****
Lisa stared down at the flat tire on her old Corolla and hugged herself, controlling the urge to either take an axe to the damned car or burst into tears. Not now, not today! It was probably just coincidence, since she'd known for a couple of months that there was pretty much no tread left. But it had been the day from hell, and she just couldn't cope. And there was always the chance that it wasn't coincidence. She shivered and glanced around.
The parking lot was full of kids escaping the torture chamber known as high school. They walked, ran, pushed, skateboarded and mock-wrestled as they fled the building. Most headed for the big yellow buses pulled up in ranks out front, but some of the juniors and seniors came her way. The parking lot was full; student parking permits were at a premium, and she'd been lucky to score one. In fact, as a transfer student it had been damned nearly a miracle.
She had a suspicion her therapist had weighed in on the inadvisability of having the transgender kid riding the bus. It was an embarrassing thought, but if it was true she would have gladly kissed Mr. Brookdale's feet. Except today when the magic steed that would whisk her away from the scene of her latest humiliation needed to be shot and put out of its misery. Shit, shit, shit.
She pulled out her phone and called Triple-A. And then had the added humiliation of realizing her credit card wouldn't cover a new tire. The spare was already on the car, after the flat she'd had a month ago. With trembling lips she arranged to just have it towed to the shop. She managed to be gracious and mature, and didn't let her voice drop to a lower register even once. Made it through until the transaction was done, and then she tucked away her phone and just sat right down on the curb, and put her face against her knees.
“Hey. Are you okay?”
Lisa looked up. Zeke Larson stood a few feet away, awkwardly hefting his backpack up and down on his shoulder. His forehead was creased in a worried frown. The way he shuffled his feet might have seemed like he wanted to be elsewhere, but even just a few weeks into the term, Lisa had figured out the guy was either some variant of ADHD or way, way overcaffeinated. Or maybe on speed. He was never still for a minute, and the little tapping of his fingers on the side of his leg wasn't unusual either.
“Yeah. Flat tire.” Lisa stood, dusted the seat of her jeans, and tried to look on top of things.
“That sucks. Need help changing it?” Zeke's smile was a bit sheepish. “I know I don't look like it, but I actually do know what a lug wrench is.”
“So do I.” Lisa bit her lip, and made an effort to soften her tone. Schizophrenic much? You want to be seen as a girl, and then you get huffy because a guy offers to change your tire? “No, I mean, thanks but the spare is flat too. I've called for a tow.”
“Ah. Ouch. Painful for the wallet.”
“Yes.” Lisa had a moment's wish that she could say something clever, keep the conversation going. So far at Crossroads High she had people who tolerated her, and people who stared at her like she was a two-headed chicken, and her favorites - the ones who wanted to beat the crap out of her. No friends. Derek might stick up for her, because that was the kind of guy he was, but they'd hardly exchanged ten words. Even Zeke-the-freak would be better than no one. But she'd heard her voice crack and drop on that one word, and she wasn't taking the chance.
Zeke didn't seem to be put off though. He lowered his pack to the sidewalk and peered at her from behind his shaggy blond hair. “Is it just a, you know, regular flat? Or did someone...” He made what was probably meant to be a stabbing gesture toward the tire.
Lisa shrugged. She really didn't want to know.
For some reason, Zeke still didn't walk on. He just hung out there, looking at her, looking at the car, bopping a little to some unheard music, or maybe random neurons firing. Oddly, it was more comforting than annoying. After a minute he bent to peer at her tire. “Huh. Can't tell.” He circled the car, and then shrugged. “No other damage, no graffiti, maybe it's just your bald-as-hell tires, because I have to say, girl, those are some of the oldest rubber I've seen in a long time.”
Lisa shrugged again. She'd been broke for a while. Not that she didn't work, but all her money went for the hormone treatments her parents had permitted, but wouldn't pay for. Like somehow if she covered the costs, it proved this was for real. Those had to be her top priority. Which meant tires didn't make the must-buy list until they went flat. Until two went flat. Shit.
“So, when the tow truck gets here, you figure they'll give you a lift home?”
Lisa was damned if she would shrug a third time. “Maybe. The shop's not that close to my place, though.”
“Because I could...” Zeke trailed off, then said with renewed determination. “I could give you a ride. In my truck. If you don't mind, you know, being seen with the freak.”
“You're not a freak.” Lisa realized she'd thought that very word just minutes ago, but seriously, that had been pretty sick considering how often she'd had it hurled at herself. And here was Zeke offering her a ride, and she was pretty certain he wasn't interested in getting into her pants, since he was obviously gay. Although he knew she had boy parts, so... She eyed him dubiously but no, he wasn't even looking at her, just tapping one toe and staring across the parking lot.
She realized she'd waited too long when he added, “Well, it was just a thought. I guess they'll give you a ride. I should probably head out.”
“No. Wait. I'd appreciate it.” And fuck, her voice had cracked on the word 'wait'.
But Zeke smiled. “Really? That's cool. And you know, I cleaned out the truck this weekend, so it's not even, like, a pit.”
“Great.”
“So. You're new here, right? I mean, I know you're new because, well, you've gotta know you're news, huh? I mean, I think it's so cool that you're willing to be out as trans and not just come here as a girl, which seriously you could have. You look just like a girl. I mean, I know you are a girl, really, but... crap, I'm seriously putting my foot in my mouth here, aren't I?”
Lisa laughed, feeling suddenly lighter, and looked down at his... Size thirteens? Fourteens? “I'm not sure it would fit.”
“Yeah. I've got a big mouth, but these feet.” He held one up and mournfully inspected the huge boat of a Converse he was wearing. “Well, nothing tiny about these, huh?”
“Do you want tiny?”
“Nah. Not usually. Once in a while though. It might be nice not to be a moose. I'd like to be elegant.” He swiped a hand over his unruly, wavy blond hair and struck a pose. After a second he laughed and slumped though. “Not happening.”
“How tall are you?”
“Six-one. People keep telling me I might grow more, though. To match my hands and feet. I don't really wanna. I meant, this is enough, right? I'm not coordinated for basketball and if I dance with a guy, I don't want to have to lead.”
Lisa blinked. “I don't think it's a rule that the taller guy leads.”
“Maybe not. But it looks better, don't you think? I mean when you watch two guys doing a tango and...” Suddenly Zeke blushed bright red. “Yeah, okay, I'm so cool. Impress the new girl by revealing that you watch gay ballroom dancing in your spare time.”
“I might've watched once or twice too.” Lisa was stunned to hear that come out of her mouth. Not that it wasn't true, but she never handed anyone that kind of ammunition.
Zeke looked more cheerful though. “Really? That's even more cool. Sometimes I feel like I'm this alien, you know, dropped down into this school with feet the size of California and no coordination, and, well, I was never in the closet because it became futile in about seventh grade. So to find someone even...” He bit his lip. “Oops.”
“More freaky than you?”
“Ouch. No. I was, um, going to say 'as freaky as me', maybe. But even that's not fair, because really, look at you. If you weren't out, no one would know. You look like half the other girls in the school. You could totally just walk in and no one would look twice. Which is more than I can say. You're sure you wan
t a ride home with me?”
“I'm sure.”
The tow truck pulled into the lot about then, and Lisa got involved with watching the mechanics of getting her car out of its spot and hooked up to tow. She signed away all of her spare cash on the dotted line, and ignored comments and a few jibes from the passing students as her car was cranked up and hauled away. Someone called, “Whatsamatter? Lost the ability to change a tire when you cut off your dick?”
Lisa resolutely didn't even look over there. It really didn't matter who it was this time. She shouldered her book bag and glanced at Zeke. “Are we good to go?”
“Huh? Yeah, absolutely. Come on. It's over this way. It's not much, you know, and I wasn't trying to out-macho anyone or, like, compensate for something with the truck. It was my older brother's because he used to do yard work for cash in the summer, and needed something that could haul his mower and stuff, and he let me buy it cheap when he finally went off to college...” He stopped at a rusty, huge Dodge pickup and fumbled with his key. “You can just stick your bag in behind your seat. Is this okay?”
“Compared to riding two buses? Or walking from the repair shop? Hell, yeah.”
Zeke grinned and went around to swing up into the driver's seat. “Cool. It's not much to look at but my brother's good with mechanical stuff so it still runs great. Which way?”
“Turn left out of the lot.”
For a few minutes they drove in silence as Zeke navigated the crowd of cars and jaywalking students still streaming out of the high school. Lisa noted that when concentrating, Zeke apparently was able to focus and stay on task. But once they were clear of the school zone he relaxed and shifted his left elbow to the windowsill, fluttering his fingers in the breeze.
“Phew! I swear, I hate that part. Some of those guys must have got their license, like, yesterday, from the way they drive.”
“Probably some did.”
“True. And the pedestrians are almost worse, the way they step off the curb without looking. I love being able to drive and quit riding the damned bus, you know.” Lisa was looking at Zeke so she saw the shadow that passed over his face. Yeah, being six-one and flaming must not be a picnic on a school-bus either. “But I have these nightmares where I run over somebody and when I go to court, the punishment is that I have to stay in high school for another ten years.”
“Ouch.”
“Or sometimes worse.”
“There's worse?”
“Heh. Not much worse, I guess.” Zeke flashed her a quick glance. “So, I have to ask. Well, I don't have to but I'm gonna, because I'm too curious not to. Why did you tell everyone you're trans? I mean, seriously, you could easily pass for a girl. Why not just come in under the radar and be a girl? That would get you into the girls' bathroom and locker room and not have to put up with shitheads like Charlie when all you want is the chance to pee.”
Lisa hesitated. She could tell him it was none of his business, or just ignore the question. Or even pretend to have the moral high ground and talk about being out and proud.
Zeke muttered, “See, I didn't have a choice. Or maybe I did, but I was too stupid when I was twelve and thirteen to know which crap that came spewing out of my mouth would mark me as a big queer. But you could seriously avoid all the pain.”
“Not so much. Do you have any idea how hard it is to change your gender on paperwork?” Lisa bit her lip. Some corner of her damned brain obviously wanted to spill all her secrets today.
“Really? That was the problem?”
“Yeah. A name change is easy. Or at least, there's a normal way to do it. A sex change though...”
“But couldn't you just ask the office to keep quiet about it? I mean, who all has to see that part of your paperwork? You could just go to class as Lisa, and no one would be the wiser outside the office.”
“Until I had to use the bathroom,” she said bitterly.
“Huh? The girls' room has stalls.”
“Which I'm apparently too freaky to be allowed into. So the answer was clearly to have me use the staff bathroom, right? For my own safety.” She heard the acid in her own voice. “But that meant that all of the teachers and staff had to know why a healthy student had permission to go in there. So then the question was raised about locker rooms, and which gym class I'd be in. Even though juniors don't have to take gym and I'd rather die than play sports. And by the time that discussion was over...” She frowned and looked out the window. They were halfway home already. The suburban neighborhood was becoming green with new leaves, accented by pink and lavender bursts of spring blossoms.
Zeke said softly, “By then, everyone knew.”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” She'd really hoped to start fresh here, where no one knew her as Austin, the weird Frazier boy. Start as Lisa, the cute Frazier girl. But that hope had crashed and burned fast.
“That totally sucks! Why wouldn't they just let you be a girl? What's it gonna hurt? Did they think if they turned you loose in a girls' bathroom you were somehow going to jump some little freshman while she was taking a dump and rape her?”
Lisa rubbed her eyes. “Who knows?”
“Well, hell. Bigots are everywhere.” Zeke gave a disgusted sigh.
Lisa just caught a flash of motion at the curb ahead and then she shouted as a large black-and-white cat leaped off the curb right in front of the truck. Zeke spun the wheel and slammed on the brakes. The truck spun in a 180, and tires screeched as it shuddered to a halt. Lisa held her breath. There hadn't been a thump or a jolt. Maybe somehow they'd missed the cat. Zeke ripped off his seatbelt and tumbled out of the car. Lisa followed a little more slowly.
She rounded the hood to find Zeke on his knees in the gutter, hovering over the cat. “Is it... dead?”
“No. Thank God! But it's bleeding. I hurt it!” Zeke's voice had a serious wobble.
She put a hand on his shoulder as she bent over to look. The cat was looking around and moving a bit, but there was definitely blood on its shoulder and it wasn't running away. “It needs a vet.”
“Yeah. Right now!” Zeke looked around frantically. “How do we figure out who owns it? You'd think someone would have heard us and come to see what the fuck I did!”
“Calm down.” She tightened her fingers on Zeke until he stilled in her grip. “Just listen. You get the cat to a vet, right away, and I'll stay here and look for the owner. Okay?”
“Like, I should just drive it somewhere?”
“Yeah. There has to be a vet around the area.” She was new to this damned town. She had no idea.
She fumbled for her phone to go online, but Zeke said, “Yeah. Dr. Killbrew. He's only, like, ten minutes away. We take our dog there.”
“Perfect.”
Zeke reached toward the cat, hesitated, then yanked his long-sleeve shirt off and wrapped the cat in it carefully. Lisa held her breath but the cat didn't fight or bite him, just uttered a pathetic little mew. Zeke said, “Oh, damn. Oh, fuck.”
“Here.” Lisa held her door open. “Put it on the floor, so it can't get hurt worse. Are you okay to drive?”
“Yeah. I have to be, right?” Zeke tenderly set the cat-in-shirt bundle on the floor mat and looked at her. “So, I'll go to the vet and... Crap, give me your phone.”
She passed it over and he punched numbers into it, saying, “That's my cell, and I put Dr. Killbrew's name in but no number, because I don't know it. But you call me and then I'll have yours. And if you find the owner, they can call me, and come right over, or tell me what they want, because I'm totally going to cover all the costs... somehow, if I can, because I don't know what it costs for something like this, Mom always pays...”
“Zeke. We're good. Take a breath. And then drive carefully.”
“Carefully.” He took an exaggerated breath and handed her the phone. “Right.”
She stepped back and he closed the passenger door carefully, ran around and got in. He had to wait while a car passed the other w
ay, the driver slowing to stare at the spun-out position of the truck. Once he'd moved on, Zeke pulled across the road and drove off. Lisa was left there, with her phone in hand, in front of a row of small houses. With her bag still in the back of Zeke's truck. Trying to find someone and explain that they'd run over her cat. Dammit.
Well, for now the bag was irrelevant. That cat had to have been fifteen pounds and pretty flashy with those black-and-white markings. Someone would know where it lived. She gathered up her resolve. None of these people knew anything about her. She would just be some high school girl trying to find the home of a lost cat. No big deal. She strode confidently... um, slowed her walk a bit and put more hips into it, as she headed up the first front walk.
At the fifth house, she finally hit paydirt. The woman who opened the door looked at her suspiciously, but when she explained, said, “Sure. That sounds like one of Claude's cats. Kitty corner behind me, with the big screen porch in the back. The red brick house.”
“Claude? Do you know the house number?”
“No. It's one street over, though. Here. I'll show you.” The woman stepped out onto the porch, and then yelped as a lithe brown form seemed to launch through space to land on her satin-clad shoulder. “Shit! Mr. Pebbles! Bad!”
Lisa jumped back, but when she looked more closely the attack-creature turned out to be a small brown and tan monkey with dark eyes. It clung to the woman's hair and stared at Lisa.
“Naughty monkey,” the woman scolded. “Just wait a minute, hon, and let me put him away.” She disappeared back inside and came out a few minutes later without her pet. “Sorry. I don't let him outside. He might get lost. Now, here, come around to the side.” She pointed at a small brick house with a large back porch. “That one there is Claude's. He has a bunch of cats, and I'm pretty sure one is a big black-and-white one. And if it's not his, he can probably tell you whose it is. Claude's crazy about cats.”
“Thanks.” Lisa glanced around to fix the geography in her head. She could maybe cut through the back the short way, but there were fences and she didn't want to get caught climbing into people's yards with no ID on her and no actual sign of the missing cat as an excuse. It was only a five minute walk to go round the corner and come to the house from the front. She found the one that looked right, peeked around the side far enough to confirm the screen porch, and rang the doorbell.
The man who answered was elderly, tall and thin, with dark hair that didn't look natural above his lined face. But his expression was friendly. “Yes?”
“Hello, sir. I, um...” It was a bit harder to get the question out knowing this was probably the cat's owner. “Do you own a fat black-and-white cat?”
The man smiled fondly. “We say pleasantly plump in this household.”
“Is it at home? Safely, I mean?”
The man's smile faded. “Why do you ask?”
“I was driving with a friend and this big cat jumped out in front of the truck one road over.” She pointed. “My friend tried to miss it, but it was hurt. He drove it to a vet.”
“Hurt! How badly? Not... dead?”
“Oh no. At least, not then. And he'd have called me.” At least, she assumed so. “But we wanted to find the owner so I stayed here to look.”
“My cats don't go outside but... Wait there.” The man turned away and closed the door between them. Lisa stared blankly at the white door. Behind it she could hear the man's voice calling something unintelligible. After several minutes the door opened. “I can't find Marnie.” He rubbed his face agitatedly. “It might not be her.”
Lisa had a thought. “Here, tell you what.” She texted Zeke. “Found possible owner. Can you send me a pic of the cat?”
His reply was swift. “Good thought. Hang on.” There was a pause, while Claude laced on black dress shoes and juggled a bunch of keys. Then the ping of an incoming text. The photo showed the cat's head and one shoulder, with its eyes closed. Claude looked at it over her shoulder and gasped. “That's Marnie! She looks... bad.”
Lisa texted, “Got him. How's the cat?”
“Sedated and on a drip. Waiting for an owner to okay more treatment.” Lisa tipped the phone so Claude could read it.
“Tell him I'll be right there. Wait. Which clinic is she at? Killbrew's?”
A minute later Claude was on his own phone with the clinic, confirming his desire to do whatever Marnie needed in the way of treatment. Lisa fidgeted. She'd done her bit. She didn't really want to hang around and watch the guy find out how hurt his cat was. But she felt responsible too, and she realized she had no way to get home, and Zeke had her stuff.
Claude hung up and looked at her. “She has a cut and a broken leg. I'm driving over there now. Do you need a ride?”
“I guess. If that would be okay. I can meet my friend there. He has the truck.” She had to add, “He really tried to avoid her. She just jumped in the road. It really wasn't his fault. I'm sorry.”
Claude nodded. “Marnie's an indoor cat. She has no real idea about traffic, so I can believe that. I'm just glad it's not worse.”
“Me too.”
“Let's go.”
Which was how, five minutes later, Lisa found herself in the passenger seat of an ancient but cherry Lincoln Continental, driving somewhere unfamiliar with a man she'd known for ten minutes. It was the awkward capper to a really weird day. She fidgeted, texting to Zeke, “When this is over, can I still get a ride home?”
“Of course.”
“The cat's really okay?”
“Will be, I guess.”
“Claude says we'll be there in ten.”
“Claude?”
“Owner. C u soon.”
“kk.”
Claude said, “How did you find me?”
“The lady behind said you had a bunch of cats.”
“Just four. Marnie, and Lottie, Esther and Morton.”
“Um. Interesting names.”
“My wife named them after vaudeville singers.”
“Oh. Will she be very upset about Marnie?”
He pressed his lips together, then said, “If she hadn't passed away four years ago, she would have been. Marnie was her favorite.”
“Sorry.”
“No. That's okay.”
For a few minutes he was silent, but then he began to tell amusing stories about the other cats, and all the crap they got into. Lisa had never had her own cat, but from Claude's descriptions they were either little fur geniuses or possessed by devils. It wasn't clear which. His voice was indulgently fond, though, and he only wobbled and lost the thread once when Marnie's name came into it. Eventually he broke off a story of how Esther had learned to open the refrigerator to turn in the entrance of a parking lot. “Here we are.”
The clinic was busy. Three people sat in chairs with their small dogs held up on their laps. The reason was clearly a huge black Great Dane that was jerking its owner around the lobby with gleeful abandon. The small man on the other end of the leash repeated, “King! Heel! Sit!” frequently and with absolutely no effect. Lisa and Claude slipped around the blundering dog, dodged the taut cord of the flexi-leash, and approached the desk.
Lisa hung back as Claude consulted with the receptionist about permission slips and payment. There was a yip and someone said, “Control your dog, damn it!” She turned to see the Dane trying to lick the face of a small white poodle, as the toy dog hid in its owner's armpit.
Lisa was relieved to finally spot Zeke behind the chew-toy display. He stayed put there, half hiding, as she went over to him. Zeke's eyes were red, there were sweat stains under the arms of his T-shirt, and his hair was disarrayed. He gave her a pretty weak excuse for a smile, and then bit his trembling lip.
She asked, “Is the cat worse?”
“No, I don't think so. But I feel so bad. And the surgery for the leg is going to be, like, five hundred dollars. And I don't have nearly that much. I don't know what to do. I offered to work it off, clean cages or something, but the vet said he di
dn't need the help, and anyway at minimum wage it would take like months to earn that much and...” Suddenly Zeke broke off, staring. “Oh, shit!”
Lisa whirled around in time to see the Great Dane wrap its leash completely around Claude's legs, and suddenly lunge after a departing customer. The leash yanked tight, jerking Claude's feet out from under him. Claude grabbed for the counter, and the slap and shout as he missed his hold sent the Great Dane into a frenzy of deep barks. The owner dropped the leash with a shriek, and the Dane darted out the closing door.