Ms. Anderson frowned, folding her hands on her desk. Outside of her office, the halls were a hubbub of students buzzing to and from their lockers, laughing and conversing with each other. In here, however, the silence was nearly toxic, the only sound the rushing of blood in my ears.
   

“So,” Ms. Anderson said finally, pursing her lips and looking directly at me, “you’re...transgender?”
   

I took a small gulp of air and nodded quickly. Her stare rested heavily on my shoulders, hard and cold. Maybe switching schools hadn’t been a good idea after all. My family and I had made the decision to avoid the inevitable rumours and teasing that I knew my classmates would express at my transition, but now it seemed the principal of my new school wasn’t even on my side. Everywhere I went, I felt like I faced opposition. It was starting to get to me.
   

“My daughter would like to have her gender officially changed in the school records,” my mom spoke up, her tone confident and steady. That was the good thing about my mom: when my voice failed me, hers became even stronger.
   

The principal raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
   

My mom gave a terse nod. “Absolutely.”
   

“I suppose it can be done. I’ll have her files called up.”
   

I dragged the toe of my converse along the carpet and clutched the edge of my seat. The air in the room was stuffy and suffocatingly thick.
   

Ms. Anderson cleared her throat and glanced my way. “I’ll have the nurse give you a key to the bathroom in her office.”

“The nurse’s bathroom?” My mom’s voice turned sharp. “Why would she need to use that?”

“Well….” Ms. Anderson opened her mouth and then closed it again. I had a sense she was choosing her words carefully. “She’s not like...other students.”

I stiffened. This had been a bad idea, coming to this school. Despite the sign outside the main office, proclaiming that Harvey Hart Middle would “accept you as you are!”, it was clear that the principal wasn’t on my side. I knew what she was implying: that I was putting up some kind of act, that I was just a confused adolescent, that I couldn’t be trusted in the girl’s bathroom because I wasn’t really a girl. It was something I had known would come, something I had braced myself for, but I still felt a wave of nausea pass through me. Was it really that hard to look past who I had been and see who I was now?

“And why not?” my mom demanded.

“Because…. Well, because….” The principal drummed her fingers on her desk, her eyes shifting from my mother's face to mine. “I mean, you can’t exactly justify….”

“My daughter has every right to use the girl’s restroom,” my mom snapped. “And she will. This conversation is over.”

She grabbed my hand and stood up, and I stumbled to my feet. “Come on, Alyssa. We’re going home.” As she strode towards the door, she shot one last glare back at Ms. Anderson. “The school board will hear about this. I’m sure they’ll have something to say on the matter.”

The door to the office slammed shut behind us, the sound vibrating through my eardrums. I released the breath that had been caught in my throat and let my mom pull me through the crowd, the faces and figures blending around me.

If the principal can’t even accept me, how will anyone here be able to? I wondered, as I followed my mom out to the parking lot. I knew I wasn’t your average thirteen-year-old. I knew that most people laughed at me--just a kid--saying I was transgender. Everyone was always too quick to blame it on hormones, or a cry for attention. But the truth was, I had never felt right in a boy’s body. Finally accepting myself had been an incredibly liberating experience. Now I just had to convince others to accept me. That was the hard part.

I climbed into the passenger’s seat and stared out the car window, watching as students exited the school in groups, chatting and shoving each other around as they filed onto the buses. A cluster of girls sauntered through the front doors, giggling amongst themselves, their backpacks slung carelessly over their shoulders. I tried to imagine myself as part of their group: checking my makeup in the bathroom between classes, eating with them in the cafeteria, doing manicures at sleepovers.

But what if they knew the truth? The truth about my past? I didn’t want my new friends to focus on who I had been, but who I really was. That’s all I really wanted from anyone. Not uncertain stares, not rude questions, not the shadow of that word--transgender--forever hanging over my head. That wasn’t the only thing I wanted to be associated with. Because that wasn’t all of me.

I was so much more--a quirky teen, a poet, a soccer player, a daughter, a friend. One part of my life couldn’t define me. Some people, though, seemed to see it that way, and whether they reacted positively or negatively, it was still tiring when it was the only thing they focused on.

My mom revved the engine and pulled away from the school. I turned my face away from the window and closed my eyes. I couldn’t guarantee things would turn out exactly as I wanted them to. I couldn’t guarantee this would be my fresh start. I just had to hope.