Melissa (Formerly Published as George)

Jeff and Rick mumbled apologies. George wasn’t sure whether their halfhearted sorrys were meant for her, Ms. Udell, or Charlotte. She wasn’t sure she cared. The moment Ms. Udell turned away, Jeff rolled his eyes. Jeff was always rolling his eyes at something, usually with a snide comment to match.

Ms. Udell passed by George’s desk. “To be honest, I’m not sure what I think of a person who doesn’t cry at the end of Charlotte’s Web.”

“You didn’t,” George mumbled.

“I did the first three times… and a good number of times since.” Ms. Udell paused, and for a moment it looked as if she might tear up right then. “My point is, it takes a special person to cry over a book. It shows compassion as well as imagination.” Ms. Udell patted George’s shoulder. “Don’t ever lose that, George, and I know you’ll turn into a fine young man.”

The word man hit like a pile of rocks falling on George’s skull. It was a hundred times worse than boy, and she couldn’t breathe. She bit her lip fiercely and felt fresh tears pounding against her eyes. She put her head down on her desk and wished she were invisible.

Ms. Udell returned with the bathroom pass. It was a worn wooden block from a kindergarten class and read BOYS in thick green permanent marker on one side. George flipped the block over with a hollow slap so the side facing her read ROOM 205.

Ms. Udell put her hand on George’s shoulder, but George shook her off and stood up. She could barely see her way to the classroom door through her tear-blurred eyes, and she navigated the hallway more from memory than sight. She stumbled, sobbing, into the bathroom – the boys’ bathroom. Her lips trembled and salty tears dripped into her mouth.

George hated the boys’ bathroom. It was the worst room in the school. She hated the smell of pee and bleach, and she hated the blue tiles on the wall to remind you where you were, as if the urinals didn’t make it obvious enough. The whole room was about being a boy, and when boys were in there, they liked to talk about what was between their legs. George tried never to use it when there were any boys inside. She never drank from the water fountains at school, even if she was thirsty, and some days, she could make it through the school day without having to go once.

George put her head down close to the faucet and splashed cold water over her neck until she shivered. Then she rubbed a clump of paper towels on her head. She combed strings of still-wet hair with her fingers and smiled weakly at herself in the mirror.