Just Passing

12. Being Sensitive

When the alarm blares at 6 AM I'm trapped under a cement blanket. I don't move until Tiffany kicks me. "We went to bed at, like, nine last night. There's no way you should be this tired. Let's go."

Morning people can be so annoying sometimes. Good thing I love her.

I go through my routine lost in a fog. There is no amount of coffee to cure this, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to try. I start throwing back shots of Nespresso faster than a frat boy drinking Jagermeister. By the time I get to work my thoughts are jumpy and my hands have tremors. This is going to be a great day.

After parking, I walk through the side entrance and make my way down the hall, turning into the main office suit. The secretary isn't there yet, but I pass Ms. Reid's door and wave good morning before going into my work space. Jessica is already at her desk, laptop open, and her large iced coffee placed carefully on a napkin. She's in the middle of pulling her dark hair up into a ponytail as I walk in. "Oh, hi, Xander. Happy Friday."

"TGIF." I plop down on my desk chair. "Doing anything for Labor Day?"

"Just some last-minute back-to-school shopping with the boys. I swear Ricky grew four inches just in the last month, so he basically needs a whole new wardrobe. Joaquin is fine with hand-me-downs, thankfully, but my boys destroy shoes, you know? And everything has to be Minecraft these days. But, nothing too exciting. Summer is officially over." She pouts.

"Well, technically fall starts on the 23rd this year." My brain feels so wired that I can't even laugh at my own dumb joke. "Sorry, I didn't sleep well last night."

"Having student stress dreams already?"

"Yeah. August feels like one long Sunday, you know?" I lean over and take out my own laptop and plug it in.

"Oh, I know the feeling. But hey, don't get too comfortable there." She takes a sip from her coffee. "Our sensitivity training starts in the cafeteria in ten minutes."

Like I could forget.

We make our way down together. The tables are all set up and several teachers have already arrived. They cluster in grade-level groups, smiling, laughing, complimenting each other's tans. Jessica and I take a seat at one of the tables towards the front, sitting next to Ms. Reid. As content specialists we are technically on the leadership team, so as much as I would like to, there's no hiding in the back.

The facilitator is making her way around the room, handing out name tags and markers. "Preferred name and pronouns," she instructs, pointing to her own example: Danielle; She/Her.

She's a tall, sturdy woman with tight blonde curls and a touch too much makeup. But as I watch her approach me I take note of her dainty hands and small shoes. So, as much as her wide shoulders indicate she might be trans, other physical features say otherwise. Is it weird that I try to read everyone like this?

"What do you mean preferred pronouns? I think mine are pretty obvious," Steve chortles loudly across the room, shaking me from my thoughts.

"Oh, here we go," I mumble towards Jessica.

"He's harmless." Is she chiding me? She didn't think he was so harmless last year when he was railing against immigration and talking about caravans of illegals, but I bite my tongue. Did I ever tell Steve that his comments were racist and inappropriate? No. I just rolled my eyes. I guess I wasn't a very strong ally then, and I knew that she is Mexican-American. She doesn't even know that I am trans, so what should I expect?

I notice that Ms. Reid twitches her eyebrows and takes a deep breath, but I can't tell if this slight hint of irritation is directed at me, Steve, or something else entirely. Even after five years as our principal I still find Ms. Reid - and, yes, it's always "Ms. Reid" and never "Melissa" - to be completely unreadable.