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up my chest. Men’s rooms stink way worse than women’s rooms. I try to swagger, but no one looks up from the urinals. Thank god no one is in the stall—men take forever in there, so sometimes I have to go out and come in again. I pee as quickly as possible, come out, wash my hands, keep my head down, and get the hell out.
    Paige laughs when she sees me. “You look like someone bit you on the ass!”
    “I was in the men’s.”
    “Brave guy! Now be my boyfriend and dance with me.” Paige bats her eyes.
    “I’m your boyfriend?” I don’t let my voice give away the perfectness of that idea.
    “Just tonight.”
    “What about Bobby X?”
    She snaps her gum at me. “What about him?”
    We head out onto the dance floor as some dude does a horrid rendition of Journey’s “Open Arms,” looking dreamily into the face of a guy sitting close to the little stage. I gather Paige up and we sway around the room. She flips the edge of her skirt and smiles at other couples as we go by. I know she likes Gabe better than Bobby X. Compared to him, I’m a much cheerier guy.
    On our way home, I keep thinking about bathrooms because I have to pee again. Paige wants to stop at Perkins “just to see who’s there, come on Gabe, it’ll be fun!” I say okay, so that I can go.
    Of course, when I walk into the women’s, a girl jumps back and says, “Oh!” when she sees me. Then she looks again, and her face clears. “Hi, uh, Liz.” It’s Stacey Nelson from my government class.
    “Hey.” I go into the stall and do my business. I would never try a men’s room anywhere in Maxfield.
    By the time I get back to Paige, she’s parked herself at a table of students from her AP classes and she’s laughing and chatting away. I point at the door, to let her know I’m going out to the car. After being Gabe all night, I’m not interested in being Liz. As I’m walking through the door, Paul Willard and Kyle Marshall are coming in. We look at each other, we look down. Nobody’s an asshole.
    While Paige casts her social spell, I think about urinals. Maybe there’s a way.
    The next day we surf the web at her house. I love the World Wide Wonderfulness, because there are answers out there. I just have to know the right words to pull them from the ether. In this case, I settle for “trans man” and “pee” and hope for the best. I found my chest binders on the web, too—it’s a trans man’s shopping mall.
    There are more options than I expected, and Paige is astounded. “Different shades, even!”
    “You think all men’s dicks are the same color?” We’ve never talked about dicks before. Awkward.
    “Well, no, but … who knew? And they’re called prosthetics, like if you lose an arm.”
    “What do you think they should be called? Accessories?” I click around some more.
    “Don’t be a dork. And I can’t say this ’do is working for you.” She starts fingering my hair, pushing it around, though it’s not going anywhere because it’s pretty short. “Why not grow it a little longer? Remember, James Franco. That’s what we’re going for.”
    I wish she wouldn’t touch me like that. All the nerves in my body light up and my heart flutters, which sounds great and romantic, but it’s kind of scary. “Keep your hands off my freaking head.”
    She stares at the screen as I scroll through the choices. “ ‘Prosthetic’ is such a … ”
    “Medical word? Regular word?” I keep looking.
    “Well, yeah.”
    I consider what’s on the screen, and think about what I have in my bank account. “The fact that I trust you is the only reason I’m letting you sit here.”
    “Except that it’s my house. And of course you can trust me. And John.” When I told her about John’s reaction, she said, “I told you so.”
    “Four to six weeks to get here. That sucks.”
    “So? That’s not long.”
    “In my heart, I have a penis. In my pants, I have a vagina. I want my heart and my pants to match.”
    She just stares at