Chapter Text
The summer Jess turns sixteen is a weird one. In truth, it’s been simmering under the surface for well over a few years now, but the summer is when it all comes to a head.
Things aren’t quite right with her, and it’s plain to see to anyone - anyone who bothers to look at least.
It started small. The first morning she noticed, she stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and feels her stomach sink. Her chest was different now - rounder, pushing against the fabric of her T-shirt.
Not boobs, never breasts. Just… chest. Wrong.
By the end of the week, she was walking with her shoulders caved forward, back bent like she’s carrying something too heavy. It’s almost instinctual, but the slouch makes them look smaller, almost gone if she tugs her hoodie tight.
Each morning she checked again, hoping she imagined it. Each morning, they were still there.
Her mood takes the bigger hit though. Her once sunny disposition seems to cloud over overnight and even Jess doesn’t know why. It’s like one day, she just slowly begins to withdraw into herself.
She just knew that when she was with the other girls in her grade, they’d talk about boys and make up and the latest trends all the celebrities were wearing and she just felt so lost.
It’s not that she wasn’t looking at boys, but she got the feeling she wasn’t looking at them in the same way as the others were. She envied the ease in their movements, the way they could take up space without a thought, and wondered if she could ever feel that too.
It was startling to realise how out of place she’d suddenly become, and she mourned for the days when they used to run outside and come home covered in grass stains and mud with wide grins on their faces.
Her mom insists it’s a phase. She just isn’t ready to grow up yet, she tells anyone who’ll listen. Soon enough, Jess will be painting her nails, swooning over crushes, blending in with the others. But the change never comes.
It gets harder and harder to pretend to be invested in the same things her friends are interested in, so eventually she just stops. It’s lonely, but at least she isn’t pretending anymore.
Jess’s interests do adapt, but instead of makeup and boys, she starts skateboarding and lets herself get lost in music. That’s fine, her mom says, relieved to have an explanation. She’s just a tomboy. There’s no wrong way to be a girl. As if that settles it. As if that makes it easier.
Her dad won’t care until it directly affects him. He doesn’t even notice.
She knows her mom worries, even if she doesn’t quite know what’s wrong - hell, Jess doesn’t either - but she can see that her oldest child has become isolated. One evening she comes home with a plastic shopping bag and a too-bright smile, pressing a folded scrap of lace into Jess’s hands.
“Thought this might look nice on you,” she says.
It’s a top, pale pink and frilly at the edges, so far from anything Jess would ever choose herself that she almost laughs.
Instead she forces the corners of her mouth up, mumbles a thank you, and balls the fabric in her fists so her mom won’t see her shaking. Later, upstairs in her room, she lays the top flat on her bed. It looks like it belongs to someone else entirely. Maybe to the daughter her mom thinks she has. Someone alien to Jess.
At night, when the house is quiet and the shadows stretch long across her bedroom walls, Jess stares at the ceiling and feels her chest tighten.
Maybe her mom thinks she’s a lesbian.
The thought comes uninvited, curling hot in her stomach. Wrong. It tastes sour, like bile rising in her throat, and she has to roll onto her side, pressing her face into the pillow until it passes.
Does that mean she’s homophobic? The question prickles, shameful, but it doesn’t fit either. She doesn’t care who other people love. She never has. It’s only herself that feels unbearable.
It’s only being this - this body, this name, this skin - that makes her want to crawl out of it entirely.
-
Really though, the first time alarm bells should’ve rung for Jess is December the previous year. She’d gone out by herself in a particularly cold snap. It’d been snowy and icy all week, so when it finally cleared enough for her to make it to the new Guitar Centre that’d opened nearby, she bundled herself into her coat, tucked her hair out of the way under a beanie, and went.
The warmth hit her as soon as she walked in, making her slip her coat off her shoulders so she could hold it in front of her instead.
The shop still smelt new, a mixture of fresh paint and wood. Sounds of laughter, chatting, and instruments echoed through the store.
It soothed her instantly. She’d been excited for school to finish so she’d finally have time to come down, and now she was there. She took her time looking around, unsure when she’d next get the chance to come back.
The drum section was at the back, tucked away like something private. She half-expected the kit to be guarded, but it wasn’t. She ran a fingertip over a snare and tapped the head softly, listening to the hollow ping.
“Hey, man,” a voice said. He was leaning on the counter, a slightly older kid with an easy smile and a cap turned backwards. He kept talking - something about sticks, about tuning - but Jess didn’t hear the words.
She only heard the syllable that landed on her like sunlight: man.
For a second her world tilted. Her heart picked up speed, a bright, electric thing that made her cheeks hot. He thinks I’m a boy. Something warm and dangerous unfurled in her chest.
Then the thought doubled back on itself: he thinks I’m a boy and he’ll find out I’m not. She felt suddenly tiny and ridiculous, a fraud waiting to be called out. Her mouth dried.
“Sorry,” she heard herself say, and the apology sounded small.
Her head was suddenly too full of thoughts and she needed air.
She clutched her coat closer and left the warmth of the shop like someone stepping out of the sun, lungs clawing for cold air.
She hasn’t been back since.
It scares her how good it felt, and the thought that if she goes back he might realise she’s a girl scares her even more.
She tries not to think about it. She can’t let herself. Because she isn’t like that, she just isn’t.
Other people might be, but not her.
It’s a fluke.
But it isn’t.
She starts wearing the beanie more, not caring that the other kids at school definitely think she’s weird now. Words like emo and loser and freak get thrown around, first behind her back and then to her face. It’s whatever.
It’s not like she has friends to lose.
When some asshole rips the hat from her head in the corridor one day, she has to pretend it doesn’t give her a sense of panic.
-
The hot summer makes everything worse.
She can’t layer up like she wants to. She feels so exposed in her t-shirt that she starts doubling up on sports bras, even though it chokes the rise and fall of her chest and makes her breathing shallow.
She still feels exposed, sprawled across the couch, eating an ice pop with sticky drips beading on her fingers. School is finished now, so she doesn’t have to worry about her parents nagging her about staying up too late.
Not that she would be able to sleep anyway.
It’s been six months of sleepless nights, of feeling hollow, of trying to stamp down the way her guts twist inside her whenever she thinks too hard about it. Six months of lying in bed, staring at the walls, clutching a pillow to her chest to stop it from accidentally touching anything. Of running her fingers through her hair, desperate to rip it all out because it’s too long.
Now she thinks about it constantly.
It followed her everywhere. In class her mind slid away from the teacher’s voice; on her board the skateboard rattled beneath her feet and all she could think about was the hollow in her belly.
She spent an entire end-of-year exam just sitting there, unable to read the paper or even hold the pen because she was shaking so hard.
It was consuming her. She needs to tell someone.
She can’t tell anyone.
She can’t let anyone know how wrong she is. They’d be so disappointed. They’d think she’s a freak.
Every time she teetered toward confession, something - a joke, a look, a sudden shame - snapped the thread and she shut back down. It felt safer that way. Better that no one knew.
Keys jingle in the lock, and Jess closes her eyes and sighs, not ready for her peace to be shattered. She shifts, getting up to make her way back to her room.
The front door opens and shuts again.
“Hello!” Her mother’s voice calls through the house. She smiles at Jess in the hallway, but Jess doesn’t miss the way she falters as she scans her clothes.
“Hello, sweetheart! How was your day?”
“Alright.” She mumbles, letting herself be pulled into a loose hug, skin prickling under the contact. “How was work?”
“Quieter now,” Her Mom says brightly, “Everyone’s off for the summer. Just me and a couple of the others at the moment.”
“Oh. That’s good.” She doesn’t mean to sound so flat. She just can’t muster the will to say more.
Her mom tilts her head. “Have you been outside today?”
Jess shakes her head. “No.”
Her mother sighs, soft but pointed. “You haven’t been out all week. You’re not taking care of yourself. You could go skateboarding with your friends?”
Jess shakes her head again, avoiding her eyes, shifting one step towards the stairs. “It’s too hot. Just want to stay cool.”
Her mothers lips pressed tight in concern concerned. Jess inches onwards toward the staircase, desperate to flee.
“Okay.” Her mom nods. “I was thinking we could go shopping this weekend. Get you some nice summer clothes. Maybe a couple of dresses? Your stuff is so wintery, and I know you’ve had to borrow your brother’s clothes in this heat. We could make a day of it.”
Jess feels sick. She definitely doesn’t want to go dress shopping. She can’t think of anything worse.
“I think I’m meeting my friends this weekend.” She slips it out before she can stop herself.
Her mom frowns. “Alright. Maybe next weekend then?”
“Maybe.” Jess is already two steps up the staircase, her escape slow but steady.
She makes it another four steps before her mom calls after her.
“Jess! You might need to shave your legs before you go out this weekend.”
At least she makes it to the bathroom before she throws up, staying there until her stomach is empty and she can return to the sanctuary of her room.
-
The pan her dad holds clatters to the floor the next morning, drowning out her mom’s sharp gasp.
Then silence.
Every eye turns to her. Parents, siblings, all of them frozen mid-breakfast, staring like she’s grown another head.
Jess shifts under the weight of it, heat crawling up her neck. Her fingers go automatically to her hair - short now, uneven where she hacked it off herself.
“Jess! Your hair! What have you done?” Her mother is the first to speak. She doesn’t seem angry yet - just shocked, her words coming in short bursts.
“I… cut it?” Jess offers, avoiding eye contact.
“Well, yes. We can see that. What we want to know is why?” Her dad is not pleased. At all.
“…I just wanted a change. It’s been bothering me in this heat.”
It isn’t even as short as she wanted, but compared to yesterday it feels like a shed skin. The air moves easier on her scalp, her neck exposed, her ears cool.
The silence that follows is thick and awkward. Her siblings glance at each other, wide-eyed, waiting for the fallout.
Eventually, her mom makes a frustrated noise.
“You should’ve told us. I would’ve taken you to the hairdresser. It’s all uneven now. I don’t know when they’ll fit you in.”
Jess doesn’t care. She has no intention of going to the hairdresser and making idle small talk with some middle-aged woman who’s scissors undo the only thing she’s done that feels right.
“I’ll just wear my cap.” She says, snatching up her skateboard and walking out the back door for the first time in days, enjoying the sun on her face and cool air on the bare skin of her neck.
-
Jess starts leaving the house more, desperate to avoid her parents’ disapproving stares.
That’s how she ends up back at Guitar Centre. The same guy from before Christmas greets her but doesn’t approach. Instead, Jess has to speak to him, asking if she can try the drum kit, even though she doesn’t know what she’s doing.
It turns out the guy, Chris, is a drummer himself, and he’s happy to let Jess play whenever the shop’s quiet, even finding her resources so she can teach herself.
-
Before she knows it, she’s been at the music shop almost every day of the summer break. She’s actually good - the desire to lose herself in the movement and beat pushing her through any tiredness and frustration that came with learning a new skill.
She can’t play the drums all the time though, there’s actual customers that want to try them, apparently.
But in between, she starts talking to Chris and is shocked to find that they actually get on. It’s been so long since she’s had a friend, and she’s so grateful that it almost doesn’t bother her that he thinks she’s a girl now. Almost.
They’ve been hanging out at the shop most of the summer when the air conditioning breaks.
“No big deal,” Chris says. “We’re staying open, it’s just annoying.”
Jess agrees, not bothered since it doesn’t stop her from playing the drums and seeing her friend. She can handle a little heat.
She makes it through maybe two songs before she concedes. It’s sweltering. Sweat drips from her nose and down her back in rivers.
The summer heat had been bearable before, masked by the hum of fans and the air conditioning - but now, the shop has become its own kind of furnace.
She caves in, stripping off her hoodie so she’s just in her t-shirt. Too hot to care that both her sports bras are visible beneath the fabric.
-
It takes Chris two days to bring it up, waiting until Jess is helping him put stock behind the counter while his coworkers finish closing up.
“So, uh… did I ever tell you about my cousin?” He pauses, holding a manuscript book.
“What? No, I don’t think so.” Jess doesn’t look up, stacking her own pile of books.
“He, uh, reminds me of you… a lot actually…”
“Okay?” Jess furrows her brows, stopping with her book halfway to the shelf, unsure where this is going.
Hopefully, this isn’t Chris trying to set them up.
“Yeah.” He hesitates. “He, uh… he used to be a girl. He’s trans.”
The book thuds to the floor. Jess freezes and spins to face him, jaw dropping.
“What?”
Words struggle to come out. Jess feels like she’s been punched in the gut. All the air leaves her lungs, and she can’t get it back.
He knows. He knows something is wrong with her. Something off.
“He, like, used to dress a bit like you… you know, before? And acted really similar too. I just wanted to let you know it’s oka-“
“I’m not fucking transgender, Chris.” She spits it out. The words are sharp, cold, harsher than she meant. And Chris - kind, patient Chris - winces, eyes wide at her reaction.
They stand looking at each other for a moment, frozen in a silent standoff while fear twists in Jess’s chest.
“I’m sorry, Jess. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Save it.” She bites out, surprised at her own anger. Her eyes dart around for her bag. She snatches it up, holding it to her chest as if it were a shield. “I’ve got to go.”
Jess bolts out of the shop, ignoring Chris calling after her.
Her pulse thunders in her ears; she barely makes it a block before she has to stop, breath short and rapid, limbs too heavy to hold her up. She sinks against a wall and just starts bawling.
She’s so stupid. She never should’ve made friends with Chris. She should’ve known she wouldn’t be able to hide what’s wrong. Now he thinks she’s a freak. She can’t go back there.
And now she has a name for it. She’d already known it, but it was different before - unconnected, unassociated. A word she barely lets herself think, even in the deepest recesses of her head.
Now it’s permanently linked to her in Chris’s mind. If he can see it, surely others can too.
Oh god, does her family know? Could they tell? No. They’d have said something. Definitely. They’d be shouting, screaming, crying if they knew. She’s sure of it.
She’s spiralling and she knows it.
But Chris has been kind. He hasn’t judged her, only accepted her.
She rests her head in her hands, pushing her palms into her eyes until she can see shapes and colours behind her eyelids. God, she’s so lost.
She has to pull herself together. She can’t just sit on a wall sobbing. Someone will eventually come over, ask her what’s wrong. Then what would she say?
Oh, just that my entire life feels built for someone else.
She needs to breathe. In. Then out.
Her chest heaves as she tries to regain some control over her breathing.
-
Three days later, Josh marches into Guitar Centre, straight up to where Chris has his back to the counter.
“So. Tell me about your cousin.”