Chapter Sixteen

August 26

I mean to go back the next day. I really do.

But Mom ropes me into a trip to the grocery store—the big County Market that’s out by the health clinic—and on the way back,

she wants to swing by the Strickland farm stand because “corn season’s practically over, Darby, and we need to enjoy it.”

And my mother picking out ears of sweet corn takes at least fifteen minutes. She has a whole method. I still don’t get it.

And then once we’re back at the house, I get pulled into sorting through things in the bathroom, and then in the pantry, and

then it’s suddenly the middle of the afternoon and I’m standing in the middle of the kitchen with a plastic bag full of expired

spices when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

I heave the plastic bag onto the counter and pull out my phone. It’s a text message from an Oak Falls area code.

Hi, it’s Michael. Game starts at 7 tonight if you’re still interested. Let me know if I can give you a ride.

“Mustard probably stays good for a while, right?” my mom says.

I blink, looking up from my phone. “What?”

“Mustard.” She’s standing by the pantry, holding up a yellow plastic bottle. “It’s two years past expiration but I haven’t

opened it yet.”

“God, no, Mom, get rid of the mustard.”

She looks disappointed. “Fine. Who are you texting?”

I erase everything I just entered into the message window, which is fine because it was terrible anyway, and stuff my phone

into my back pocket. “Just... Michael texted me. About the football game tonight—he’s going and wondered if I wanted to

come.”

“Oh, I was meaning to ask you about that!” Mom throws the mustard into the trash can across the kitchen, suggesting that in

another life she could have been a professional basketball player, if they took women who were five-foot-two. “I’m going with

all my old teacher friends. I was going to ask if you wanted to come along.”

“Since when do you go to the football game?”

“Since always!” She pauses, considering. “Actually, that’s not true. I started going after you went to college. It’s a nice

way to get out of the house. I mean, everybody goes.”

Well, I don’t know about everybody . Oak Falls supposedly has eight thousand people in it, and the football games weren’t that well attended.

But the bleachers were usually more full than not, even though the team sucked and the marching band was unintentionally avant-garde.

Maybe she has a point.

Mom picks up the plastic bag of spices from the counter and heaves it into the trash can. “What did you tell him?”

I jerk out of vague memories of bright lights and bad hot dogs. “Who?”

“Michael!”

“Oh.” Nothing. Yet. “Um... I guess I’ll probably go.”

“Great!” Mom beams at me. “Ask him if he needs a ride. I’m happy to swing by. We can pick him up.”

Is she serious? “He’s a grown man, Mom, I don’t think he needs a ride.”

“It can’t hurt to ask! It’s practically on the way.”

She’s not going to drop it now that she’s had the idea, so I give in. Pull out my phone and type out a text.

ME

Thanks for the info! Definitely still interested. And my mom wants to know if you would like a ride. Sorry.

Three little dots pop up. Michael typing.

Haha, that is very kind of Phyllis, but I’m all set. See you there!

I can’t decide whether to be vaguely bummed that he won’t be picking me up tonight or weirded out that he just called my mom

by her first name. Which is an incredibly grown-up thing to do and I guess makes perfect sense because they run into each

other all the time around town. And it doesn’t stop it from being strange.

I clear my throat. “He’s good on a ride. I’ll just meet him there.”

Mom shrugs. “Okay, then.” She pulls out her own phone. “Well, in that case, I’m going to text my teacher group chat. They’ll

all be thrilled to know you’re coming.”

They will?

I guess I never expected my mom not to talk about me to her friends, but since I haven’t seen her friends for years, I also never had to think about it until

now. I suddenly feel very unprepared for this football game.

Something else occurs to me. “Since when do you know what a group chat is?”

Mom looks offended. “I learn things! Jeannie’s grandson told me all about group chats the last time he was here. Jeannie had

him over to help with that horrible inflatable penguin last Christmas...”

And she’s off, ranting about just how garish and over-the-top Jeannie’s penguin-themed Christmas display was, and how much

traffic there was on our street because half the town drove through to see it.

I go back to my phone and add Michael’s number as a new contact, typing his name into the boxes. Something warm blooms in

my chest. I haven’t had Michael’s number since I got a smartphone. None of my contacts survived the great flip-phone-to-iPhone

migration. It wasn’t as big a disaster as it could have been. I wrote down a bunch of the phone numbers in my flip phone ahead

of time, just in case.

But when I got to Michael’s number, I skipped it. I told myself it was time to let it go. I wasn’t Oak Falls Darby anymore.

I was New York Darby. Somebody new.

I can’t help smiling to myself, just a little bit, as I slip my phone back in my pocket. It’s just a phone number.

But all the same, it feels kind of grounding, and kind of hopeful, to have it again.

I feel decidedly less grounded when we pull into the parking lot of Plainview High School.

Even if I didn’t remember every single inch of the route to Plainview (which I do), the white glow radiating into the sky

from all the football lights and the distant thrum of the drumline make the location of the high school pretty obvious. The

sun is sinking low when Mom turns the Jeep into the big parking lot that sits between the high school and the football field.

The parking lot is already half full, most of the cars clustered at the end closest to the field, and it’s only 6:45. But

Mom still hauls Mr. Grumpy out of the Jeep like we’re in a rush.

“We need seats in the front,” she says, clipping the basset hound’s leash to his collar. “Mr. Grumpy doesn’t like the stairs.

Honestly, neither does Susan Donovan. They’re bad for her hip.”

Plainview High School is long and low, a rambling two-story beige brick building with an American flag flying out front in

the middle of the wide lawn. It’s peak Midwest architecture, spreading out like someone squashed a LEGO brick. The air smells

like rubber and metal and popcorn, and the ground turns dry and dusty as we get closer to the bleachers. The drumline is out

on the field, loud enough that the sound vibrates my sternum. The bleachers are slowly filling up, a sea of trucker hats and

T-shirts and shorts and flip-flops. People talking and laughing over the noise of the drums.

“Ah, there they are!” Mom waves and hurries toward the front row of the bleachers, dragging Mr. Grumpy with her. “Darby, come

on!”

I follow her to a group of people who are waving back. Oh, god . I recognize Mrs. Siriani, my high school physics teacher, as well as Mr. George and Mrs. Koracek-Smith. Looking at them on

the Plainview website was weird enough. This feels surreal. They’ve all faded a little, gotten older, but as soon as Mrs.

Siriani says it’s nice to see me again, it’s like I’m right back in physics. Her voice sounds exactly the same.

Mom tells them all how I’m here helping her move and then starts talking about the condo and all the packing. I’m just starting to wonder how rude it would look if I pulled out my phone and tried to text Michael when someone taps me on the shoulder.

I jump, twisting around, and there he is. Wearing a Plainview High School T-shirt and jeans. Hair relatively neat. Looking

at me with an easy, lopsided grin.

“Hey,” he says, “you made it.”

Mom turns around and lights up with a smile when she sees him. “We did!” She looks back at the group of teachers on the bench.

“Is there room for three, you think?”

“Oh, I’m actually sitting up there with some friends,” Michael says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got a spot saved

for Darby—if you want to join us.” He looks at me.

My stomach does a strange flip. “Yeah. It was, uh...” I look back at the teachers. “Nice to see you.”

Mom gives my arm a squeeze, so at least she doesn’t seem to think I’m deserting her. I turn and follow Michael.

“We’re just up here,” he says, pointing vaguely up the bleachers.

“Are your parents here?” I ask, and immediately wonder why I asked that. His parents didn’t even always come out when he was

in marching band. Mom’s presence must be throwing me off.

He just smiles. “No, they’re out visiting Lauren in Iowa this week.”

“Oh. Lauren’s in Iowa?”

“Yeah. She moved out there from Springfield a while ago. Her husband went back to help out on his family’s farm.”

Lauren is Michael’s older sister, who I mostly remember lifeguarding at the pool when she was home from college for the summer.

Whenever she wasn’t lifeguarding, she was hanging out with her friends at the mall over in Monroe. We didn’t see her all that

much.

“Darby!”

I look up. In the second-to-last row of the bleachers, Amanda is standing up, enthusiastically waving her arms in the air.

Next to her is Liz, busy leaning forward and talking to people farther down the row.

My stomach drops.

Sitting on the bleachers next to Liz is Rebecca Voss. She looks just like her picture on Plainview’s website—sharp bob and glasses. And next to Rebecca is a blond woman in a loose T-shirt, her hair in a high ponytail. Natalie Linsmeier.

The two guys next to them are familiar too. It takes me a minute to recognize Cody Garvin—his sandy hair is short now instead

of swoopy, and he’s wearing a very ordinary polo shirt, no popped collar in sight. But next to him, Brendan Mitchell looks

almost the same—boring haircut, Gap T-shirt, cargo shorts. Like he walked out of a frat in 2014.

Since when is Michael friends with these people?

But he just holds up a hand to Amanda, like none of this is out of the ordinary. We slide in on the end of the bench, Michael

next to Amanda, me next to Michael.

My insides have turned into a squirm of anxiety. It didn’t even occur to me that I might run into people I went to high school

with. Which... why didn’t I think of that? I’ve stalked Facebook. Or I did—back when I had Facebook. I know plenty of people I went to high school with never left Oak

Falls. Or if they did, they didn’t go that far.

But I was just so focused on Michael...

“You guys remember Darby?” Michael gestures to me, and I manage a wave and something that feels like it might be at least

related to a grin.

Rebecca, Natalie, and Cody all come back with variations of Hey and How are you and It’s been so long . All I get from Brendan is a what’s-up chin jerk.

At least none of them look confused. So either they stalked me on Facebook too, or they already know I’m trans because everyone

in Oak Falls knows.

I rub my hands on my jeans, palms sweating.

A cheer goes up around us and the marching band kicks in, the bright brassy sound ricocheting off the bleachers and echoing

into the air. They actually don’t sound terrible. I must look surprised because Michael leans over and says in my ear, “They’ve

gotten a lot better since Keegan took over as band director.”

Right. Keegan. I saw him on Plainview’s website. I guess it’s nice to know he’s doing a good job.

The football team runs out onto the field while the cheerleaders wave blue and yellow pompoms on the track next to the band. Cody and Bren dan cup their hands around their mouths and yell, “Go Chargers!” Even Michael claps his hands.

Maybe he has to. He’s a teacher. Showing support for the football team is probably required, especially in Oak Falls.

I suffered through enough football in high school to understand the rules. More or less anyway. Coin toss. Oak Falls wins

it. Kickoff. The cheering dies down and the marching band troops off to wait for halftime.

Rebecca passes down a bucket of popcorn. “So, Darby, Liz said you’re helping your mom move.” She leans out and looks at me.

“Are you back in Oak Falls now?”

“Oh. Uh...” I shake my head when Michael holds the bucket of popcorn out to me. My stomach is still churning way too hard

for popcorn. “I’m not sure. Things are kind of open-ended.”

“Your mom’s house is over on Creek Road, right?” Now Natalie’s leaning forward, raising perfectly shaped eyebrows, looking

at me like she never called me a dyke in high school. “That’s a nice area. You ever think of just buying your mom’s house?

You know, like Michael did?”

Michael shifts uncomfortably. “I inherited my grandma’s house,” he says.

Natalie doesn’t seem to hear him. “Probably beats New York City prices, right?” She brushes her bangs out of her face. “I

saw something online about how expensive those cities are. And just to rent , which is basically throwing money away.”

I suddenly hear Joan’s voice in my head, saying mildly, But tell me, Natalie, how do you really feel?

“It’s definitely cheaper here,” I say. Because it is, and wasn’t that one of the reasons I was so fed up with New York? “But,

I mean... it’s pretty easy to get around. And there’s a lot to do.”

Why am I making excuses for the city I was so eager to get out of?

“You didn’t worry about the crime?” Cody says, taking the bucket of popcorn Michael passes him.

I feel vaguely annoyed. “No.”

“I think I’d just feel weird not knowing who my neighbors were,” Cody says. “Here, I know I’ve got this guy down the street.”

He elbows Brendan and both of them laugh.

Now I feel frustrated. For one thing, having Brendan down the street actually sounds kind of terrible. But also, I recognized my neighbors in my apartment building, even if I didn’t know their names. And honestly, sometimes it’s kind of nice just how much New Yorkers ignore you. If you get lost on the subway, five people will give you directions. But you could have a full-on snot-nosed sobbing meltdown and nobody would even look at you. Like New Yorkers have way too much secondhand embarrassment to get involved, which somehow gives you room to be as embarrassing as you want.

Not that I have any personal experience with that. Because I definitely don’t.

“What did you do in New York, Darby?” Rebecca asks.

“Um. I worked at a start-up.” I regret it as soon as it’s out of my mouth. I could have just said I wrote grant proposals

for a company. But I knew start-up sounded fancier.

What the hell am I trying to prove?

“Oh,” Rebecca says, and doesn’t seem to know what to say next.

A chorus of groans goes through the bleachers around us. The band might be better, but the Oak Falls Chargers, apparently,

are not, and they’ve already lost the ball.

Cody lets out a long-suffering sigh and glances down the row. “Got any plans for the weekend, Mike?”

Michael shrugs. “Mostly prep for school, I guess. Get my classroom set up.”

And that leads to Rebecca commiserating about the lesson plans she has to do. And Brendan saying he has to go all the way

out to the Home Depot in Monroe to get a new lawn mower because his old one broke.

And now they’re basically ignoring me, which is better and worse at the same time. Because maybe I don’t know how to talk

to them, but now it’s obvious they don’t know how to talk to me, either. They don’t know what to do with any of the pieces

of me that aren’t the same as the Darby they knew. And it doesn’t even have anything to do with being trans.

On top of that, I forgot there would be mosquitoes and didn’t put on any bug spray, and now I’m getting eaten alive.

I learn that Rebecca and Cody are engaged and planning a winter wedding. Even weirder, Natalie and Brendan are married. They have a two-year-old, who’s currently at Cheryl’s house while Natalie and Brendan are at the game.

And through all of it, Michael just sits easily next to me, cheering when something relevant happens on the field. Booing

at a bad ref call. The only time I notice a flicker of something that’s not quite so comfortable is any time Brendan opens

his mouth. Michael’s fingers tap on his knee when Brendan talks about what kind of lawn mower he wants to get (a riding kind,

with an actual cup holder). Michael chews his lip and stares at his shoes when Brendan talks about how his two-year-old son

wanted to play with a Barbie at day care. And when Brendan mentions Fox News—just in passing—I see Amanda reach over and casually

put her hand on Michael’s knee to stop him jiggling his leg.

I have no idea how I make it to halftime. But when the players finally wander off the field and the marching band troops on,

I feel ready to explode. I don’t know how to square any of these adults with the people I grew up with, and I don’t know how

to fit into this evening with any of them. It’s not like football was ever my thing, but I feel like I’m stumbling through

a role in a play, except I never read the script.

The marching band launches into some familiar pop song that I can’t quite place, and Liz stands up. “I’m gonna get a hot dog,”

she says. “Anybody else want anything?”

I shoot to my feet like someone lit a firecracker under me, desperate for a chance to shake off this feeling that’s even weirder

than walking into the bookstore and traveling. “Yeah, I’ll go with you.”

I can feel Michael looking at me, but I don’t look back at him. I’m too afraid of what I’ll see if I do.

“Grab me a pop?” Amanda says.

Liz gives her a thumbs-up and then jerks her head at me. I hesitate for a second, kind of hoping Michael will stand up and

announce he’s coming along, but he doesn’t move. Just turns and looks back out at the field.

So I follow Liz down the bleachers. My mom is still sitting with her teacher friends in the front row, talking and laughing,

Mr. Grumpy flopped at her feet.

The concessions stand is around the far end of the bleachers, manned by two teenagers in Plainview High T-shirts and baseball

hats. There’s already a line forming.

“So they basically got all the same stuff they’ve always had,” Liz says, as we join the back of the line. “Hot dogs, popcorn, fries... Also, sorry Natalie’s a jerk.”

That catches me off guard. “Um. What?”

Liz just raises an eyebrow at me. “Oh, come on. You looked like you wanted to throttle her.”

Shit. “Sorry. I didn’t actually mean to.”

She snorts. “Oh, I know. Natalie and Brendan are just... you know, buy-the-house, mow-the-lawn, have-the-two-point-five-kids

people. And Brendan can be a bit of an asshole.”

I think back to Michael jiggling his leg. To the younger version of Michael looking at Natalie and Brendan in the bookstore

with that vulnerable expression.

“But you guys are all... friends?” I ask.

Liz sticks her lip out, thinking. “I mean, we all live here,” she says. “We see each other all the time. Rebecca’s not bad.

And Cody and Natalie and Brendan...” She lets her breath out. “We can hang out with them at the game. We don’t need to

invite them for Thanksgiving. You know?”

“Yeah,” I say, but I’m honestly not sure if I do. The bright blast of the marching band, the closeness of the people in line,

the salty smell of fries and popcorn... it’s all a wave of familiarity and strangeness that’s drowning me. I should have

realized Michael would have other friends to see at this game. He’s had years in Oak Falls. He knows everyone here. Michael

inviting me to tag along didn’t mean we were going to have some lovely evening all to ourselves. It’s a football game.

I feel like a fool and also like I’m rapidly devolving into my jagged sixteen-year-old self. Like maybe Michael is out in

that marching band and I better get back to the bleachers before I miss the whole halftime show.

I hold up one hand and stare at it. The creases in my wrist, the freckle on my thumb, the hair that runs up my arm. I am not that Darby I saw back in the bookstore.

So why can’t I just go back up to the bleachers and cheer when the Chargers catch a pass? Why can’t I sit the way Michael was sitting on the bleachers—legs apart, elbows resting on his knees, a confident kind of masculinity that just... exists, fitting in seamlessly with Cody and Brendan and every other guy here?

I should be able to speak this language. I spent plenty of time here. I know how all of this works.

And I still don’t fit.

A mosquito lands on my arm. I slap at it, but it gets away. Of course.

Okay, fuck it. I need a break. From the goddamn mosquitoes if nothing else. Why didn’t Mom remind me about bug spray?

“Darby.”

I look up. Liz is staring at me, eyebrows raised. We’ve reached the front of the line. The teenager behind the stand is clearly

waiting for me to order.

“Uh, actually, I’m good.” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder in the direction, vaguely, of not the football game. “I’m gonna

get some air for a minute.”

Liz gives me a look that clearly says, We’re outside; you’re not fooling anyone . But all she says is “You do you.” She turns back to the concessions stand.

And I turn and head for the parking lot. The noise from the marching band turns more diffuse the farther I get from the bleachers.

Bouncing into the air, blurry and vague.

On an impulse, I head for the high school, crossing the lawn, which is starting to dry out in the end-of-summer heat. The

grass crunches under my shoes. I go up the front steps and tug on one of the doors. It’s locked.

Which makes perfect sense. What high school wants random adults wandering in, especially these days?

So I turn around and sink down on the cement steps. Maybe it’s for the best that I can’t get into the high school. It would

probably just make all of this... this... worse.

I’ll just sit here and get mauled by mosquitoes. It seems kind of appropriate. I’m perfectly aware I’m feeling sorry for myself

and cowardly, and yet I’m still sitting here—feeling sorry for myself and cowardly. I might as well let the mosquitoes drive

home how much of a fool I am.

I catch a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye—someone crossing the parking lot toward me, just a shadow against the bright lights from the field. Maybe I’m not alone in being done with the football game.

“Darby?”

It’s Michael—he’s close enough now that I can see his face as he crunches across the lawn toward me, hands in his pockets.

Terrific. Now I really feel like a loser. “Hey.”

He reaches the bottom of the steps and stops. “Liz said you were hiding.”

“I’m not hiding.” I’m definitely hiding. “I was stretching my legs.”

He glances past me to the doors. “Were you trying to get in the school?”

I cringe. “God, you saw me?”

“There are restrooms over by the concessions stand if you need one.”

My face feels like it’s on fire. “No, I’m fine, I was... I was honestly just trying to get away from the mosquitoes.” It’s

not untrue. Even if I’m not sure it’s the whole story.

His eyebrows jump. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I know. I forgot bug spray.”

“Rookie mistake, Madden.” It comes out teasing. But not unkind. “Come on, I’ve got some in my car.”

I push myself up and follow him through the parking lot to an old white Toyota pickup truck, sitting in a spot marked with

a reserved sign. “Wait a minute. This isn’t—”

“No.” Michael unlocks the truck and shoots me a small grin. “It’s not quite that old.”

It looks almost exactly like the pickup truck that belonged to his dad—the one he learned to drive in, the one he used to

pick me up in when it was too cold to bike around Oak Falls. The one he drove Liz to school in, senior year, when we weren’t

talking anymore.

“You got a clone of your dad’s truck?”

The grin turns self-conscious. “It’s ten years newer. I swear. It just happened to come in to Davis Toyota when I needed a

new car.” He slams the door and tosses me a small aerosol spray bottle.

I catch it, which I actually feel mildly cool about, given that the lights from the football field don’t do much good out

here, and I’ve never been athletically coordinated. “Thanks.” I spray my exposed arms, wrinkling my nose. “This stuff is foul.”

“It’s the smell of summer,” Michael says.

A last finishing flourish from the marching band echoes into the air, followed by a distant cheer.

I glance in the direction of the football field. “I guess we should, uh, go back.”

“Football still really isn’t your thing, huh?”

I look at him in surprise. And then I feel guilty. “Was it that obvious?”

He holds out his hand, and I toss the bug spray. He catches it easily. “Just now or back in high school?”

Oh. I rub the back of my neck, suddenly too warm, even in the cooling evening. “So I’m basically the worst is what you’re

saying.”

The look he gives me is painfully familiar—forehead wrinkled up, eyes unguarded. It’s all concern and caring, and it drills

a hole straight through me. “No, sorry, that’s not what I... I just meant, I knew it wasn’t your scene, and you showed

up anyway, and that’s... that meant a lot to me.” He hesitates, and then says, quieter, “It means a lot to me.”

My breath hitches.

Another cheer from the bleachers, and then the amplified, distorted voice of the announcer cuts through the air. The game

is starting again.

Maybe it’s all the ping-ponging I’ve been doing—inside the bookstore and outside of it, then and now. Maybe it’s all the tangled,

uncomfortable, leftover feelings from high school that got stirred up again the second I saw Natalie Linsmeier sitting on

the bleachers. But suddenly I’m saying, “I really miss you, Michael.”

Maybe I’m still ping-ponging between now and then , because I don’t even know if I meant to say I miss you or I missed you . I just know I feel cut up and raw inside, and standing here, covered in bug spray next to a truck that looks just like the

one he drove in high school... I don’t care if I’m wandering too close to whatever’s off-limits.

He’s so still it’s like he’s turned to stone. His eyes are locked with mine, and I can’t read them in the dark. But I don’t

look away.

And then, so suddenly it’s like the ground shifts, he moves toward me, fingertips touching my chin, and kisses me.

It’s the last thing I expected and simultaneously feels like everything I wanted without realizing I wanted it. The ache in my chest turns so sharp and desperate that I reach out and grasp his arms, but that just makes it worse—because now that I’m touching him, I only realize how far away he’s felt and how much I wanted to touch him, like I needed to prove to myself that he was the same Michael I remembered.

And now, touching him, kissing him, I don’t know if he is or if he’s someone completely new.

And I don’t care.