. You never did.
“Gabe, honey,” mom gushed. “That was amazing!”
“So proud of you son,” dad added.
“Those goals were great!” mom continued.
“You were made to be captain,” dad said.
Luke heaved a large, loud sigh.
All three eyes sliced over to him and Gabe’s grin widened. “And what about you, squirt? Did I do good?” he asked cockily.
“You were fine,” Luke said monotonously. “Great shots.”
“Is that all I get?” Gabe grinned, coming closer with his arms wide.
“Don’t you dare,” Luke warned.
“Come give your big brother a big sweaty hug!” Gabe laughed.
“Gabe! Fuck off!” Luke yelped, shoving his brother away.
“Language, Luke!” mom scolded.
“Tell this big oaf to get off me and maybe I will,” Luke replied snarkily.
Gabe laughed even harder, ducking as Luke swung an elbow toward his ribs. “You’re such a little shit,” he teased, grabbing the back of Luke’s hoodie just to mess with him.
“Gabe, I swear to God—”
“Alright, alright!” Gabe held up his hands in surrender, still grinning like an idiot. “Jeez, you’re so violent. What happened to the sweet little sister I used to have?”
Luke’s stomach twisted. He shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “She’s dead. Good riddance.”
Gabe’s smile faltered for half a second and then he covered it with a laugh. “Right. My bad.”
Mom jumped in too quickly, clapping her hands. “Okay! Great game, sweetheart. Do you have plans tonight?”
“Yeah,” Gabe said, running a hand through his damp hair, awkwardly glancing at Luke and then looking away because he knew he had fucked up. He tended to do that sometimes. Not on purpose. But still. It hurt. “Team party. Coach said no booze but… you know how that goes.” He winked at their dad.
Dad chuckled. “Ah, to be young again.”
Luke groaned. “You’re so embarrassing.”
Mom smiled tightly. “What time will you be home?”
“Not sure. Probably late.”
“You could go too, Luke,” Dad offered, ever the peacemaker. “Might be good for you to hang out with people your age.”
Luke barked a laugh. “Yeah, because nothing says fun like a bunch of sweaty jocks who don’t even know my name.”
“They do know your name,” Mom said softly, but even she didn’t sound convinced.
“Sure they do,” Luke muttered. “They just like pretending they don’t.”
Gabe slung his crosse over his shoulder and gave him a mock salute. “Suit yourself, squirt. Don’t stay up too late scrolling through emo Tumblr or whatever you do now.”
“I don’t even have Tumblr,” Luke shot back. “It’s not 2013.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Gabe said with a grin.
Gabe hugged their mom, bumped fists with their dad, and gave Luke one last teasing look before jogging off toward the parking lot with his teammates. Luke watched him go, half-annoyed, half-envious of how easy everything seemed to come to him.
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The ride home was quiet. His parents hummed along to the radio, still glowing with pride for their first born child who could do no wrong. Luke stared out the window, the reflection of the passing streetlights cutting across his face like a bad memory.
When they finally got home, he mumbled something about homework and went straight upstairs. He showered longer than usual, hot water pelting his skin until it turned pink. Steam fogged the mirror, and for a moment, he thought maybe he could skip the part where he had to see himself. But eventually, the fog thinned, and there he was.
The curve of his chest under the towel. The softness in his face. The things that still didn’t match who he was. He clenched his jaw, staring himself down like he could will it all away.
It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t asked for this body, hadn’t asked for all the waiting and explaining and being reminded, constantly, that he wasn’t enough yet.
18 years old felt like forever away. But it was the only thing that kept him going. The thought that someday, he’d wake up and finally see the right reflection looking back. Someday, he’d stop feeling like a stranger in his own skin. He turned away from the mirror, flicking off the light, and let the darkness swallow the rest of him.
Eventually, Luke drifted into bed and let out a soft sigh as his weighted blanket shrouded him. He liked this blanket. No, he loved this blanket. It felt like a constant weight pushing him down. Grounding him. He loved it a lot.
Sleep came in fits, half-dreams, half-regret.
In his dream, everything was different. He was born a boy. He was strong and confident. There were no awkward reflections in mirrors, no comments from classmates that reminded him of the past year. Gabe wasn’t glowing like some untouchable golden god; they were equal. The lacrosse field was his playground, not a stage for someone else’s perfection. He could laugh freely, call people idiots without feeling small. He could exist without apology, without hesitation. It felt so real, so sharp and so fucking perfect.
Then came the thuds. Heavy and deliberate, like someone stomping through the hall outside his room. A yelp. Then more thuds.
Luke bolted upright, heart hammering. His hand scrambled for the baseball bat tucked under the bed, fingers curling around the worn grip. The thuds came again, louder, closer. He crept to the door, chest tight, every nerve screaming to stay quiet.
“Who’s there?” he whispered, voice low and sharp.
A hiccuped laugh answered. And then… “Gabe,” a voice grumbled.
“Oh, thank God,” Luke muttered under his breath, lowering the bat slightly. He swung his door open in annoyance but the sound of another person muttering made him freeze. Another hiccup that didn’t sound like his brother. It was closer too. And the smell hit him: stale beer and sweat.
Ew.
Luke’s jaw tightened. He saw two figures: Gabe, grinning idiotically, and Young, wobbling like a human bobblehead. Great. Just what he wanted to deal with at 1:30 in the morning.
“You’re awake?” Gabe slurred slightly, blinking blearily.
Luke crossed his arms, bat still in hand. “I am now. What the hell are you doing?”
“Helping my friend,” Gabe mumbled, his words slightly off-kilter.
Luke squinted, trying not to gag at the smell. “Your friend is wasted,” he stated the obvious. “Why exactly is he in my house?”
Gabe leaned against the doorframe, eyes half-shut, grinning like it was no big deal. “He needed help getting home but your house—wait, this is our house. And our house was closer. I was just gonna take him to my room. Don’t look at me like that.”
Luke groaned, lowering the bat but keeping it close. “You do realise mom and dad will kill you if they see you like this, right? You don’t just wander in with drunk people at one in the morning.”
Young hiccuped, almost toppling over.
Luke rolled his eyes so hard it nearly hurt. “Oh, for the love of—” Despite himself, Luke moved. He grabbed Young’s other arm, steadying him with an annoyed sigh. Gabe clearly couldn’t carry him alone. “You’re lucky I don’t just leave you here to sleep in the hallway.”
Gabe shuffled on the other side of him, mumbling something like “thanks, squirt” that Luke didn’t even hear.
Once inside Gabe’s room, Luke plopped Young onto the bed like he was handling a stuffed animal. The older boy groaned dramatically but didn’t try to sit up.
Luke leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms again, and glared at Gabe. “Make sure you’re both sober by the time mom and dad see you tomorrow.”
“Can you bring us some food?” Gabe slurred.
“What? No way,” Luke scoffed. “It’s 1:30 and I was asleep.”
“I’ll give you 10 bucks,” Gabe said, kicking his shoes off and then laying back on the bed besides his best friend. “Come on. You know you want to earn some more cash for your titty fund.”
Luke clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. “I’ll let that slide because your drunk, but if you ever say something like that again, I’ll smash this bat over both your heads.”
“Please, Luke. We need food.”
“Fucking hell,” Luke cursed under his breath.
Young hiccuped again, groaning and holding his stomach. “Think I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
“Jesus,” Luke grumbled. “Fine. I’ll get you some food. Just make sure he doesn’t throw up. Get him your bin.”
“Thanks,” Gabe muttered.
“You owe me. Big time.”
Gabe just laughed, and Luke felt a flicker of irritation he wasn’t sure how to swallow.
The younger brother trudged downstairs, muttering under his breath, already dreading this. He grabbed some leftover pizza and a couple of soda cans from the kitchen, feeling like the world’s most unwilling delivery boy. The clock glared 1:45am at him, and every step back upstairs felt heavier than the last.
By the time he reached Gabe’s room, both boys were sitting up against the headboard, Young clutching his stomach and Gabe smirking like he’d just won a gold medal.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Young groaned as Luke set the pizza and drinks on the nightstand.
“Yeah, yeah,” Luke said, stepping back. “Eat it before you both collapse.”
They dug in immediately, Gabe grabbing slices with his usual careless grin, Young groaning between bites. Luke rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorframe, pretending he wasn’t faintly curious about what was actually going on between them when they thought he wasn’t watching. Gabe and Young had known each other since freshmen year. They were two years older than Luke who had only just started his sophomore year, but they still acted like a couple of children. Luke swore he was more mature than both of them combined.
As he finally turned to leave with a parting sigh, Young hiccuped again and, loud enough for Luke to hear clearly, said, “Thanks, Lola.”
Luke froze for a heartbeat.
What the fuck?
Can’t he just catch a break.
Luke swallowed, looking back at Young. The korean boy, who had a flawless face but an asshole personality, was wolfing down the pizza without a care in the world. Almost like he hadn’t even realised what he had said.
Gabe did though. His eyes snapped over to Luke and a flash of guilt ran through them.
Luke didn’t wait another second. Without a word, he pivoted and started walking out of the room. He closed the door behind him, leaving it open just a crack as he leaned against the wall and breathed in and out quickly.
“…Don’t ever call him that again,” Gabe’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and serious.
Luke looked at the door and frowned. He took a tiny step closer and peered into the room, but he couldn’t see much. Instead, he just held his breath and eavesdropped.
“Huh?” Young mumbled.
“His name is Luke now, man,” Gabe said. “Luke. Pretty sure the whole school knows that.”
“Oh.”
Young was clearly very drunk right now.
Gabe sighed. “Just call him Luke.”
Young laughed awkwardly, a little nervous. “Sorry. I forgot. It’s just a little weird now, but—”
“Weird? It’s not weird. She’s my brother now,” Gabe snapped. “Fuck. He. He’s my brother now.”
Props for trying, Luke thought.
“Bro, how am I supposed to remember that your little sister is now a dude? It’s not everyday people change their gender. How is it fair that she can just cut off her hair and expect us all to remember that she has a dick now? I’m all for the gays, but cut me some slack. I’m fucking drunk,” Young blabbed childishly, hiccuping for the hundredth time that night.
Luke’s chest tightened. The hallway felt suddenly smaller, the walls pressing in. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The words cut sharper than any taunt at school.
Without another thought, he stormed down the hallway and towards his bedroom, slamming his door behind him, not caring if his parents woke up or if Gabe and Young had heard it. He sank down onto his bed with his fists clenched in his lap, feeling that familiar mixture of anger, hurt and isolation. The fight he’d had to fight all year wasn’t over—it was just now following him home, seeping in through the cracks of what should’ve been a safe space. He buried his face in his arms, wishing for sleep, wishing for a world where he could just be Luke. And maybe, one day, stop feeling like everyone else’s mistakes or slip ups were lodged in his chest.
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