Chapter Text
Sugar and spice,
And everything nice.
That's what little girls are made of.
It's the first day of kindergarten. Your dad told you this would be a big day, and that you'd have lots of fun. You're scared anyway. You don't know anyone; you're too shy to try talking to anyone either.
The morning goes by pretty okay. Your teacher is an older lady, who sometimes forgets things. She has you introduce yourselves. When it's your turn, you nervously say your name, your favorite animal, who your family members are. Some of the kids laugh at your name. The teacher scolds them and tells you she thinks it's pretty. You want to tell her 'no, my name is not pretty,' but she's moved on to asking the next student to introduce herself before you can.
Despite not having anyone to talk to, you do pretty well until the teacher tells you and your classmates to line up, boys on one side of the room and girls on the other.
You walk over to the boys' side, little fists nervously balled up, fingers clenching the hems of your oversized turtleneck. You hate how small you still are, tucked in between two boys almost twice your size. Your dad keeps telling you how much you've been growing, but you're not sure you believe him.
"What are you doing over here?" one of the boys asks, staring down at you like you just stuck a toad in his hair.
You furrow your eyebrows, confused. Before you even finish opening your mouth to ask what he meant, the boy on you other side gives you a shove. You stumble out of the line.
"Get over there," the second boy says, making a weird, twisted up expression, like he can't decide if he's amused or grossed out.
"Wha," you sputter before your temper flares. "Don't push me!" you shout, stamping a foot down. You try to worm your way back in your place in the line, but they move close together so you can't get in. "Let me back in line! I was there first!"
"You're in the wrong line, dummy," the second boy says, shoving you back again.
"No I'm not!" you scream at them. You start to lurch at them but you're stopped by a big adult hand around your middle.
"Hey, what's going on here?" your teacher asks, a scolding look all over her face. You shrink into yourself, can't manage to find your voice to tell her that these mean jerks keep pushing you out of line for no reason.
"She's in the wrong line!" the first boy pipes up, looking very pleased with himself. You stick your tongue out at him.
"No, I'm not!" you shout back from the teacher's arm. You hate her for holding onto you. It makes you look weak in front of them.
"Ohh, oh, sweetie," the teacher says, suddenly sounding like she's talking to the puppy your neighbors had before someone ran it over. "The girls' line is over here, honey."
You want to protest, but it gets caught in your throat. You feel a wave of confusion roll through you as you let yourself be led to the opposite side of the room. You see the girls' hair, long like yours. See how most of them are wearing skirts like yours. And you realize your teacher's right, those boys are right, you do match this side of the room.
Knowing this doesn't stop you from sending confused stares across the room until your dad comes to pick you up at the end of the day.
He gets introduced to the class the day school starts again after winter break.
"Okay, everybody," the teacher says at the start of class, "this is your new friend, Dave Strider. He just moved here from the cities so make sure to be nice and help him out if he gets lost or anything."
You eye him curiously along with the rest of your classmates. His skin is pretty tan, but you can tell it must be from being outside so much, like he should actually be pretty pale if he didn't. He's got pink sunburn across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, despite it being January, sun darkened freckles speckled across the burn. His hair is almost impossibly blonde, a number of notches lighter than his skin, all swept to the side like some movie star. On his six year old face, it's pretty stupid.
Most stupid are these ridiculous triangle shaped sunglasses that are two sizes too big for his face.
"I thought we can't wear sunglasses at school," you say loudly before thinking about it. You're always doing that. You have a hard time controlling your mouth and everything you say always comes out too loud.
"Raise your hand first, Karkat," your teacher scolds, giving you a warning look. "And Dave is allowed to have his sunglasses because he needs them for his eyes. They're really sensitive to light and the glasses help protect them."
"And 'cuz they're cool as shit," Dave pipes up, his face straight.
You blink, mouth dropping open. There's a flurry of whispers around the room, some kids gasping about how he'll get a time out, or his parents called. Some kids are frantically asking what's wrong, what does that word mean? You've heard the word before from your dad when he gets really upset. Afterwards he always makes sure to tell you to never say that word yourself. It's a bad word.
The teacher ruffles in surprise, telling Dave not to say that word again or she'll have to call his home if he says it again. Dave just shrugs, says "okay," like he honestly doesn't care. Still flustered, the teacher tells him to sit next to you while she goes to get the letter tracing worksheets.
Dave plops himself in the chair next to you, looking like he's holding back a proud smile but failing. You frown and hunch your shoulders around your ears, your black hair falling like a veil over your face. Why does he have to sit by you? He's mean to the teacher. He makes you nervous.
"Sup?" he asks, leaning back in his chair and crossing his small arms. You notice some sort of juice stain on his sleeve. Dummy can't even drink right. You wedge your hands under your thighs and try to ignore him. "Hey," he says, pokes you.
"Don't touch me," you snap at him and your teacher gives you another warning look from across the room where she's gathering the worksheets. Dave looks like he's going to prod at you more, but stops himself when the teacher pointedly places herself between the two of you.
"Dave, stop picking on Karkat," she says, placing the worksheets in front of you along with a box of crayons. "And Karkat, I've told you a thousand times, use your inside voice."
You glare at her back as she turns to give the other kids their worksheets. You examine yours, recognize the sheet has your name written on it ten times, with dotted letters to trace. You look at Dave and realize his has different letters than yours - they must spell his name. Your face sours when you realize he has less letters to practice. Not fair.
When you reach for the box of crayons, Dave snatches it away, pulls the red crayon out of the box.
"Hey! I wanted red!" you whisper loudly at him, not wanting the teacher to yell at you again.
"I got it first," Dave says, starting to trace his letters. He sucks at it.
"But I want it," you protest. You're not pouting. You promised your dad you wouldn't pout.
"Here," Dave says, not even looking at you as he reaches into the box again. He pulls out the pink crayon and puts it in front of you. "Use that one, then. It's kinda like red."
"But pink is a girl color," you frown, pulling your hands free from your thighs to push it back.
"Yeah, so?" Dave asks, his mouth also pulling into a frown. "You're a girl, so what's the problem?"
You don't know what to say to that. He's right sorta? You guess he's right. That doesn't make you any happier. "I don't want pink," you say stubbornly, reach back into the box, grab the first crayon your fingers meet.
It's grey. Probably the worst color in the whole box excluding white. You use it anyway. You catch Dave smirking at you in the corner of your eye.
You realize two very important things that day. One: you hate being treated like a girl. And two: you really hate Dave Strider.
You continue to hate Dave Strider for the remainder of the year. The boys in the class glom onto Dave, follow him everywhere, in awe of his stories of not having parents, just a 'cool as shit bro' who lets him do whatever he wants and lets him eat Doritos for dinner.
You, on the other hand, spend much of the year by yourself. The boys won't let you play with them because you're a girl and you don't want to play with the girls much since all they ever do during free time is play with Barbies and fake makeup. There is one girl with a funny name who loves cats that likes to play with you, but she's a bit too energetic for you most of the time, even if you are grateful at least someone likes to be with you. Most of the time you end up following your teacher everywhere. You're painfully aware how clingy it makes you look, but the boys tend to pick on you if you go off to play by yourself, and even if they don't you get lonely, makes you want your dad to come and bring you home.
Dave continues to pester you all year. He doesn't actively make fun of you like the other boys, but he follows you around whenever he isn't surrounded by his flock of stupid boys and won't stop asking you stupid questions and pushing your buttons. You always end up screaming at him which always just gets you in trouble. You've had to bring home a bad behavior slip for your dad to sign twice already. Your temper is something you've never had a firm grasp on keeping in check.
On the last day of Kindergarten, the teacher asked you all to come dressed up so she can take a picture of you to remember everyone. Your dad has you dress in a warm yellow dress, a white bow around your waist, and a yellow flower in your hair.
You and your classmates line up outside in two rows, the front row sitting down in a patch of dandelions. The girls all wear dresses and skirts like yours, the boys wear colored button up shirts and slacks. Except Dave. Dave showed up in ripped jeans and a t-shirt with a bow-tie printed on it. He claimed that’s all he had. You suspect he's lying.
You walk home that day with your older brother, Kankri. He insists on holding your hand on the way back, like you're a fragile little flower and he's not just coming back from his last day of fourth grade. You make sure to 'accidentally' step on the back of his shoes on the way.
The summer is a relief, back to the way it was before you started school. Your dad works a lot more lately, he leaves early and comes home late, after suppertime, and usually goes straight to bed. You miss him. He recently decided Kankri is old enough to start babysitting you himself. You hate Kankri when he babysits you. He acts like a king, lectures you on everything possible. Secretly, you think Kankri isn't ready to be home alone, much less take care of you. You catch him crying in his room one night after making you toast. You ask him what's wrong, he says he's scared, he can't do this, he wants help, but he knows he can't have any. When you ask him why, he puts his head in his arms, says something about dad not having enough money, how he needs Kankri to help him more than he's ready for.
You crawl into bed with him, tuck yourself up against his side. You spend the rest of the night watching his boring movies with him.
When fall rolls around, as much as you don’t want to go back to school, you're glad. It means Kankri won't have so much pressure to take care of you anymore, means your dad won't feel so guilty leaving the two of you home all day.
On the first day of class, you're disappointed to see that Nepeta, the girl who likes cats, isn't in the same class as you. Dave on the other hand is. Of course. He gives you a smirk, a little wave. You scowl at him.
The first few weeks of school pass slowly. Loneliness has you hunched in your chair, shoulders up to your ears, long hair draped over your face. Some of the girls try to make friends with you but your hot temper and rough edges scare them off. The boys who remember you from last year pick at you when the teacher isn't looking, the ones who don't ignore you altogether.
All but stupid Dave Strider. He's still got his hoard of jerks that follow him everywhere, though this year it seems as though he's trying to shake them off his trail. During recess, he follows you to your hiding places under the slides, behind the large crabapple tree, beneath the lilac bush. He teases you, you shout at him. It takes a few days, but you start to notice his pokes at you aren't as malicious as the other boys', that he backs off the second he realizes he actually hurt your feelings. You can't stand him, but secretly you like his constant presence. It keeps you from being all alone again.
One day Dave brings two big sticks with him when he meets you behind your tree. He hands you one, expression blank. You take it and give him a questioning look.
"Let's have a sword fight," he says, a small, unsure smile on his lips.
You tilt your head, hold the stick awkwardly out in front of you. "I…don't know how."
"It's easy," he assures, holds his own stick out in front of him. He raises it slowly towards you. "Ain't you ever seen a swordfight before?"
"On t.v. …" you mumble, your stick drooping in your hands.
"Then you should kinda know what to do," he says simply, brings his stick quickly down towards you. Startled, you bring yours up to block. You manage to get your stick up fast enough so his stick doesn't whack you in the shoulder, but not fast enough to avoid jarring your wrist. "See!" he says excitedly, "Like that!"
"That hurt," you snap, rubbing your hurt wrist with your free hand.
"Don't be a sissy," he says, bringing his stick back up for another strike. This time you block without hurting yourself. Your temper flashes and you wildly swing your stick at him, hard as you can.
"I'm not a sissy!" you yell, missing him completely with your crazy aim.
Dave flinches in surprise as the stick swings past his shoulder before cracking into a huge grin. "Bring it on!"
By the end of recess, you're panting and frustrated. Dave has obviously done this before, not like you. You suck at this. But… regardless of your frustration, you find yourself genuinely enjoying yourself. That stick in your hand, the sweat on your face, it makes you feel strong, like a soldier, like your dad, like Dave.
When you ask, embarrassed, if Dave will fight with you again tomorrow, he smiles.
It happens one day when you get surrounded by a group of boys.
It's after school. You're waiting for Kankri to come pick you up from class, but you have to wait for him to walk from the other side of the school.
"Hey, Karkat!"
You look up from where you're sitting by the front door of the school. Your stomach twists as you look around for the source of your name. You didn't like the taunt in the way it was said. Your stomach ties into a tighter knot when you see the group of boys coming your way.
"What?" you ask, raise your chin as they reach you.
"We seen you hanging around Dave a lot," one of the boys with ginger hair and freckles says.
"No," you say, glaring at him. "Dave is just stupid 'n never leaves me alone."
"Not what we seen," says another boy with a frizzy, start of an afro growing on his head. "We seen you fightin' swords with him."
"Yeah," says the first boy, along with another behind him. "Why you trying to act like a boy?"
You tuck your chin back down to your neck, letting your hair fall protectively over your face. "Just go away," you mumble.
"My dad says," the first boy goes on, stepping closer to you. You shrink against the wall. "That girls ain't 'sposed to fight."
"Yeah," says a third boy, "Some o' the other girls play with frogs 'n stuff but at least none of them try to be a boy."
"Go play with Barbies or something," the first boy concludes. Your stomach boils.
"Stop treating me like a girl!" you shout at them, eyes squeezed shut.
"But you are a girl," the boy with the afro laughs. He reaches forward and grabs some of your hair. "See? Only girls got long hair."
"Ow! Let go of me!" You try to pull away, but it only makes the boy's grip on your hair yank harder against your scalp.
"Hey! Leave her alone!"
You open your eyes to see Dave running up to the group of boys, shove the one who has a hold on your hair. You wince as a couple strands of your hair gets yanked out when the boy stumbles back.
There's a fight. You cry. Dave gets sent to the office to wait for his brother to talk to the principle. Kankri looks like he wants to cry as much as you are when he finds you curled up by the wall, your hands covering your ears, screaming at the teacher who's trying to calm you down.
That night, before your dad gets home, you lock yourself in the bathroom with a pair of scissors.
You glare at your reflection in the mirror, eyes still swollen and red against your dark irises. You use your left hand to pull up a large lock of hair, raise the scissors with your right.
You close your eyes as the first clump of hair falls to the floor.
Kankri yells at you when you finally come out of the bathroom, hair butchered unevenly, standing up in all directions without the weight to hold it down anymore. When your dad comes home he yells at Kankri for not keeping a better eye on you. Kankri cries, which makes you cry because you didn't mean to get him in trouble.
You can't stop your broken hiccupping as your dad tries in vain to cut your hair evenly.
When you go to school the next day, your dad puts a ribbon in your hair to disguise the massacre you did yourself. It doesn't help. Everyone laughs at you.
You crawl back into yourself, shoulders hunched, avoid eye contact with everyone. Even the teacher takes pity on you and doesn't call on you.
You refuse to talk to Dave anymore.
Dave never gives up chasing after you, even after you scream and shout and kick him and punch him hard enough to give him a black eye.
It takes you until spring to start opening up to him again. By then your hair has grown back out just past your shoulders, the weather's warm enough for you to start wearing skirts again.
He crawls up to you where you're making pictures in the dirt under the slides.
"Hey," he says, scootching to sit next to you. You glare at him, but for once don't immediately start screaming at him. He seems to take this as permission to keep talking. "I, uh, got you a flower," he says, holding a dandelion up to you. You stare at it dumbly at he reaches forward to put it in your hair. You sit in silence for a moment before he starts talking again, in a small, most not-Dave voice. "I'm really sorry I couldn't protect you that day."
It might be the smallness in his voice, or the way his fingers are curled defensively around his kneecaps, or the way his shoulders are hunched nervously around his ears. Something. Something makes your insides crumble like a half dry sandcastle on a beach. Your fingers curl as you bring your hands up to your chest, face dissolving into a silent sob. You shake your head, accidentally dislodging the dandelion from your hair.
"N-no," you choke, breaths coming out in short, dry sobs. "I'm sorry."
After that, some unknown dam breaks behind your eyes and you're sobbing wetly into your fists, snorting against the back of your hands, too upset to even bother with being embarrassed at how gross and pathetic you're being.
Dave shifts next to you, leans down to pick up the dandelion and put it back in your hair. You don't even finish opening your eyes all the way before he's warping unsure arms around your shoulders, both your bodies twisted into uncomfortable angles. Your hiccupping pauses for a moment before you bury your face in his chest.
When you finally cry yourself dry, you sit back straight, nervously avoid Dave's eyes. He coughs uncomfortably, drags his fingers through the dirt.
"Wanna play swords again?" he asks.
You nod.
The two of you become inseparable. You spend your recesses scouring the playground on adventures. You're fearless knights battling against the strongest dragons, investigating secret passages and planning ways to save the kingdom. When Dave asks if you'll be his princess, you wrinkle your nose and shove him. You tell him you'll be his king if he promises to follow you anywhere. He laughs and promises he will.
When Dave asks you to a sleepover at his place, you spend the evening before fretting over what to bring, what you'll do. You've never spent a night away from your dad and brother before. Your dad is also weirdly excited and nervous as he drives to the address Dave gave you. Kankri sits in the passenger seat next to your dad in the beaten down car, arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched. He keeps complaining to your dad about him never taking him anywhere. Your dad just shrugs and says it's because he's never asked.
When you get to Dave's small town house, near the edge of town, your dad walks with you to the door. You hide behind his legs when the front door swings open. Dave excitedly gestures for you to come in, you warily eye his tall brother as you tiptoe around him into the house. Your dad and Dave's brother stay at the door to chat as Dave leads you to his room, energy rolling off of him.
The weekend at Dave's is one of the best you've ever had. His brother is scary at first, but he treats you like you're strong. You decide you like him, even if his weird puppets kind of creep you out and he has the unfortunate tendency to walk around the house in nothing but his boxers. Dave's room is full of lots of video games, and you spend most of the weekend playing Super Smash Bros. He beats you a lot at first, but once you get the hang of it, you start winning just as often as you lose, though Dave makes fun of you for using Pikachu all the time.
Summer comes quickly now that you have a friend. You spend most of your weekends at Dave's. You want to invite him over to your place too, but your dad is still gone a lot and he says he doesn’t feel comfortable with you having friends over while he's gone.
Once summer hits you begin to notice how withdrawn Kankri is getting, especially now that you're gone a lot of the time too. When you're not at Dave's house, you make sure to bother Kankri as much as you can. For as bossy as he is and for as much as you pretend to hate him, he's your brother and you love him. You worry about him. Your dad worries about him, too, brings him out to the park sometimes while you're at Dave's.
Dave's brother also takes you places, feeds you lots of junk food and lets you watch movies you doubt your dad would approve of. By the time school starts drawing near again, Dave's brother feels like he's your brother too.
Second grade becomes stressful as you start getting homework and spelling tests. It helps that you're in the same class as Dave again. Dave always forgets to do his and has to have his brother come in more than once to get a lecture from your teacher. You remember to do your homework (mostly because Kankri won't stop pestering you until you finish it), but you don't do the greatest job on it. You do okay in Reading and Writing, but you do awful in Math and Art. Even though he always forgets his homework, Dave is good in almost all subjects, especially Music.
Dave has an annoying habit of getting you to laugh or snap at him during class, which usually ends up with the two of you in trouble, staying in for recess with the teacher. You always yell at him when it happens, but he seems to take it as a joke and the more you yell the more he laughs.
The girls still avoid you and the boys still tease you, but so long as you stay close to Dave it doesn't bother you too badly. The boys are all too scared of Dave's bro to pick on any of his friends too badly. It hurts your pride to hide behind Dave so much, but there isn't much you can do about it. On the off days when Dave has to stay home, you curl back into yourself as the taunts start coming your way again.
One bad afternoon when Dave is gone, the boys gang up on you during recess while you sit idly on a swing. They taunt you with their soccer ball, egg you on as they mock how a little girl like you couldn't play with them, couldn't keep up.
You stare at the ground, will them to go away, but it only makes them angrier. You bite the insides of your cheeks, don't shout at them, don't shout. You try your best not to snap, you really do, but when the soccer ball one of the boys throws at you hits you in the stomach, you lose yourself in flurry of fists and shrieks.
In the end, you've got a black eye, a bloody nose, detention for a week, and are nearly suspended. Your dad grounds you for a month. When Dave gets back to school and asks what happened, he gives you a fist bump.
After you're free from being grounded and hanging out at Dave's house on weekends again, Dave's brother starts teaching you how to fight. You have to promise him you'll only use it to defend yourself, same way Dave's been taught. You eagerly nod, excitedly eyeballing the swords the Striders' have hanging from nearly every wall. You're pretty disappointed when Dave's bro has you start off with really basic blocking techniques and has you doing pushups, but with Dave training there beside you, it makes it a lot more fun. Plus, Bro always makes the two of you really yummy snacks when you're done.
You make sure not to tell your dad about learning how to fight. You're not sure if he'd be happy if you did. You do slip it to Kankri though, and after he gives you a short, high and mighty lecture about how violence is not the answer, he sheepishly asks you if you can show him a few blocks. You snark at him a lot as you show him how to hold his hands and where, but at least you agree to it. He seems weirdly satisfied after his mini-lesson.
Your confidence grows as your fighting skills do. It makes sword fighting with Dave a lot more fun since now you actually know what you're doing. Plus, something about the way you stand now, or walk, or move, or something has been acting like a neon sign on your head that says 'don't mess with me, I know what I'm doing.' Not that it completely fixes your bully problem, but it helps tone it down a bit. It helps that Dave has been super stubborn about not missing school anymore, too.
The best part of second grade is now you're getting to read novels. They're pretty short, but your classroom has a little bookshelf full of them and on the days you're not over at Dave's, you're devouring chapter through chapter. Your dad tries to read to you some when he has the time, but he usually doesn't have the time. Kankri offers to read to you with his 'excellent, above average reading skills.' You're reluctant to let him at first, you like reading yourself, but loneliness and his incessant pestering eventually breaks you down and you give in, sitting curled up next to him on the couch. Despite just starting middle school, Kankri turns out to be really good at reading out loud. You tell him he sucks. He ruffles and insists that he's reading four years above his grade level. You believe him but don't say so.
You also don't say how much you want him to keep reading whenever he has to stop.
You spend most of your alone time holed away in your room, eating through one novel after another. You steal some of Kankri's books when he's not looking so you can try reading longer books. You like them better.
When summer comes you go back to nearly living at Dave's. About half way through the summer, your dad gets a week off of work and says you should invite Dave over so he can finally meet him. You're roiling with anticipation the day he comes over for the first time, running back to your bedroom every few minutes to make sure everything's perfect for when he gets to your house.
When he finally gets to your house, your dad and his bro stand by the front door, chatting too long about stupid adult things. You fidget impatiently, Dave shoots you silly looks. Your dad looks a little thrown off by Dave's bro, but they act nice enough to each other, even if Bro has a funny way of coming across.
When Bro finally leaves and you and Dave dash off to your room, Dave informs you that your dad is too stiff for his own good. You admit to him that he can be a bit of a crab, but tell him that your brother is the stiff one. An impish grin crosses his face and he bounces giddily on your bed.
"Then that means he's the best to mess with," he says.
You agree.
Third grade goes by without much of a hitch. Your dad has deemed Kankri old enough to babysit you and Dave, so he gets to come over a lot more often. Dave loves poking at Kankri's every last nerve, and though Kankri tries to hide it in front of his 'guest,' he always rants about how much he hates Dave when he's not around.
Bro's got you and Dave working on more advanced fighting techniques. He gives Dave his first real sword but says you're not ready yet since you started training later than he did. You make sure to glare at him for at least the next two weeks. Secretly, you think Bro finds it funny, which makes you glare at him even more.
You still hang around Nepeta on the few days that Dave is gone from school, but she's gained this hulky new friend who just moved to your school. He's not so bad really, pretty nice, but awkward and he always get really sweaty which makes you feel kinda gross just being by him.
You find out Nepeta's older sister is in your brother's grade when she comes over one day. She's got crazy poofy hair and is way too spastic and loud for your tastes. When you tell her this, Kankri yanks you away and gives you an eight minute lecture about how she talks loudly because she's partially deaf and how insensitive you are but all you really get out of the conversation is that Kankri has a major crush on her and you intend to use that as blackmail first chance you get.
Other than your occasional bully that pops up when Dave's not around, you think your life is pretty good, regardless of the fact that your dad keeps bringing home less treats and starts buying you cheaper clothes.
You first get a little hiccup in your life in the beginning of fourth grade. At least, it starts as just a hiccup. Another teacher from another classroom comes into the room and says that he's taking all the boys into a separate classroom while all the girls had to stay in your normal classroom. Your stomach does that uncomfortable little twist it always does when you're forced to stay with the girls instead of going with the boys, but you've long since learned where you're expected to be, what your place is. You wonder if all the girls feel like that.
Something in your gut tells you they don’t.
You're suddenly super glad that you sit in the back and that seating is every other boy - girl - boy. You're by yourself and that's quite the way you want it. You hunch your shoulders forward and wedge your fingers nervously between your thighs. You have a nagging suspicion that this is probably going to be an uncomfortable lesson.
The second the teacher says you're having a 'girl talk,' you realize you're right.
By the end of the hour you think you're going to be sick. Why do you have to bleed out of somewhere you pee? And oh, just the idea of shoving something up there has your stomach tossing bile up your throat. You nervously pull your hands away from your thighs, try your hardest not to think of what's going on between them. You feel disgusted, betrayed by your own body.
You realize most of the girls look at least some degree of uncomfortable and that makes you feel better. There are a couple girls though, who proudly share that they've already started their periods, state it like a medal of honor, which bewilders you. You stare at the small breasts that have already begun to push their way out of their chests, stare at them like alien growths, like monsters, and suddenly you're grateful that you've always been a late bloomer.
When the boys come back in, everyone's giggling, like, 'ooh, we have a secret that you can't know.' You're staring blankly at your knees when Dave slips into his chair next to you, looking abnormally pleased with himself. It sort of makes you want to punch him. When he leans over to you, you flinch slightly. He asks in a too-loud whisper what your lesson was about and you shove him away.
You have a hard time looking at him for the rest of the day.
After that, you begin noticing girly things everywhere. Pad and tampon commercials. Tampon dispensers in public bathrooms. Ads for bras in magazines. It's like the world suddenly exploded with horrifyingly mortifying girl things and you wonder why you never noticed it before.
And with the startling new realization that, holy cow, lady bits are a thing that exist, you realize, oh wow, man bits are a thing that must also exist. You suppose you always knew that, but after that lesson, somehow know you know that on a whole new, overwhelming level. If it hadn't already felt like you were being forced to be 'girly' before, it feels as though there's a sudden onslaught from the world around you. From every angle, every ad, every song you hear, the realization that the world has been sorted into two very separate groups is smashed all up in to your face - through your eyes and ears, into your brain, and down your throat into your heart.
And the more the distinction becomes obvious, the more wrong you feel.
Your skirts begin to feel like an enemy, calling you out for something you've done horribly wrong, even if you can't figure out what it is. When spring comes, you refuse to begin wearing them again. You tell your dad wearing pants makes it easier to play. And besides, you lie, the other girls aren't wearing skirts anymore because only little kids do that. Your dad seems a little disappointed, says he thinks you look so pretty in your dresses, but lets you wear want you want. Your stomach flips and curls up on itself and you feel like you've failed him. Part of you wants to wear the dresses again to make your dad happy, but the scary part of you recoils from the thought.
You try to push the feelings down, shove them back into the scary place they came from. Maybe if you ignore them long enough, they'll disappear, like the dishes your dad does for you if you wait long enough, or the pretty yellow followers on the summer dandelions - there one moment and gone the next, blowing in the wind in wisps of white fluff.
You find solace at Dave's house. As summer rolls by you return to spending your days sprinting through the halls of his house, running through his backyard, both hating and relishing the way the sticky summer air has your clothes clinging to your skin and your hair swinging in sticky, salty ropes. Dave's bro is like your own Bro, he treats you like a fighter and you squirm happily at his every compliment. You love your dad, but you wish he would treat you the way Bro does.
You feel your greatest sense of pride when Bro points out that you're the same height as Dave now. Dave protests and pushes your head down hard with his hands and says you're too tiny to be big. Bro just laughs and says it's because girls grow faster than boys.
And for a moment your pride shrinks back a bit.
You turn ten years old in June, and after you celebrate with your dad and Kankri, Dave invites you over to go camping in his back yard. After Bro checks the weather to make certain it won't rain, he lets you build a tent out of pillows and blankets on top of the hill in the backyard. He makes you promise to put a tarp down first, though - he says he hates shopping and doesn't want to buy new blankets if you and Dave ruin these ones. Dave tells you later that Bro hates shopping because old ladies always glare at him and that Bro thinks they smell bad.
It takes you a while to set up the tent. You end up dragging over some lawn chairs as base supports for your walls. Dave runs in and takes some chip bag clips to pin the blankets together so they'll stop falling apart.
Once you've got your basic tent set up, you drag a huge pile of pillows inside the tent and stuff it in all the corners and over the hard, uneven tarp floor. Dave tells you that all the edges of the tent have to be walled off by pillows or coyotes will come eat you at night. You tell him he's stupid if he thinks a wall of fluff will stop a coyote. You make sure he isn't looking when you inspect to make sure there's no gaps in your pillow wall. Just in case.
Once you've both decided that everything is perfect, you set down a little flashlight-lantern that Bro gave you to use instead of an actual campfire. You were disappointed at first, but you think maybe it's too hot for a real fire anyway. Besides, it's nice to be able to stay inside your tent.
You awkwardly step across the poof under your feet and bend to lay down on your stomach, starting at the lantern, pretending you can actually feel heat from it. Dave folds his legs like a grasshopper and sits next to you. You've both gotten to the point where your legs are too long for your brain to keep up with, and the two of you look a bit like marshmallows on stilts.
You roll onto your back and look up at your blanket roof. You feel the pillows around you shift as Dave also rolls over to admire your handiwork. It's sloppy and if it weren't for the fact that there's no wind tonight, it'd fall over in a second. You both agree that it's cool as shit.
As the night goes on, the air temperature drops and you somehow end up scootched up against Dave under a blanket, telling each other your best ghost stories.
When your eyelids finally get too heavy, you lay your head down against the pillow-floor, your face turned towards Dave's as he does the same, quickly folding up his stupid sunglasses and tossing them to the corner of the tent.
"Can I tell you a secret?" he asks, and you can fell his breath on your face. You wrinkle your nose at his Dorito breath.
"What?" His eyes look like a funny shade of orange in the lantern light and you realize you haven't really seen his eyes without his shades. You decide they must be brown. You feel kind of stupid that you haven't really noticed his eye color before.
"I think you're probably the best friend ever," he confides.
Your stomach does a happy flop and you push your face into his shoulder. "I think you're even better of the best friends," you say shyly.
"Do you know what Bro says best friends are?" Dave asks you, a little too loud in your ear.
"Probably something stupid," you say.
"Nuh-uh," Dave says, his forehead knocking yours as he vigorously shakes his head. "Bro says that best friends mean that you're always there for each other. Forever and ever. You're connected to each other by fate. Like even if one of you gets sucked into outer space or something."
You lift your face to stare him back in the eyes. "Your Bro probably got that from one of his weird cartoons."
"Maybe," Dave admits. "But Bro's always right."
You can't help but agree.
The start of school brings a new change. Fifth Grade means you don't stay in one classroom all day anymore. You have a homeroom that you spend the first two hours of school in, and then move around to other classes until the end of the day, where you finish off your last hour in homeroom again. Kankri tells you it's the school's way of getting you used to moving around for every class in Middle and High school. You don't like it. You keep feeling like you'll get lost.
Not to mention Dave isn't even in your homeroom with you this year. He is at least in two of the three other classes you have, but you don't even get to sit by him. You find out the reason he doesn't share his other classes with you is because they're more advanced than yours. You would probably resent it more if you didn't find out you were at a higher reading level than he is.
Unfortunately Nepeta isn't in your homeroom either, just one of the classes you already share with Dave, so you spend most of your free time in class alone at your desk reading your books. Some people still pick on you, but it's not quite as bad as it used to be, so long as you keep to yourself.
You still refuse to wear your skirts, and you don't really let your dad fix your hair up or put ribbons in it to keep it in place. The result is your head looking more like a tangled lion mane rather than hair. Nepeta says she likes it and makes you and Dave reenact the Lion King with her. Dave insisted on being Pumba for 'ironic purposes.' You think he's actually just a dork.
Dave begins getting really touchy feely with you, always finding reasons to cuddle up to you, pet your hair, share a blanket. When your dad catches him doing it, he gives you a knowing smile that makes you want to throw a tantrum if you didn't think you were too old for that. You even catch Dave purposely letting you win your sword fights until you push him down for it and refuse to talk to him for the rest of the day.
It's Kankri's first year in High School and he officially announces that he's going out with Meulin. He claims that he thinks he might really love her but your dad tells him that he's still young and a lot can change. Still, your dad does seem to like her. You personally still aren't super huge on how hyper she is or how loudly she talks. Kankri tells you that someday she's going to go completely deaf and that he's learning sign language for her.
Meulin is really into romantic movies and forces Kankri to watch them with her. Bored, one night you watch with them and instantly decide romance is the best thing that's ever happened ever. Before she leaves, you shyly ask her if you can borrow some of her movies. She's absolutely beside herself with glee and Kankri has to kick you out of the room to get her to calm down.
The days you don't go over to Dave's, you spend huddled up on your bed watching movie after movie, lost in the magic that seems to be in all the protagonists' lives. You watch the way the men interact with the pretty girls that are the stars of film. You feel like you can learn how to be romantic like them by watching.
It only occurs to you later on that you should have been watching the girls.
Your gut twists in that familiar knot and you resolve yourself as you push the next tape into the VCR. You chose a movie you were already familiar with so you could focus all your attention on how the conventionally pretty blonde main character acts around her love interest.
The knot in your gut forces its way painfully to your throat as the movie progresses and you realize, you don't, don't, don't, want to act or be treated like the girl on the screen. A weight of helplessness lays over you and you yank the thick comforter off your bed and pull it down over your head like you can block the helpless feeling from smothering you.
You don't understand. You want to have the handsome boy like the pretty girl in the movie. You want to dance with your handsome groom someday. But you also want to be the groom. You want to wear those fancy tuxedos and have a handsome square jaw and strong nose like all the movie star grooms have.
Your eyes burn, you choke on the hard lump in your throat and before you know it you're crying too hard to even see the rest of the movie.
Even if you hadn't seen it before. You'd know that the movie would end with a pretty dress and flowers and not two grooms dressed in tuxedos together.
When you're around Dave, a weird emotion starts to coil in your chest. It's somewhere between pain and anger but you're neither sad nor angry with him, so you try to brush it off. It's only a waste of time to struggle with your nonsense emotions.
All they do is confuse you. It feels so much better to keep playing pretend with Dave. Without Dave. Whichever you happen to be at the time.
It takes a while, but you begin to notice your icky emotions surface when watching Dave fight, when you watch him play in Phy Ed with the other boys, when he gets to go to the boys' room and you don't. You're angry that you can't do, no, be the same. You're hurt because you know you never will be.
You feel sick with yourself. You're jealous of Dave. Why? Because he's a boy? That's stupid. Right? Who gets jealous over something like that?
You're just being stupid.
Things continue like normal throughout the year. Training with Bro. Sleepovers with Dave. Watching romance movies. Reading books. Getting on Kankri's nerves.
Six grade starts a lot like a broken down, rusty old truck. Sputtering and jerking until it finally starts rumbling along. The first day is a bit of a shock. Many of your classmates, particularly the girls, hit major growth spurts over the summer. Groups of girls stand around in circles throughout the halls, giggling to each other. You catch some bragging about their cup sizes going up, others complaining about how huge their hips are getting, or how much cramps hurt. A few girls proudly sport revealing clothes that show off their, holy crap is that a C cup already?
If the world wasn't already split heavily in Boys or Girls, it sure is now. The boys in your class try and fail spectacularly to impress your female classmates. The girls begin donning makeup and whisper about which boys have the best hair. Some talk slyly about (and you stiffen in surprise) sex, and snicker about other things you're not even sure you've heard of.
One day, one of the more 'mature' girls sits next to you and asks in a hushed voice if you and Dave are together and what kind of things you've done so far. Your mind short circuits and you dumbly reply that you like to sword fight and once you made a pillow fort outside. She looks distinctly unimpressed and says that any girl who had Dave Strider should jump on that 'hot ass.'
You're aware that there are many kids who are still impressed with Dave's 'coolness,' but you honestly have a hard time seeing him as anything other than your dorky best bro. Privately, you contemplate what it would be like to start going out with him. You suppose it would be fun, but probably not all that different than what you already do with him. Besides, you don't want to have to wear dresses for him or try to look pretty. The only really awesome thing you can think of is that if you marry him someday then Bro would actually be your brother which would be awesome. The awesomest.
Though when one of the boys in your class mocks you for not even noticing Dave's obvious crush on you, you're not sure what to think.
It's about halfway through the first semester of sixth grade that your teacher informs you that you'll be having another 'girl talk' and sends the girls to another classroom while the boys stay behind.
Your head buzzes with familiar anxiety as you follow the girls to another room.
Once seated, an elderly lady guest speaker begins by asking how many of the girls have started their periods. This time around, half the girls in the room raise their hands with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The other half of the class looks around anxiously, you hear some of them mutter words of jealousy and you can't for the life of you fathom why.
This time around the lesson isn't just about impending changes with your own body, though you are handed free pads and deodorant to take home with you. No, this time around your instructor informs you that you'll be talking about some of the changes the boys are going through. Which of course causes the class to erupt into a furious fit of giggles.
Some of what you learn isn't so bad. Changing voices, the need for more showers, even the hair in awkward places. Other parts leave you feeling dazed. How did you not know what an erection was? What do you mean boys have, have wet dreams? When your mind, completely against your will, starts to wonder if Dave experiences these things (oh, man, he must, oh god) you feel like you might actually combust in your chair.
And when you think your lesson can't possibly get any more painfully embarrassing, your guest instructor brings out a diagram of boy and girl bits and begins describing how sex works and how babies come out from it. She explains things simply scientifically, which helps with the burning mortification you feel spreading throughout your skin, but it doesn't prevent the horror you feel as she explains how a vagina can expand, and how it can hurt if you don't do it right and, oh god, you think you're gunna be sick.
You can't exactly lower you head or cover your eyes without being obviously lame, so you avert your gaze to spy on the reactions of the girls in the room. You feel a small wave of reassurance wash through you when you see that many of them also look as horrified as you feel, though there are a few who act like this is all old news to them, that look actually pleased with themselves, and wow, you don't want to think about it.
But just like the previous time you endured this talk, you can't shake this awful sense of wrongness you feel throughout the entire lecture. You don't know how to describe it, even to yourself, this feeling like you've gotten the wrong half of the chart pushed on to you.
For about a week or so after your second sex-ed class, Dave acts all awkward around you, and you realize, hey, he probably just learned a lot about female anatomy that he probably didn't really care to hear, but, you think, screw him, you're the one who has to actually live it.
And, oh, how it pecks at you, this nagging sense that somehow you're not quite in the right…body of all things. Like maybe somewhere along back before you were born, God, or whatever the hell put you together, made some mistake and your soul got slipped into the wrong model before being shipped off into your mom's belly.
After a few short weeks, you're feeling frazzled and raw. So one evening after school, a day your dad has to stay late at work and Kankri is visiting Meulin's, you shuffle yourself into the single bathroom of your house, lock the door (just in case), and start peeling your clothes off, kicking them to the ground in your haste.
You slam the lid of the toilet seat own, the clink sounding hollow and empty in your ears as you scramble to stand on top of it. You close your eyes, take a deep breath in, hold for a few seconds. Just when your head starts to swim you slowly start to let your breath out through your teeth as you turn your body to face the mirror on the opposite side of the room.
For a short moment, you feel so ridiculous you almost jump off the toilet and return to your bedroom to, oh, maybe slam your face against a book a solid thousand times. But instead you steel yourself and open your eyes, giving them a moment to adjust to your reflection in the mirror.
From atop the toilet, you can see your entire body in the mirror. Dark all over, not the tan-dark like Dave, but soft-dark like your grandparents from the Philippines, long black hair that almost reaches your waist, brown, brown eyes. You scrunch your nose and use your hands to pull back your flyaway hair, try to imagine what you'd look like if it was short.
You think you'd look like the boys in your class. Your eyelashes are a bit long, nose too small, you scrutinize. Your face is maybe a bit too round, but you think that might change as you get older. You hope your jaw gets stronger.
You let your hair flop back down as you lower your gaze. Your chest is still board flat, and your hips still narrow. Your middle is trying to catch up with your spindly too-long legs and arms, but you've still got a layer of squishy padding all over your stomach that you don't remember ever seeing on Dave. But as a whole, if it weren't for your hair, you think you'd look just like the boys in your class.
Well, except of course for…
You cautiously lower your eyes to the V between your legs. No hair yet (thank god), but only a matter of time. You've seen the scary wiry stuff on some of the girls in the locker rooms at school. Really, if it weren't for the little crease right at the bottom, you'd have anatomy just like a Ken doll.
You try to imagine what it would be like to have a penis like you saw in those videos in class. Must be weird to have a dangly bit hanging there. Would it feel weird to walk with? How far down would it go? You're not even entirely sure what one even really looks like - those images in class mostly were just vague outlines. The only time you've ever seen one in real life it that one time back in Kindergarten that you accidentally walked in on Kankri in the bathroom, but even then, you slammed the door shut so fast you never even got a good look at it. (Not that you wanted to. Ew.)
You move your eyes back to your chest. A small prickle of dread prods through you as you think of the inevitability of your chest growing, and you pray so hard that please, please, if they have to be there just let them be small. You like the way it looks now, just like any other boy out there. You puff up your lungs and push your chest forward, try to imaging it growing into strong pecks and not floppy breasts.
Your let yourself deflate with a huff and get down from the toilet.
You've been lucky so far. Eleven years old and not so much as a hint of puberty so far.
You hope with all your heart that that'll continue to last.
One school evening while your dad is (again) working late, you sneak into his office and turn on his computer. You're really not supposed to use his computer without asking first, but you also really don't want him to know that you were in here at all. Not this time.
You pull up Google and nervously type into the search:
girl who wants to be a boy
Some of the top hits are, of all things, anime cross-dressers. You scroll past them, a little annoyed, until you come across a forum about social deviants. You're not really sure what that means, though it sounds negative. But the short description under the link seems kind of like it matches so you click into it.
Your stomach turns sour as you read through the thread.
The posters argue about it being a perversion, a fetish. Others say, oh no, the poor souls, they're so confused. Another claims it's just something a dyke says so she can justify liking girls. You grit your teeth. They're all wrong, that's not how you feel, what you are. You don't even like girls, you want to end up with a guy.
You go back to the search and click into the next link.
The next one turns out to be a mother's forum, the start of the thread written by a concerned mom who's got an eight year old who adamantly insist on being treated like a boy. Most of the replies tell the original poster not to worry - she'll grow out of it. A few suggest being more adamant about putting her in feminine roles.
It's when one mother starts describing her son that was born as a girl that your attention catches. She talks about having a little girl who never wanted to play with girl toys, who always wanted to play with the boys. She admits she simply thought she had a tomboy until it carried on into her teens. It was then that she claimed that she was actually a boy, not that she - he - simply behaved like one.
The more you read this mother's story, the harder your heart pounds. This is it, you think. This is what you've been feeling all this time!
The second your eyes land on the word 'transgender' you instantly type it into a new search. The first page is flooded with sites with blurbs that describe exactly what you feel.
You spend the next solid hour reading through site after site of explanations that fit you perfectly and sites that offer help and suggestions, and by time you hear your dad coming up the driveway, your head is spinning as you hastily wipe your browsing history and scurry out of the room.
You spend the next couple of months repeatedly sneaking back into your dad's office, doing more research. Most of you feels relieved, like you finally found proof that you're not crazy, not just a freak, other people feel this way too. But a part of you…part of you almost wants to deny it completely. Some of those stories you've read about rejections by family, unemployment, bullying, have you scared out of your wits. Even the stories of body alterations give you a twinge of fear. Does it hurt? It's so permanent…what if something goes wrong?
You test yourself. Try to imagine yourself in dresses, makeup. Try to tell yourself that you are a girl, you're just being silly. Really, those other people on the internet seemed like they had it harder, so you must just be being dramatic.
But every time you push your mind in that direction, horror grips you, you feel sick, wrong. And you confirm all over again that, no, you're not a girl, you're not. You're just trapped inside one.
Though somehow now that you know that you should've been born a boy, the discomfort you feel shifts into fear. You're different than everyone else. How will they react if they find out? When they find out? Because you know deep down you can't deny it forever.
You catch yourself repeatedly staring at Dave when he's not looking. He hasn’t really started growing yet - not many of the boys have - but he still has this leanness that you've never had. His hands are bigger than yours, his nails kept shorter (you make a point in trimming your own after you notice this). You wonder, envy boiling deep in your gut, when his shoulders will start to get broader, when his face stronger, muscles larger.
It's not fair, it's not fair that you don't get to have those things.
As the year plows on, you feel the truth bubbling to your lips, like it's trapped in some poorly covered jar deep in your chest. You want to tell someone, anyone what you feel, what you know.
Every time you're at Dave's, you consider telling him. What would he say about it? Would he laugh at you? He's always been cool about letting you do boy things with him, but he still has always thought of you as a girl. Like some sticky substance got forced through your skull, suddenly all you can remember are the times he gave you flowers, or blushed when your skirt rode up, or let you have the bed instead of the floor because he said girls should have beds and, and, and.
What would Bro say? What if he was disappointed in you? What if he stopped thinking you were strong? You don't think you could handle that.
You lose track of the times you spend locked up in your room, curled under your blankets and trying not to cry, because boys don't cry. You can't cry.
It's sometime soon after spring break that you end up in Kankri's room, nervously gripping the edge of your sleeves, heart thrumming, head pounding.
"Kankri?" you try, your voice cracking and too quiet. He doesn't even look up from his book until you clear your throat to try again. "Kankri?"
He looks up from where he's seated on his bed. "Oh, hi Karkat. Is something wrong? You don't normally come looking for me these days."
You take an awkward step towards his bed, delay a little time, before asking, too quiet. "Can I tell you something?"
"What was that? Honestly Karkat, you're always too loud for your own good, but when you mutter like that I can barely hear you. You shoul-- "
"Can I tell you something?" you repeat loudly, irritation creeping into your voice and you wonder what compelled you to try and tell Kankri this. Other than the fact that he's, y'know, your brother and that he's always tried to look out for you in the past.
At that, Kankri stills, his expression turning from irritated to concerned as he sets down his book. "Yes of course you can. You can always tell me anything."
You roll your eyes at his obvious textbook listening skills and move to sit down at the edge of his bed so you don't actually have to look at him while you talk. You squeeze your eyes shut, breath in deep, and too loudly, too quickly you burst out, "I wanna be a boy."
Kankri pauses for a moment, before taking on his signature lecture voice. "Karkat, I know in today's society it's not the easiest thing to be girl thanks to the patriarchy, but don't feel like you have to be shamed because of it. You should feel proud of your fem-"
"Ugh, stop!" You grind the heels of your palms into your eyes. "That's not what I meant! I don't want to be a boy - "
"But you just sai-"
"I am a boy!" You shout over him, eyes wrenched shut, your hands in fists on in your lap.
Kankri closes his mouth so quickly you can hear the 'click' of his teeth snapping together.
"Are…you sure?" he asks hesitantly. "I mean, you're only eleven, there's still a lot of tim-"
"Yes," you respond, still unable to force you eyes open to look at his expression.
"…You're sure, sure?"
"Yes!" you snap, opening your eyes to glare at him. You're surprised at the expression on his face. Relatively surprised, sad, sacred. He runs a hand through his hair.
"I just…wow. Okay," he mutters, squeezes the bridge of his nose. "I just wasn't expecting my little sister to come out trans-"
"Wait, you know what that is?" you ask, eyes wide.
"Of course I do," Kankri replies, waving a hand in annoyance. "I'm not so ignorant as to not inform myself on various minorities."
"So you're not…upset?"
Kankri sighs. "Not with you, Karkat. This is just… a lot to take in." His hand goes back to his hair. "You're sure?"
"Oh my god, Kankri!"
"Okay, okay! You're sure!" He raises his hands out in front of him in surrender. "I mean I guess, now that I think about it, you always did show signs of it."
"Then you're okay with it," you say, needing confirmation.
"Yes, Karkat," Kankri says, a sympathetic little smile on his lips. "I'm really glad you came to me."
"I didn't know what else to do," you admit, voice wavering, and, shit, you promised yourself you wouldn't cry anymore.
Suddenly, strong arms around you as your brother pulls you against him, runs his hand soothingly along your back.
"It's okay," he says, his own voice sounding small, too small. Not Kankri-like. "It'll be okay."
"What'll Dad say?" you ask into his shirt.
You feel his sigh whoosh from his chest. "I'm not sure. Dad's a good man. He might just need a little…help understanding."
A sob racks its way out of your chest. "I don't know how to tell him."
Kankri shooshes you and runs a hand through your hair. "It'll be okay. I'll help."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
In the end you're too afraid to tell your dad yourself. Kankri has to do all the talking, explaining. You suppose it makes the argument seem weaker since it's not actually coming from you, but you don't think you'd have been able to get the words out right anyway. You were lucky that Kankri was already aware of what trans even was. Your dad? Not so much.
He's not outright enraged by any means. You didn't really expect he would be - it's your dad, he loves you. At first he's just puzzled, but the more Kankri explains, the deeper the frown on his face grows. You can tell he's trying his hardest to be rational and listen to what your brother is saying, but you can also tell he's having a hard time swallowing it.
Eventually he asks you to leave the room so he can talk to Kankri alone. You don't need asking twice - you hastily make your way out the room, away from the thick, tense air. Once outside, you shut the door and slide to the floor, your ear firmly pressed to the wood of the door, straining to hear what your brother and dad are saying.
It's a challenge to hear anything, but you can hear tone. Your brother's voice - earnest, controlled. Your dad's - tense, wary. It's only when their voices begin rising that you start to make out their words.
"-she's eleven! How can she possibly decide anyth--"
"--have to be here to support Karkat --"
"--she'll be bullied if--"
"--he's your son, and he needs you!"
It resonates within you, hearing the word 'he' to describe you. It's so right, a relief. Overwhelming. Almost too right.
It takes you a moment to realize the room has gone silent, until you hear your dad's quite voice begin murmuring again. The hard knot that's formed in your stomach makes a lunge for your throat and you scurry to the safety of your bedroom. Close the door, jump in bed, bury under the covers like they'll protect you from everything you're afraid to hear.
When you hear your dad's inevitable heavy footsteps come down the hall, the cautious opening of your bedroom door, a cold wave washes through your chest, your lungs still.
Your bed dips, a large hand rests on your shoulder through your blanket.
"Karkat?" Your dad's voice rumbles all low, low like when he talks about how he misses your mom, how he wishes he could buy you and Kankri better things.
You don't say anything; your lungs aren't working properly yet.
You feel your dad sigh more than you hear it. "C'mon, Karkat. Let's talk."
You squirm. You like your blankets. They are the best blankets. You really don't want to remove them from hiding your face. You mumble non-words into your mattress before you admit defeat, roll over, yank them down just enough so your eyes peek out to stare wearily at your dad.
He gives you a little smile, the kind he used to give you when you fell and scraped your knee. Wrinkles around his eyes, eyebrows soft, one side of his mouth pulled farther back into a crooked little grin. It reassures you, and, before you know it, you're sitting up in your bed, your forehead pressed into your dad's strong arm.
"So you don't wanna be a girl, huh?"
You cringe and push your face deeper against his sleeve. His voice is too controlled. You don't trust your own voice to answer. Instead, you shake your head against his arm.
"Kankri tells me this is real important to you."
You nod.
He heaves out another heavy breath. It ruffles through your hair. It smells like him. It smells safe.
"Do you…think that if you were…to become a boy…that you'd be happier?" The words jerk from his mouth, like he's not sure exactly what he's saying. Like a foreigner would spit out chunks of sentences, stiff phrases at a time, not totally understanding their own words.
You pause. Would it make you happier? You're not sure. You think what would make you happiest is if you never had thought of, felt any of this. If you could go back in time, way back to when you were inside your mama's tummy, and tell the baby, growing you - grow into a boy, have a boy body with your boy brain. Or, failing that, you would beg, please, make your mind a girl mind to match this girl body.
It's the difference that hurts. It's the misalignment. You don't have a problem with girls. You like Nepeta. It's not that you like boys better. It's that you hate being a boy in your head, your heart, your soul, and being a girl everywhere else.
And, oh hey, your dad's sleeve is all wet. Your eyes burn. Your throat aches from your sobs, and suddenly your cheek is being crushed against your dad's chest, his arms (safe) cradling you against him (home), and you're keening, this long, awful sound that scares you, and before you know it, your mouth is forcing the noise into words.
"I just wanted to be a boy from the start!"
A small, deep sound rumbles from your dad's chest and he grips you tighter, rocks you back and forth, runs his hands through your hair. When your sobs slow and your breath grows mostly even again, he holds you back to look you in the eyes.
"Karkat, I love you. I just want you to be happy," he says, and you half want to laugh because that's the kind of cheesy stuff they always say in your movies. Instead you just blink another tear from your eyes. "If you feel like this is the best way for you to be happy, then I'll help you with that. I just want you to be sure, and I want you to know that if you ever change your mind, then that's okay too."
A small part of you balks at that last part. You can hear the slight tinge of hope in his voice. He wants his daughter, his little girl that he had. And it hurts, it cuts so deep. All this time you'd been fearing that he'd reject you, that he'd laugh, or think you were disgusting. It didn't occur to you that you'd be taking his little girl away from him. And somehow, that's so much worse than anything else.
You swallow down another sob and choke out, "I'm sure."
You dad closes his eyes, and you can see the resolve he sets over himself, before reopening his, dark, dark eyes (just like yours) and saying, "Okay. And no matter what, I will always love you for you, Karkat. Nothing will change that."
And then you're crying again, heaving out the words between each breath.
"I love you too, Dad."
It's later in the day, when you've calmed down, and found your brother to give him the biggest hug of his life, that your dad walks up behind you, a wry smile on his face. When he runs a hand through your long hair, he says, "Gunna have to have a haircut if you wanna start lookin' like a boy, now won't you?"
You swear your cheeks will break from how wide your smile stretches across your face.
You decide not to 'come out' (as Kankri keeps calling it) until the end of the school year. It's only a few weeks away, and both your dad and Kankri agree that it'll give the entire summer for the hype of your revelation to wear off so by time you enter Middle School next year it'll be old news. Hopefully that means you won't get harassed quite as much. You're a bit disappointed this means you don’t get to cut your hair for a while, but you agree that it's probably the best plan.
In the meantime, you try to figure out how to tell Dave. You want to. You really do. So badly, but every time you're about to, it's like an invisible hand closes around your throat, and you think, no, it's not the right time. I'll tell him later. I don't want to ruin our fun right now.
And now that your family knows, it's glaringly obvious that Dave doesn't. Doesn't know or see you that way. He still hands you dandelions, face turning red so his freckles stand out. It makes an unknown snake inside your guts curl in on itself uncomfortably. Would he still treat you the same if he knew? Would you want him to?
At home your dad and brother are doing their best to support you. Kankri does a bit better than your dad, but they both slip up sometimes and still call you 'she.' But you don't mind. The fact that they're trying means the world to you. It feels so right when they call you 'he.'
Because you are he.
You've always sort of known, but now that they treat you that way, you know.
When the evening before the last day of school does come around, you still haven't told Dave, and the snake in your gut coils around your intestines with guilt as you walk with your dad to the barber shop.
As you sit in the barber chair, you tell the hair lady that you wanna cut off all your hair to donate. She smiles and says that you're very generous and begins asking if you'd like a pixie cut or a bob. You flounder, try to explain that you want a boy's cut, and when she gives you a confused stare, your dad jumps in and says that it's only for now since you have a costume party at school to celebrate the end of the year. Immediately, the lady's expressions clears and happily begins showing you different boy cuts that you might like.
The fact that you have to lie to even have your hair cut the way you want hurts. But you hope once you actually look like a boy, people will just let you cut your hair like you want because then you will be a boy.
In the end you pick out a medium length boys cut - you're not sure if you could handle the shock of losing all your hair in one go. Your heart sputters in anticipation as the lady braids your hair to prepare if for donation, your lungs still as the scissors slick open and draw up to your braid.
You're kind of surprised at how quick it's over. Snip and the weight falls away and then the lady's moving to start styling what's left of your hair.
It's a bit of a shock to see how your face transforms as your hair takes its new shape. You're face looks rounder, softer like this. It makes you balk, because you want to look stronger, harder. It takes a lot of convincing on your own part to keep that pesky little snake in your gut to come lunging forth with a vengeance.
Instead you focus on the way your hair stands up chaotically on end, no weight to hold it down anymore. You shake your head, and hold back a grin as you hair swishes lightly around you, and a bizarre, wonderful warmth builds in your chest as you think, this is a man's cut.
Your chest feels too small for the way your heart swells, and your eyes feel too wet for how happy you are.
You feel sick.
Dear god, what made you think this was a smart thing to do? Your stomach roils vengefully, your knees shake. You beg your brother to take you back home, you can't do this, you can't. He sighs, sad, and kneels down to stare at you eye to eye. He runs a hand through your short, fluffy hair, places his other hand on your new sweater.
(Old sweater. It was Kankri's. Yours now, your dad can't afford a whole new wardrobe for you. You don't complain. Most of Kankri's old clothes are big on you now, but you'll grow into them. It's fine.)
"You'll be fine," Kankri says. I'll be at the High School on the other end of the building. If anything happens, just go to the office and ask for me." He smiles at you. He's trying to look reassuring. He doesn't, but it's the thought that counts.
You nod and walk shakily towards the front door or the Elementary end of the building. It's your last day of Elementary school, your first day as a boy.
You think the snake in your gut bit you from the inside. There's poison in you now, but there's no going back.
Your dad already talked to the school. You'll be referred to as 'he' from now on. You'll be sorted in with the guys when separated by gender. You're lucky that your name was pretty gender neutral, enough so that you didn't feel the need to change it, so you won't have to worry about that like a lot of trans kids do. You'll be treated just the same as any other guy.
Well, almost. You'll have to use the single handicapped bathroom now. You'll have to change in the coaches' room during gym class. But it's better than nothing.
All you have to do is let your principle announce it at the end of year auditorium meeting. That's it. You don't have to say anything.
The day goes like any normal end of the school year day. All the kids are riled up, heads bloated with enthusiasm at the coming vacation. Dave is just as wound up, literally tackling you in the hall and excitedly asking if you can come over today or tomorrow. He says you can stay all week, and Bro might even drive you to a lake to go fishing, with actual worms and leeches.
You try to sound enthusiastic, but a knot of guilt builds behind your throat. You haven't told him. You should have told him.
He'll find out with everyone else. It's fine. It's too late now, anyway.
(No, it's not. You still have a chance early in the day when he asks about your haircut. You don't take it.)
A part of you is glad that you don't have your last class with Dave, so you don't have to sit next to him in the auditorium as you all gather in. Part of you wishes he was sitting next to you, if only to hold your fingers tight to stop their shaking.
Most of the meeting has nothing to do with you. It's the usual, have fun over summer, make good choices, awards for attendance or student of the year. But you don't hear most of it, your own thoughts are too loud to take in anything else.
The second you hear your name everything zooms into painful clarity. The way your principle flips the paper in front of her over, the way the student in the seat next to you looks curiously at you as your name is announced, the way your heart throbs painfully in your temples.
The actual announcement is brief, no more than a few sentences as the principal gives a simplified version of your situation, and that students are expected to treat you like any other male classmate. And then she's moving on to the next topic, which you of course don't hear over the roar of blood pounding in your ears. You do manage to hear the confused whispering going across the audience when she finishes your part of the announcement.
The meeting ends with a cheer as kids impatiently make their way out of the auditorium so meet the sweltering summer heat outside.
You feel a bit numb, your insides buzzing with leftover nerves. It wasn't as bad as you thought it'd be. It was worse than you'd hoped.
You know you need to find Dave, you know it, but you still end up at the place you meet Kankri to bring you home instead.
Your heart nearly stops when you see Dave standing there instead.
"Hi, Dave," you say nervously, wrap your fingers painfully tight around the straps of your backpack as you walk up to him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Dave yells, before you can try to say anything.
"I wanted to!" You attempt defensively. "I was just scared-"
"Of what? Don't you trust me?"
"Yes!" You shout back, face burning, stomach churning. "I do!"
"Then why?" His voice cracks. Your heart does the same.
"I don't know!" You say, your own voice breaking around a sob. "I meant to! You're my best frien-"
"Apparently not!" he shouts and pushes you hard in the shoulders, hard enough you stumble back a few feet so you won't fall over. "Best friends mean we're supposed to tell each other everything."
"I'm sorry," you say brokenly.
"No, I'm sorry that apparently I'm not good enough for you. That I'm not your best friend!"
Your lungs die. Your voice is nothing more than a whisper. "Dave, please."
"No! You know what? Fuck you!"
You're frozen, immobile, numb, overloaded. You can't manage to do anything as he stomps the ground, then turns on his heel to run away from you.
You can't stop sobbing even when Kankri arrives. Not even when you get home. Not even when your dad wraps his strong arms around you, rocking you like he did when you were a baby.