Page 62 of My Own Kind of Person

“Hell no,” Andi calls from our table. “Immediate veto on this triple denim atrocity.”

“Two denims is a Canadian tuxedo,” I say, dropping my backpack beside Andi. “But three? I’m operating outside of what we have language for. Three denims is living in the future.”

They shake their head. “There are ways to protest our culturally defunct high school, but this ain’t it.”

“This is no protest,” I declare, trying desperately to silly my way back into myself. “I’m not against anything. I’m for myself.”

I may be screaming inside.

We open our sketchbooks to our drawings of pears. Mine look like deflated balloons. Andi’s look like the pears in front of us and like the saddest and most lonely bowl of fruit I’ve ever seen.

“Who wronged those pears?” I ask.

“Ha!” They grin. “I did.”

My body warms and relaxes. “Can I run something by you?”

“Nah.”

I laugh, I think genuinely. “Cis guys can be attracted to people of different genders, right?”

Andi doesn’t put down their pencil. “Is this a serious question?”

“Like would it be weird if I dated Christy, which I did, and then wanted to kiss someone who wasn’t a girl?”

“No, obviously.” Truly a joy for this to be the thought I’m shamed for. “Gender is a fiction.” They put a hand up like, wait. “Or, it’s a fiction for me. Other people know what’s true for them.”

“That makes sense. I think I’m fine being a guy as long as it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Ha.”

“Is it possible to be super excited about being a guy? Are other cis guys out there hugging their dicks every night like it’s their favorite body part?”

“They’re giving a stern pat on the back to their dicks and saying, ‘Good game.’ ”

I’m returned, I’m sane, I’m saved.

Ms. Esposito laughs as she passes. “What are you two talking about?” She replaces a rotting pear with a new one, completely changing the still-life. As students arrive, they sit and look, confused, from their drawings to the bowl of pears.

“So.” I put serious hands on the table between me and Andi. “Sexuality.”

“Sexuality is a liquid.” Andi coughs. “Most people would be queer if we didn’t learn to see everything so black and white.”

“A lot is happening here.”

“Most people are also idiots.”

“There we go.” I lean back in my chair. “I think sexuality might not be a solid or a liquid, but a gas.”

“It’s expansive?”

“It’s bigger than a spectrum with a single gender on each end. There’s so much more to who someone is. Attraction is three-dimensional.”

“So what parts of the cloud are you into?” They say it like they’re joking.

I count with my fingers. “Cool hair. Soft skin. Kindness.”

“The boring parts.”