No Name on the List (Short Story)
Tip, tap, tip, tap. My black leather chelsea boots (only $6.99 on sale at Target) walked alone with me. Squeak, screech, squeak, screech. A pack of blue tennis shoes flooded my ears as they stomped through the halls. The white-painted brick walls caved in narrower with every step, until I turned the corner to my 9:07am class: AP Lang. A whiff of buggy mud made my nostrils flare and scrunch. It almost smelled like third-grade when my twin would pass a ball of dirt to my hands, pretending we were baking brownies. Unexpectedly, the muddy ball sent a crushing pain crackling through my toes.
“Brett, what did I tell you about bringing your soccer ball to class?” Mrs. Radledger scolded with one skinny eyebrow raised, though I could see a smirk fighting its way past the wrinkles.
“Ope, sorry,” Brett muttered as he whipped past me.
The grassy scent followed me to my seat on the edge of the classroom. Disharmonious melodies of laughter and conversations crescendoed as a dozen blonde heads waltzed to their seats. I pulled out my notebook and began to scribble.
Cling. My pencil dropped and rolled to the beige chair behind me. I turned around to see pink glossy lips quickly forming and deforming with every word. God, Madisyn. Everyone knows she’s perfect. I rolled my eyes to myself. She’s the top performer of the swim team and an effortless beauty. Skin as clear as the water she races in, tanned by an artificial sun. Summer doesn’t last long in Wisconsin.
Madisyn’s shifty eyes suddenly looked to mine and then to the ground. She paused for a moment then bent over, and her spaghetti strands of hair spilled over her shoulder with thin pieces gluing to her gloss.
“Is this yours, Arianna?” Madisyn questioned in a silky timbre.
The sound of that name on her tongue made my stomach tilt. She held up the writing utensil between her crystal shellac fingertips. I nodded and snatched the pencil from her hand. I mumbled a “thanks” before twisting back around in my seat and hovering over my notebook. I didn’t think she knew my name. I kind of wish she didn’t now.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. I chowed on the sandwich I packed myself for lunch, not caring about making a mess. The silence tried to eat me whole and remind me I was alone. I cranked up the volume of “She” by Harry Styles in my Toyota Camry. I ate in my car every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, because my one friend Lexi and my twin Becca weren’t in my lunch period on A days. When the chorus hit, I had to belt it out.
SHE, SHE LIVES IN DAYDREAMS WITH ME
SHE’S THE FIRST ONE THAT I SEE AND I DON’T KNOW WHY
My phone screen lit up, making my heart leap for a moment, but landed in a fat crash; it was a Pinterest recommendation.
“Oh my god, I must be famous,” I muttered to my raving audience of no one.
Tearing another bite of my sandwich, definitely with lettuce flakes wedged between my teeth, I pressed the notification anyways. It was an image of 20-year-old Harry Styles, smiling with his cute little dimples despite that tight black shirt gripping his toned, tattooed biceps for dear life. My heart swelled. My eyes fixated on his broad shoulders and trailed down to his wide torso. The longer I stared, the more the swelling squeezed my bones. I shifted my gaze to my lumpier chest, my thinner hips, my smaller body.
Most people at Mendota High School knew me for my diehard One Direction obsession. People here didn’t know I could squeal in excitement and smile so wide my face stretched until One Direction would drop a new song. They thought I was some crazy weirdo fangirl who dreamed of running off and marrying the entire band. If only they felt the hole in my chest. If only their limbs were long enough to reach in and tie me back together. I gulped down my room temperature apple juice, shuddering at the bittersweet taste.
She’s the first one that I see and I don’t know why
My twin, Becca, and I walked into our next class together. I released a relieved sigh at the sounds of energetic vocals swinging high and low.
“Hey, Ari and Becca!” Lexi, my curly-haired friend, greeted us.
We plopped down on the lowest tier of the risers, the alto section, and grinned up at her. Choir was the one class where I didn’t feel like I was dissociating, floating off to another distant dimension. No burley Bretts shoved past me and left dirt on my toes, and no preppy Madisyns glared at me with their icy eyes. Here, I could finally land safely on planet earth. When Lexi and Becca started chatting about the latest episode of Looking for Alaska, a calming scent of lavender and lemon drifted past me and blanketed my senses. I followed the scent that accompanied a gravelly voice, short, caramel hair that twirled at the top, and a plum, button-up blouse. Their laughter sang in A major, harmonizing with the lanky soprano I recognized as Elinore. I straightened my posture and tucked my hair behind my ear.
Wren came to Mendota High this year, and I’ve been wanting to know more about them ever since. Them. I’ve never met a non-binary person before. I followed them on Instagram, which linked to their Tumblr that displayed “they/them” underneath their name. Everybody still seemed to refer to them as a “she” or a “he,” not me, though. Wren caught my gaze and I quickly snapped my head back to Lexi and Becca.
“I totally remember that part in the book, too; it was so weird,” I chimed in.
“Anyways, I’m still surprised Mrs. Nalinak gave me and Arianna that ‘Jar of Hearts’ solo as a duet when we didn’t even audition,” Becca responded. “Everyone wanted that solo.”
My thick eyebrows raised. “Oh yeah, we have to practice that today.”
I learned to live half alive
Now you want me one more time
I imagined singing confidently in front of the class; “so talented and expressive, everyone should watch how the twins perform so naturally,” Mrs. Nalinak would praise. In the corner of my eye, I’d be watching the tenor section, hoping Wren’s jaw dropped.
Becca released her hands from the wheel and shifted the gear to parking mode. If you get to your car past 3:20, it’ll take a half hour to get out of the lot. We weren’t moving now. I sighed and opened Instagram to mindlessly scroll. I saw a selfie of Wren, cool demeanor and intense stare through the screen, and on it I saw a colorful flag: yellow, white, purple, and black. I recognized it from their Tumblr as the non-binary flag. Becca glanced over and looked at my phone.
“I think Wren's really cool,” I said.
Becca smirked and slurped from her chai latte, saying, “You should talk to them.”
She snatched my phone, clicked on their profile, then the message button. I wanted to freak out.
Becca started typing away. “You think they're cute, don't you?”
“No, I just– I don't know, not like that.”
She raised an eyebrow and stopped typing. “So, you just want to be friends?”
That's a question I kept having to confront myself. Suddenly, I saw the twirl of Wren’s caramel hair appear above a jeep in the parking lot. For one second I believed I could muster the courage to speak to them and believed my lonely days would end with them. Then a tall body with a rosy dress appeared beside them, embracing them. Becca’s eyes bulged and she leaned over to get a closer look at Wren and the other choir kid, Elinore, clearly intertwining their fingers and gazing into each other’s eyes, and Becca glanced back at me like she had made an unforgivable mistake for encouraging me to talk to Wren. The jeep’s tinted windows blocked any more details.
A knot balled up in my stomach. I was right. It didn’t hurt seeing them together. It terrified me. I thought I finally knew what it was, what it had been all along. Picking up my chai latte and swallowing back a sob, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the overhead mirror and saw Wren’s eyes instead of mine.
I flung the door shut behind me and launched myself onto my bed. The tears I had been holding back the whole car ride came pouring down my blood-red cheeks. I choked on the uncomfortable taste of salt and spiced tea and caffeine. This couldn’t be happening, no. I’m a girl, I’m a girl, I’m a girl…You’re Arianna, you’re… The tangled mess in my stomach wouldn’t go away. I’m a girl, no… I’m… The poster of One Direction stared at me in disbelief, five men judging me and wondering what in the world this teenager was doing. Their stupid biceps and chiseled jawlines and ear-length, slicked hair and gorgeous, mischievous grins looked down on me.
I groaned, frustrated, and yanked a stack of papers from my backpack at the wall, but immediately regretted that when they went scattering across the carpet. I heaved out a sigh. I let myself droop to the floor like spilled syrup and flailed my arms to gather the papers. I stopped when I saw the lyrics I wrote during AP Lang. I picked up myself and the lyrics. The keyboard in the corner of my room waited for me to sit down. As I sat, I heard the rustle of papers, a sniffle when I wiped my tears, and then a hushing silence. A slow, gentle melody sloshed out of my mouth for the first verse.
White brick walls closing in
White nail polish spilling on the floor
Blue soccer posters hanging thin
Blue tennis shoes kicking the door
They’ll never be one of me
So I’ll never be one of them
My hands grazed over the piano keys, and I played what I felt. The two chords repeated and repeated in 3/4 time, sending me into a state of familiarity and acceptance of the bundle of emotions roaring through me.
Orange tables filled with friends
Orange jerseys lined up to defend
Pink tote bags tumble over
Pink lockers close with composure
They’ll never be one of me
So I’ll never be one of them
The ball in my stomach stretched out its limbs and painted my inner body with a beaming light. My eyebrows furrowed and my head nodded and swayed to the captivating rhythm, like twirlers hypnotizing me with their magical movements.
I’m all the colours of the rainbow
And you still manage to paint me gray
Through the hallways I bellow and roar
Please just call me “they”
Please just call me “they”
I laughed to myself because it all made sense. I’m non-binary. I’m non-binary, I’m non-binary, I’m non-binary. Nobody else could name me, not anymore. I felt that in my soul and I repeated the chorus.
I played the final note and let my fingers rest on the black and white keys, right next to my purple and yellow soul.
