Free Luna by Julie Anne Peters Page B

want to blend in. And look.” Liam got all excited. “I found these testimonials from TG’s who’re transitioning. What they’re going through. It’s me, exactly me, same as me.” He grabbed another stack of printouts that he’d set aside on his treasure chest. That’s what he called it — the locked steamer trunk that contained his life. His desired life. The girl clothes. The makeup. He’d even wired the trunk with an alarm system.
    “There’s this one T-girl, Teri Lynn, who transitioned a couple of years ago. She calls it ‘remaking herself.’ She’s following the Harry Benjamin standards to the letter so she can have her SRS next year.”
    “Her what? Wait. Who’s Harry Benjamin?” He was addressing me as if I was on his level, his plane.
    “Harry Benjamin,” Liam repeated. “The Benjamin standards. You know, the steps you have to go through before you can get your SRS.”
    “Slow down, Liam. You lost me. SRS?” I picked up a Web page and skimmed over it. “Welcome to the Gender Identity Center,” it said at the top.
    Liam touched my shoulder. “Sorry. I should keep you filled in on the lingo. SRS: Sex Reassignment Surgery.”
    I dropped the page. My brain engaged. “You mean a sex change operation?”
    His smile extended across his face. Her face. Luna’s eyes grew dreamy. “Oh, Re. It’s all I’ve ever wanted my whole life. You know that.”
    No, I didn’t know that. How could I know that? My eyes fell from her face and grazed the floor, unseeing. I couldn’t look at her. Why did this shock me? Because I never allowed myself to go there.
    Transition. Is that what it meant? An actual, physical transition? A sex change operation?
    Liam gathered the printouts together. On the fingerpad he’d installed atop his treasure chest, he pressed a series of numbers and letters. The latch released and he lifted the lid. He set the stack of papers inside, dug out a leather purse and a tapestry bag. The tapestry bag looked familiar. Wasn’t that Mom’s?
    Liam said, “Which of these look more everyday?”
    A wave of nausea washed over me. I pushed to my feet.
    “Re?”
    “Neither. Both. They’re fine,” I mumbled, lurching for the door.
    He called to my back, “What’s the matter?”
    “Nothing.” Don’t desert him, my brain screamed. Don’t do this. Don’t let him down. Don’t let him know.
    He asked more softly, “You understand, don’t you?”
    I stopped in the threshold, my eyes squeezing shut. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Holding my stomach, I opened my eyes and forced a smile over my shoulder. “Well, yeah,” I lied. “Of course.”

Chapter 9
    “T his experiment involves two potentially dangerous chemicals. The first is potassium permanganate, a strong oxidizing agent that will react quickly with skin and clothing. The second is sulfuric acid, which is caustic and corrosive. Wash off spills of either solution with
large
amounts of water. Goggles must be worn at all times. Any questions?” Bruchac cleaned his nerd glasses with his Tweety Bird tie.
    Chris handed me my goggles. “You should probably leave the handling of all dangerous chemicals to me,” he intoned in a deep voice. “Since I’m the man.”
    Yesterday I might’ve smacked him. Or laughed. Today? What difference did it make? The world was all wrong, skewed, out of natural orbit. We could never be close. Not that he’d want to be.
    “Fill a Beral pipet with commercial hydrogen peroxide and label it,” I read from the lab instructions.
    “Hey, Garazzo. You coming to tryouts after school?” a voice sounded beside Chris. This senior I didn’t know had stalled at our station on his way in. Ten minutes late. Bruchac was scorching the back of his letter jacket with a glare.
    Chris said, “You know it, man. Think Hewitt will let me start? Or am I going to be warming the bench this year?”
    “Mr. Atchinson, you’re late,” Bruchac announced to the universe. “This is the second time. Three