The first time Nona meets Nate, he's wearing a pink sequin dress. His father calls him "Natalie," but Nona has never seen him as anything but a very cute boy who's forced to wear dresses.
Life is about change. It's about adaptation and courage and...
"And as for the risk, there's risks in pretty near everything a body does in this world."
― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables
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By the time they boarded the bus to leave that afternoon, word had passed around their school about Nate's announcement and the idea that he and Nona were a couple. "Hey, McBride," one of the sixth grade boys, Matt Brown, called to her brother. "You know your kid sister's a carpet muncher?!"
"Shut the fuck up, you little faggot!" Jon shot back.
The bus pulled to a stop and Mr. Bordon stood, glaring at the back. "I hear anotha word out of any a' ya kids and so help me God, I'll have ya kicked off ma route!" he bellowed.
Nate's breathing was ragged and shallow, his eyes wide, but locked on his hands that were clutching his knees. He winced when Nona's hand covered his. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Don't listen to them," Nona whispered back as she dug in her bag and pulled out a well worn copy of Anne of Green Gables. She'd found it at a garage sale, tucked among dime store romances, westerns, and self-help books. "When they start on me, I read," she whispered handing it to him.
He shot her a skeptical, sidelong glance. "I don't really like reading."
"Ah, well," she fumbled in the bag and drew out a notebook, fresh and new and almost cobalt blue. "Sometimes I write. Get the thoughts out your head and on paper. Maybe that would help."
"Punching their teeth in would help, too," Nate said darkly.
"No, that," Nona said pointedly as she put the books back in her bag, "will get you expelled."
He clawed the bit-down nails of his forefingers into his thumbs.
She searched her mind desperately for something comforting to say and landed on, "Perhaps they'll forget. I mean. In second grade I barfed on Stephanie Watkins book-sack and for months they called me Puke Bucket. Then D'marcus Hammond peed on himself and suddenly it wasn't such a big deal."
"They're going to remember," he said.
"Then why'd you tell everybody. You could've just kept it, like, a secret," she whispered, as if saying it too loud it would shatter them both.
His breathing grew deeper and his jaw flexed. "Mom said I shouldn't have to. She said I ought to just tell people and if they accept me then they're worth knowing and if they don't then I'm better of without them."
"But- it makes it so hard."
"Would you stop wearing pink? Cut off all your hair? Stop acting like a girl? If it would make things easier? Would you... Would you shutup!? If that kept people from hating you!? It would help, you know!" he was screaming now and the rest of the bus was silent as a tomb.
