Free None of the Above by I. W. Gregorio

public in your bra and panties. But we got a lot of donations. We also inspired an op-ed piece in the Observer-Dispatch decrying “the objectification of impressionable young women under the pretense of school spirit.”
    â€œHey,” Sam said when he read the piece. “There were some hot cougars out there objectifying me . Why didn’t they write about the poor, impressionable young men?”
    â€œWhatever,” said Vee. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.” She let me keep the purple bikini.
    Stressed out as I was about Friday’s party, it took me a while to dig through the summer clothes stored under mybed. Eventually I found both Vee’s suit and the one from Aunt Carla. I shut my door and put on the bikini. I stood in front of my full-length mirror and stared at my groin. With the right lighting, you could see two little shadows that didn’t quite belong there—my hernias. I coughed just like Dr. Johnson had told me to, and something just above my bikini line jumped under my skin, like that moment in horror movies right before the alien pops out of the person’s stomach.
    I tore off the bikini, disgusted with myself. It was just a matter of time before I disgusted Sam, too. Instead of trying on Aunt Carla’s suit, I pulled on a pair of sweats and a thermal top. Then I curled up in my bed, and thought up some excuses for not going to Andy Sullivan’s party.
    Somewhere in between “I’ve got the stomach flu” and “My dad grounded me because I flunked a math test,” my phone went off. I panicked, thinking that Sam was the last person I wanted to talk to, but it was an unfamiliar number.
    â€œHello?” I said.
    â€œHi, is this Kristin?” a woman’s voice asked. It was a good voice.
    â€œYes. May I ask who’s calling?” I answered automatically. My mom had drilled that one into me when I was five.
    â€œThis is Maggie Blankman. From the AIS-DSD Support Group?”
    Holy crap, I’d forgotten. “Oh, wow. Thanks for calling.”
    â€œOf course; my pleasure.”
    There was a moment of silence as I panicked. Was I supposed to have prepared questions?
    â€œNice to meet you,” Maggie said after what was probably only a few seconds, though it felt like hours. “You said in your email that you just found out last week?”
    â€œYeah. My ob-gyn figured it out when I went in for my first appointment. How about you?”
    â€œMy family found out about my AIS when I was six. Of course I was really young, so they didn’t tell me all the details of AIS right away. My mom’s a doctor, so she spent a lot of time when I was little slipping in stuff about different types of anatomy, and how adoption wasn’t unusual. She finally told me the truth when I was sixteen. I was lucky I was able to find out about it gradually. It’s rough having to find out everything at once like you did.”
    â€œYeah.” I felt a pang of jealousy. She’d known for so long. There was another silence. Over the line, I could hear the strains of a Sarah McLachlan song.
    â€œHow’s it going?” Maggie asked. “Do you have any questions?”
    Did I have any questions? My mind roiled with them, but it was like shooting a moving target—I couldn’t pin one down.
    â€œSo . . . what am I?” I asked finally.
    She knew what I meant right away. “You’re a girl. You can do everything every other girl can do except get your period and give birth.”
    I wasn’t sure about that. Everything? I had to screw up every ounce of my courage to ask the next question. “What about sex? I tried a couple of weeks ago with my boyfriend, and it was a disaster.”
    Maggie made a sympathetic sound. “I’m really sorry about that. When you know about it beforehand, you can do things to get yourself ready.”
    I grimaced a little at her euphemism. “I know. My doctor, she .