I was on the floor building a rocket ship with Legos when I heard my parents’ whispered voices. Mommy was sniffle-crying and Daddy was saying there, there now, everything will be okay.

What does okay mean, anyhow? When Mommy tells me to change my clothes into something more “proper,” or to clean up my toys, or to go back and flush the toilet, or that it’s bath time, and I say, “Okay,” everything is fine: I am doing what I am supposed to be doing. But during recess at the school picnic table the other day, I had beaten Alexander in arm wrestling and I was really excited, because nobody beats Alexander, and I climbed on top of that table and I flexed, like muscular wrestler, and Ms. G (her last name is weird) said, “Now Olivia, that is not okay.” At first, I thought she was talking about me standing on the table, so I quickly jumped down.

           “Girls do not behave that way. I am going to have to tell your parents, because they have a right to know what you did.”

           I spent the rest of the day with my head down so I could hide the tears, feeling like I was in big trouble for beating Alexander in arm wrestling.

           “Are you okay, Olivia?” Ms. G asked later.

           “My name is Ollie,” I said into my folded arms.

           “Ollie? Huh. Now, that’s not a girl’s name. We’ll just call you Olivia, then. Will that be okay?” I kept my head still in my folded arms, and Ms. G took that as a yes.

Mr. A (his last name is Aceptación, but first graders couldn’t pronounce that either) would never have done that. He probably would have high-fived me for beating Alexander, saying “way to go, Ollie” because he knew I preferred that name. I learned a lot from Mr. A, especially the time he told us to draw a picture of what we wanted to be when we grew up. When he walked by my table and saw what I was drawing, he said, “Ollie, that is amazing! Can you come with me to my desk so we can talk about it?”

           Mr. A appeared relieved when I told him it was a picture of a doctor performing surgery.

           “Sure is a lot of blood, Ollie.”

           “Surgery is a messy business,” I told him.

Mr. A laughed at that. “Well, maybe next time leave out the knife and the blood, okay? People might get the wrong idea about you.” He winked at that, and I knew right away what he meant. He meant that people might think I wanted to kill other people.

I felt so relieved that Mr. A didn’t tell anyone about that picture. I thanked him, leaving out that it was a scalpel, not a knife, because he probably already knew that.

-----

“So, tell me about your day.”

           “Why do you think it is that parents aren’t accepting of their children?”

           “Olivia?”

           “Yea. She told me she doesn’t feel comfortable as a girl but that her parents think it’s a sin.”

           “Careful…”

           “…I know, I know, but what’s a sin is ignoring her feelings, or worse, telling her she’s wrong. They are her feelings, after all, and she is six, so she definitely knows her gender.”

           “Research much?”

           “Lots. I mean, c’mon. A sin? When Moses supposedly translated his five scrolls some 3,500 years ago, d’you think he even thought about change? Seems that book was written for a static people.”

           “Like the Constitution.”

           “Yeah, but that’s not a book.”

           “Dick.”

           “But yes, the Constitution. You think James Madison even visualized assault rifles? Of course not. More like muskets, or flintlock pistols.”

           “Yes, I think. That’s why I mentioned it.”

           “Dick.”

           “But seriously, careful, okay? You know how you lost your last job.”

           “I didn’t even say gay, though.”

           “Do we really need to revisit this?”

-----

Mommy laughs when I want to wear pants to church. She calls me a “Tom boy.”

           “Now here, go put this dress on and stop being such a silly Tom boy, Olivia.”

           A woman shall not wear a man’s garment, nor shall a man put on a woman’s cloak, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord your God! “That, my friends, comes from Deuteronomy, 22:5 to be exact, and it speaks directly to today’s sermon: Simply because you feel that you are something, does not make you that thing. This thought process is not okay. Ephesians speaks directly to the ignorance Man holds over God’s perfect plan for us…”

           I do not know what abomination is, but it sounds scary so Mommy is probably right.

           But Mr. A told me he liked my style, that “I marched to the beat of my own drummer” and that it appeared I was confident.

“My dad says I need to start dressing like a girl.”

“Well, Olls…” Mr. A gave an uncertain pause. Like, for five seconds. He chewed his thumbnail. “I think you look great,” and he held out his hand. It was a really high five this time, so I had to jump.

The other boys should feel lucky that I get to use the girls’ bathroom, but there’s no one besides you, now, that I can tell that one to. Our pastor says that “perverted feelings must be stifled,” because “feelings are Man’s invention,” and I don’t know what perverted means exactly except that Daddy had called Mr. Rogers a “damn pervert” when Mommy wanted to watch that movie.

In our bathroom at home, I tried peeing like Daddy but it ran down my leg, so I feel lucky that I don’t have to use the boys’ bathroom because there are only two toilets with walls. I know this because I checked, early morning before I thought anyone was at school, when Mommy dropped me off because “she was running early.” Gavin caught me as I was leaving the bathroom, and of course he told everyone. All the kids were laughing at me, except Ava, because she is my best friend, but Mr. A was so cool about it. “You know, class, I think Olivia is on to something here. Honestly, and I mean, honestly, how many of you have ever wondered what the other bathroom looks like?”  Six kids immediately raised their hands; the other heads turned, unsure of what was going on there, but eventually, every hand went up. Some were using their other hand to hide their giggling. Some gave up crisscross applesauce and fell sideways into each other in embarrassment.

“Of course you do, and that is okay! I say we take a quick field trip.” I was to check the girls’ room before the boys took their tour; Aiden, the boys’ room.

Ten minutes later, I was popular because we got to take a field trip. Alexander clapped me on the back, and Ava gave me a hug. I looked over at my friend Mr. A and mouthed thank you. He gave his usual smile, and his usual wink.

When we got to school a few Mondays ago, we were greeted by our new teacher, Ms. Grubkowski. “But I want you all to call me Ms. G.”

“What happened to Mr. A?” Harrison asked, without raising his hand. I looked around. William had already started crying.

“Your former teacher is no longer here, young sir, and please remember to raise your hand.”

I lowered my head, and squeezed my eyes. I felt really sick, like throw-up sick. Like my-best-friend-had-just-moved-away sick. Sniffling, I opened my Reader, and on the page I was to begin there was a Post-It Note: Ollie, Keep Asking Questions and Know Your Truth. Your friend,

-----

Ava invited me for a sleepover for Saturday. I’d never been to a sleepover, and I was really excited. Ava was my elbow partner, and I had told her that she is really pretty. I think this was why she had invited me over; either that, or because we’d been sort of holding hands under the desk and saying silly things to each other. After Ms. G had scolded me for not acting like a girl, Ava was the only one to comfort me.

“It’s okay that you don’t act like a girl,” Ava had said. Ava had said, “You’re lucky, ackshally.”

I gave her a funny look. “Why am I lucky?”

“Because,” and she gave me a funny look back, like, duh, “boys get to do cool stuff, and you get to be a boy, so.”

I felt really light. I gave Ava a hug. I was so glad her name began with A.

I put on my favorite t-shirt and my best jeans with a rip in the knee from jumping ramps, and because Mother wouldn’t let me get my hair cut short, I tucked it all under my brother’s Padres baseball cap. “Go back and pack a bag, Olivia, please. At least take your toothbrush. Make it look like you’re a girl, okay? You want to be invited back.” Mother had been losing her patience with me lately.

I promise when I say this: It was Ava’s idea to sleep together, even though her mom had set out a separate mattress for me. “I don’t know why it’s important that friends sleep apart,” she’d said. “Sleep is the best time to be together, I think.” It felt really comfortable putting my arm around her, holding her hands in mine. Her hair smelled like the shampoo Mother uses. Our legs seemed to fit together so perfectly.

You’re my best friend.

You’re my best friend too, Ollie.

I was entering what was promising to be the best sleep I’d ever had when the lights snapped on, and I was retrieved at seven even though Mother wasn’t supposed to pick me up until noon. Ava’s mom was holding the front door open for me. “Goodbye, Ollie,” Ava called from the top of the stairs. She was crying. “Maybe next time I can sleep at your house.”

“Don’t count on it, Olivia,” Ava’s mom said, directly to me. “You should be ashamed of yourself.” She let the screen door slam as I stepped onto their damp porch.

It was a cold, rainy morning. The only sound was the mourning dove. I made my way down the steps, my toothbrush in my back pocket and the Padres hat turned backwards, towards Father in the pickup that was waiting at the curb.