Chapter 30: Part 30 - Pride

Part 30 - Pride

It took a lot longer to get out of the hospital than I thought it would. Turns out having cardiomegaly requires an awful lot of tests (and an awful lot of insurance, leastways according to my dad). When I finally did get out, Bobby took me on that date. And it was nice. Not running-through-a-field-of-sunflowers-in-the-rain nice, but still nice. We have to hold on to the nice things in life, which is why I’m holding on to that.

Jessie has been an absolute rock. It’s because of her that I ended up where I was right now. Back at school, in a packed-out gym, waiting for my special assembly to begin. There was a podium and a microphone and all the other things I’d asked for. The whole school was there (minus Ms Pike – I’ve no idea where she was, and no desire to find out). Everyone I wanted to be there was there too. Well, almost everyone. I looked along the line of people who had come specifically to support me and saw in each of them my strength. My palms were sweaty, my left foot was jiggling up and down, almost involuntarily. But I knew, as I took my position behind the podium, that everything was going to be fine. It was like Jessie said, I should write speeches or something.

“Secrets are like rocks in your backpack,” I began. “Their weight deforms you, bends you low, drags you down. You have to change the way you walk when you carry them. And you carry enough of them around with you: eventually they’ll break you. My name is Ella Stevenson and I used to have a pretty big bag of secrets on my back. But let me tell you my secret now…”

I looked down the line of people who had come to support me. First in it, and right next to me, were Jessie and Bobby. I smiled at them. And they smiled right back at me.

“My secret now goes beyond friendship,” I went on. “Beyond the hurt and the caring, the devotion and the sharing that is life. Most of you know that I’m friends with Jessie and Bobby. Most of you know that I recently got out of the hospital. And I’m sure most of you by now know about my transition. But for those of you who don’t, let me tell you what my friends already know. When I was born the doctors made a mistake. It wasn’t their fault. They couldn’t have known. They saw something on the ultrasound scan and they used it to determine my whole life. My chances. My name. The way people treat me. My name is Ella Stevenson, and want to tell all my new friends at Brookfields High, personally – not on some post on Instagram – that I’m a transgender girl.”

The line of people I had brought with me started clapping and cheering. The people in the audience joined in. Some of them sincerely; some of them, just because everyone else was doing it. It didn’t matter. I had found my strength now. 

I looked down the line, past Jessie and Bobby to where my sister and my mom were standing, along with my grampa. Dad couldn’t make it. Big day in court, he said. I know he’ll come into line eventually. Grandma wasn’t invited. She might come into line too one day, but I’m not going to wait for anyone to live my life.

“My secret goes beyond family,” I said, smiling down at Anna and my mom. “But it’s your family who’s there. When you’re all alone. In the night. With no one to help you. When everyone else has abandoned you or doesn’t even care that you’re hurting, it’s your family who pulls you through. Your family who comforts you and gives you what you need to survive. My mom literally kept me alive. While I was waiting for the ambulance. It was cold and dark then, and my family were there to save me.”

There was more applause. This time it was Jessie and Bobby leading it. I looked further down the line, past the principal, who wore this perma-smile like it had stuck on his face. But I didn’t dwell on him. He’d insisted in being up front with the others, but he wasn’t a part of this. Not like the next and final person in the line was. I looked to the one other person I had invited. My special tag when I came out on Insta. To Mr Jenkins.

He’d been so supportive of me online, commenting on my first post (and my second and my third), sharing them through his own LGBTQIA+ groups. He even contacted my mother to ask how I was doing when I was in the hospital. I was so glad to have him back in my life; and so proud that he was there that day.

“My secret goes beyond pride,” I said, smiling down the line at Mr Jenkins. “And I am proud. Proud to be who I am and proud to be standing here in front of you today. This was my idea, by the way. In coming back into school, I didn’t want rumor or gossip or rumination behind my back. I’m telling you all who I am now. So everyone knows that I’m more than just the new girl.”

I paused and took a deep breath after that. One or two people went to applaud again, but I held my hand up for them to wait. I hadn’t finished yet. I just needed to catch myself before I started to cry on the podium. I swore to myself I wouldn’t cry.

I looked down the line of my supporters and I imagined it extending back even further into my past. I imagined Leierna Scott and Rafa Couzins and all the others who had been mean to me, all standing there in a line. They weren’t my supporters, but they had a hand in making me who I was today. I wasn’t about to thank them for what they did. But I wasn’t about to pretend they hadn’t shaped me either. 

I was coming to the end of my speech, and I needed to steel myself.

“You see, students of Brookfield High–” a little light cheering started up from the soccer girls and I pointed at them and smiled, “– that’s my secret right there.” Then I pointed at Jessie and Bobby. “And there.” I pointed at my family. “And there.” At Mr Jenkins. “And there. You see, my secret is love. And love always wins. Whether it’s your friends, your family or your mentors. Love always wins.

“So, before I step down from this podium, and with Principal McAvoy’s kind permission, there will be a new club starting up at Brookfields this week. Running every Thursday. A club dedicated to the love and the support that I got. That every student in every school deserves to get. Brookfield’s very own LGBTQIA+ Pride Club. Everybody’s welcome. Everyone’s invited. Every Thursday.”

I beamed at Mr Jenkins, who began the thunderous applause. I stepped down from the podium and was immediately swarmed by people, hugging me and congratulating me and calling me, ‘So, so brave!’ I let them have me, but only for a moment. There was someone I wanted to speak to, before the assembly was dismissed and the day began.

“I think I’ve decided what I’m going to do about Bobby,” I said to Jessie, drawing her to one side.

“You know whatever you decide, I’ll still love you,” she said, smiling that warm, wonderful smile at me.

“I know,” I replied. “Just like I’ll always love you. You’re my best friend, Jessie. The best I’ve ever had. You’re my Jessie Bestie.”

She hugged me again as people started to siphon on out of the assembly.

“So?” she asked, after we broke.

“I enjoyed dating Bobby,” I explained. “And I might date him again one day. But right now, I think I want to be single.”

“You do?” she asked. The question was without malice or subtext.

“I’m still figuring out me,” I told her. “And I can’t do that if I making myself part of someone else. If that makes sense?”

“It does,” she replied, still smiling.

“I just don’t think I want to define myself through another person,” I clarified.

Jessie held up her hands. 

“You never needed to, El,” she replied.

“I guess I’m kind of happy just being the new girl.”

Jessie smiled, linked arms with me, and then nudged my hips with hers. She didn’t send me flying this time; I held onto her like glue.

“Come on, new girl,” she said. “We’ve got a soccer match to get prepped for.”

The End.

Like this story? Why not try 'Shooter', beginning 18th January 2025 and posting chapters each week. Here's a sneak peak of Chapter 1:

Hope:

The volume was turned down for Hope Davidson and every muffled thing felt far away. The chair, she knew, was the same height from the floor it had always been. Maybe her legs had shrunk, she mused, as Counselor Weinberg sat across from her with that same expectant face she wore at every one of their sessions. Maybe the old girl had just sat and watched as Hope shrank into herself. Outside, the laughter of confident seniors drifted in, sharp and brash; it pricked at Hope’s face with the stain of some joke at her expense. Something about no meaning yes. She couldn’t really hear them, though. They were far away and the volume was turned down. It had been like this ever since the Incident. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Counselor Weinberg reassured probingly. 

Of course they had to talk about it, Hope scoffed internally. That’s why she was here. That was a ‘condition’ for them letting her return to school so soon after. Before things had had any time really to die down. Memories. Feelings. The belief that someone had to pay. Hope scratched the bandage on her arm then welcomed the sting of sensation beneath it...