CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: SuperimpositionAfter Pranav and the stagehand escorted Jett outside, there was silence for a few moments. And then. A whisper.

  “Cameras, check in… please tell me at least one of you got that,” said Rafael.

  ***

  They had pnned to shoot a big reveal where each contestant was individually evaluated by each of the three guests, but considering the incident, nobody was particurly enthusiastic about continuing.

  Sam and Jamie agreed that instead of a big score reveal with the contestants, they could just ask Larry, Max, and Winnie to do some confessionals tomorrow morning after breakfast instead. There would still be some time to do that while the contestants were getting estrogen shot number four.

  So the contestants retreated to their rooms, the guests to their suites, and Sam, Jamie, Erin, Sheri, and Rafael sat down in a conference room to figure out what the hell they were going to do next.

  ***

  “So the good news,” said Sam. “Pranav said Jett’s at the hospital, getting his hand looked at. Bad news, of course, is that Jett’s out. Pranav said he’s using his veto power, and I don’t think anyone here bmes him.”

  “As a former contestant, I think I can accurately say that nobody likes him and everyone’s gd he’s gone. There’s a reason he didn’t get invited to Bradley’s goodbye dinner, or to participate in the puppet show,” said Rafael.

  There was a knock at the door, which they weren’t expecting.

  “Hello?” said Jamie. “Come on in?”

  Leia opened the door.

  “Hey, uh, just wanted to let you know, I’m, uh, doing the shot tomorrow before the flight home… for the money… but I haven’t decided yet whether I’m coming back after the break. Just in case, you think maybe Erin and I should do a goodbye interview before we fly home?”

  “That’s actually a good idea, Leia. Thanks for thinking of it.”

  “I also had questions about what’s going to happen to the show, but… I think that can wait till ter. Sorry to intrude, just figured if you were making pns, you should know what I was pnning.”

  Jamie snapped her fingers. “Actually… give me a second with Leia here. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay,” nodded Sam.

  ***

  At Video Vilge, the technical director was showing Larry and the Zimmer cast and crew around the production control room (PCR).

  “Everything should be pretty standard yout. Any questions?” said the technical director.

  “Yeah,” said Larry. “What’s this big red switch do?”

  Larry pointed to a red switch under a protective plexigss.

  “Ah,” said the technical director. “That’s our JFO, our kill switch.”

  “JFO?”

  “A little in joke, basically, we hit that switch if we think we’re going to have a ‘Jamie Freak Out’”

  “You told me it stood for ‘Just Flip it all Off’,” frowned Jamie, standing in the doorway with Leia in tow.

  “It can stand for more than one thing,” said the technical director.

  “Luckily, my ego can take a few lumps,” said Jamie. “Larry, I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor.”

  “I mean, no promises, but you could ask. What’s up?”

  “Leia here will probably be leaving the show soon.”

  “Yeah,” said Leia. “Nobody told me how hard it was to be a woman. Except maybe every woman I’ve ever talked to, met, seen on TV, heard on the radio… read about in a history book… Point is, it’s not my jam.”

  “But Leia's jam is comedy. Do you have time for Leia to pick your brain at breakfast tomorrow?

  Larry nodded. “Yeah, the ‘Fiddler’ lyrics? That would have found its home in my writer’s room. How much material do you have?”

  “I have a really tight five, and a somewhat meandering fifteen. I suck at crowd work though.”

  “It’s just putting in the time, really. Looking forward to discussing this with you tomorrow. Right now I just want to make sure we have a complete rundown of the tech we’re working with before going to bed.”

  “Oh, right,” said Jamie. “That switch over there on the wall, you’re going to want to turn it off before you start filming everything.”

  “Why, what is it?” asked Winnie.

  “It’s GenderBuzzer. Some weird Garden AI tech thing that is uncannily accurate. It picks up deadnames and misgendering.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, and it’s baffling. Garden’s AI tech is… hit or miss most of the time, but GenderBuzzer is unfailingly accurate. Uncanny, really.

  “Good to know, Jamie.” said Larry. “Get some sleep, okay. I’m going to try to get that damn song out of my head.” Larry pointed at Leia. “That’s your fault, by the way.”

  ***

  “I can’t believe you won the beauty pageant,” said Mara, finishing up the leftover tamales for breakfast.

  “I mean, looking at the scoresheet here, it was all very close.”

  “I just can’t believe it,” said Victoria. “You asked for a whiteboard during your interview portion!”

  Eine shrugged.

  “Well, looking at the paper, I got a two out of six for the interview portion. Mainly I got most of my points on confidence, self-presentation, and personal expression.”

  “I mean,” said Mara, “it tracks. Let’s face it, trans women have an unfair innate biological advantage in a competition about who can be the best trans woman.”

  “You were right, Eine. I think ‘owning the bondage thing’ worked in your favor. That is one way to show a hell of a lot of confidence,” said Gucci. “If Jacob was still here, I would have told him to…”

  Gucci looked at the embedded cameras, and then just kind of mumbled “...just be himself.”

  “Anyway, 57,000 in the pot for the rest of us isn’t anything to sneeze at. Has anyone worked out what that means for the cash out?”

  Eine took out her phone and opened up GardenSheets.

  “Assuming all five of us get the injections today? Let’s see… 148,958 for the pot, and a cash-out of 14,895.80.” She sat back and smiled. “Yeah, that’s… that’s what I thought it would be when Leia cashed out. Maybe I didn't get it exactly right when I made the prediction, but that’s going to help her and her mom out a lot.”

  “So Leia is cashing out, then?”

  “You should hear it from her, really,” said Eine, “but yeah, it’s no question that while I’m a trans woman, and the three of you are at least some fvor of genderflexible, this has been really tough on Leia.”

  “Genderflexible?” said Mara, skeptically. “That can’t be a thing. Vic and I are just immune to the hormones somehow. We can’t be transed. Intransible.”

  “I love that you think that ‘Genderflexible’ isn’t a real thing, but you think ‘transed’ is a verb, and ‘intransible’ is an adjective,” said Gucci. “Yeah, Genderfluid is a thing. Uncle Zigzag used to have a genderfluid wombat. Well, it wasn’t his wombat, he was just nursing it back to health.”

  Both Victoria and Mara lightly kicked Eine’s shins under the table.

  “Ow. What was that?” asked Eine.

  “Leia taught us the signal,” said Mara.

  “It seemed an appropriate time to use it,” said Victoria.

  “Oh,” said Eine, who sat there in silence.

  Gucci tilted her head at Eine and slyly smirked.

  Eine narrowed her eyes.

  Gucci waggled her eyebrows.

  And finally, in frustration, and completely unable to stop herself, Eine finally asked, “Uncle ‘Zigzag?’”

  Mara and Victoria groaned.

  “Technically my grand-uncle. Yeah, that’s kind of a sad story. When we were kids, my cousins and I used to spend some time with Uncle Zigzag out in the Australian outback - he’s on Wobbleboots’ side of the family, of course.”

  “Who was on Wobbleboots’ side of the family? Uncle Zigzag or the wombat?” asked Mara.

  “Both, I suppose. Uncle Zigzag by blood, and the wombat married in.”

  “I would have expected nothing less,” said Mara.

  “Anyway, whenever there was a loud noise or a car backfiring or something, he used to yell ‘Serpentine! Serpentine!’ and then start running in a zig-zag pattern. I mean, clearly PTSD from when he served in the Australian Army Force Vietnam, but we were like nine or ten years old, so we just called him Uncle Zigzag.”

  “Poor guy,” said Mara.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Victoria.

  “Yeah, Gucci, I’m sorry I brought that up,” said Eine.

  “Thank you,” Gucci wiped a little tear from her eye with her napkin, and the table got quiet.

  For a few moments anyway.

  “But you said he had a genderfluid wombat?” Eine asked, because of course she did.

  “Oh yeah. Stinky,” said Gucci. “At least we think he was genderfluid. See, male wombats chase female wombats during mating season, and female wombats bite male wombats on the bum to indicate their interest. Pretty standard mating behavior, but sometimes Stinky used to bite female wombats on the bum. He used to chase them sometimes too, but one time it was very clear he was trying to get this female wombat, ‘Petunia’, to chase him, and ‘Petunia’ was having none of it.”

  “Because of the odd behavior?”

  “No, because Petunia was a lesbian wombat.”

  ***

  “So, Leia, how long have you been doing stand-up?” Larry asked, pouring himself and Leia a refill of coffee, offering Leia one as well.

  “About three years now. I started in high school doing three minute open-mic sets on the weekends. I’ve just… not really gotten much further than that.”

  “You record your sets? And go back and actually watch them?”

  “With my cameraphone, yeah.”

  “And what do you do for a day job?”

  “I’m studying computer science at UCSD.”

  “What do you love more, computer science, or comedy?”

  “Comedy.”

  “How much time do you spend going to csses, learning programming, doing homework, studying?”

  “About 40-50 hours a week.”

  “And how much time do you spend working on your set?”

  “I get to it when I can.”

  “There’s your problem,” said Larry.

  “You’re suggesting I drop out of college?”

  “I’m suggesting that you spend more time working on the thing you want to do with your life, instead of the thing that you might begrudgingly feel is a ‘safe bet’ for your life.”

  Larry leaned in, putting his elbows on the table, “Jim Carrey once said that his father would have been an amazing comedian, but he pyed it safe and became an accountant. And then his father lost his job as an accountant anyway. Yeah, comedy’s a hard way to make a living. Might even be impossible. But you can give up on your dreams and still end up failing. Especially your generation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For me and my parents’ generation it was: ‘Go to school, get into college, then you’ll be set for life’. I think you know that’s not holding true. You’re spending tens of thousands of dolrs on an education – and education itself is great. But if you’re doing it because you want a career or financial security? Then it’s not a safe bet anymore. In fact, it may be the riskier of the two. It sucks working a low paying job or living paycheck to paycheck, but when you have debt, your options get closed off to you. You can’t just decide to take a month to work on your mental health if you need it. You can’t spend three months traveling on tour, working back alley dive bars until you have your material honed just right.”

  Larry took a bit of his breakfast and thought about it. “College is great. College is wonderful, and I think everyone should have the general humanities education and critical thinking skills that college can provide. But college isn’t the only way to get those skills, and it is expensive as hell.”

  Leia slumped. “That all sounds great, but… what if I’m just not good enough. What if I’m not as talented as I think I am?”

  “Leia, first of all, don’t make life-changing decisions when you’re on the wrong hormones and, presumably, barely holding it together,” said Larry. “And second of all, if I didn’t know you were talented, I would be giving you very different advice. If you didn’t have the ability to make it as a comedian? I would have told you ‘don’t quit your day job.’ The advice I’m giving you? ‘Seriously consider quitting your day job.’”

  Larry finished up his coffee.

  “Because I’m going to have your goddamn song stuck in my head for the next month.”

  ***

  One st set of goodbyes, a goodbye dinner at Michae: Mar & Le?a for Jacob and Leonard, who officially called it quits after the st estrogen shot and was cut a big novelty check for 15,950, and the ‘Woman Up!’ team was headed back to L.A. for the second break.

  “Hey, Gooch, are you going to be alright doing this without me?” asked Jacob.

  Gooch looked around from his window seat. “That depends.”

  “That depends? Depends on what?”

  “Can anyone else from the show see me right now?”

  Jacob stood up a little bit and looked around.

  “I don’t think so. Why?” Jacob then looked back over to Gooch.

  Silently, with his eyes closed, Gooch was sobbing.

  “Oh. Jesus,” said Jacob.

  “Why am I like this?” said Gooch. “Why can’t I just… be normal. Be happy. Six billion people in the world, most of them are normal people getting on with their lives. And I keep trying to push it back and ugh it off and that was working for a good long while, but it’s not working anymore and I don’t know if that’s because of the estrogen or because it’s just stress or whatever, but I can’t ugh it off anymore. God I try, I am trying. But it’s just not funny. It’s absurd, but I can’t take joy in the absurdity anymore.”

  What do you say to that? What can you say to that?

  “Gooch, you have to stop.”

  “No. I’m committed. I’m committed to the bit. I need to see this through.”

  “You don’t.”

  “If I don’t, then… what else do I have? If I’m not ‘the funny story guy’, if I’m not ‘the wild friend’, if I’m not ‘Gooch’, then who am I?”

  “You’re my friend, for one. And secondly, you’re Jude Guthrie, and nobody can take that away from you. Why haven’t you told anyone about this? Have you talked to Sheri?”

  “If I talk to Sheri, I’m afraid she’ll kick me off the show.”

  “Then we’ll try to find someone you can talk to who can’t kick you off the show. You’re in pain, Gucci. And this is a bad idea that is not going to be a fun story to tell ter.”

  ***

  Near the tail of the pne, Eine was using Leonard as a big ol’ pillow, while Leonard was stroking Eine’s hair.

  “Right. So the pn is that we’ll head over to your pce, tell your parents and Kay that you’ve already won over 15k, and you’ve decided to move in with me while you search for an apartment closer to campus, and we pack up your stuff and bring it over to my pce? And you’re happy with the couch?”

  “For a week, I’m happy with the couch. Unless you want to continue spooning in the same bed, like we’ve been doing.”

  “I’m not sure what my Mom would think of that.”

  “She’d probably think it was cute.”

  “She probably would, actually. But… it’s different when it’s your kid, no?”

  “She already knows we’re dating. Or whatever. And that we’re trying it out, that it’s an experiment and god you’re so cuddly.”

  Eine tried to squirm even closer into Leonard, but that was not physically possible. “Just to be clear - we’re not revealing anything to my family, no? Nothing to Mom, nothing to Dad, nothing to Kay.”

  “I always thought your parents were nice, until you told me about how they sent you to that conversion camp. Now I kind of want to punch them.”

  “They are nice. And they’re… good people. Sort of. They’re just… they…”

  “They’re homophobes and transphobes and they made your life hell?”

  “I mean, if it wasn’t for that…”

  “They’re homophobes and transphobes and they made your life hell,” said Leonard, with a bit of finality.

  “But they thought they were doing the right thing.”

  “Then at the very least, they don’t have the capacity to tell right from wrong, which, I believe, fits the legal definition of insanity.”

  ***

  “Got any pns for the break?” asked Oscar.

  “Not really. Probably just going to rex and take it easy,” said Victor.

  “I might do a barbeque, you’re welcome to come by. You can meet my friends, Reg and Harry, watch a game or something,” offered Oscar.

  “I… okay, I appreciate the invitation but…”

  “But?”

  “Reg and Harry. These are your friends from before you started the show, right?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I remember you when you first started the show. And if Reg and Harry…” Victor trailed off and sighed. “Maybe some other time.”

  “No, no, what is it?”

  “You really think your presumably Republican friends would be okay with you inviting a gay actor to your football and barbeque soirée?”

  “Wait. You’re gay?”

  Victor blinked.

  “You didn’t know?”

  “Jeez,” said Oscar. “It’s always the ones you least suspect.”

  ***

  Up in business css, Jamie and Sam were sitting next to each other, as Sam had promised Erin three weeks ago. And Sam was not regretting it.

  “So, when we get back home, there are a lot of things we’re going to have to talk about. Everything’s going to change. Has to change,” said Sam.

  Jamie nodded. “I mean, nothing’s really ever going to be the same.”

  “I just… you know, don’t want things to get boring,” said Sam.

  “Boring? You think it’d be boring?”

  “Well, I mean, it was kinda coming to this conclusion for a while. It’s so obvious even the contestants were talking about it. I just wonder if we’re making a mistake. If we should change course.”

  “I mean, there’s always going to be doubts until we really give it a try,” said Jamie.

  “I’m just worried about coming to the climax,” said Sam.

  Jamie jumped in her seat a few inches.

  “Isn’t it a little early to start talking about that? I mean, I’d be happy to, it’s just, I didn’t expect it to be this soon.”

  “Yeah, I think it’s time to start talking about it. We should probably bring Daria in too.”

  “You want to bring Daria in?”

  “Well, she has experience. And I don’t want to leave her out of the process.”

  “I kinda thought… that it would be just you and me.”

  “Well, it is our thing, but we wouldn’t have gotten this far if it wasn’t for Daria, for Sheri, for Erin… hell, maybe we should just invite them all in.”

  “Erin’s married to Julia!”

  “You think we should bring Julia in too? But she doesn’t really have the right kind of experience.”

  “I’m not sure what the wrong kind of experience is.”

  “Okay. We’ll bring in everyone. Julia. Pranav, Daryl, Chandra…”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “We should also bring in Rafael.”

  “Rafael!? But Rafael’s just a kid.”

  “He knows what he’s doing,” Sam shrugged.

  Jamie frowned.

  “I mean… I’m not comfortable with that big a change… but… if it makes you more comfortable… I’m… I’m not… going to immediately say no… but I don’t think… I think we should just… you know. Py it by ear?”

  “Well, we have to think of something to make this work. Jacob and Leonard dropped out, and we’ve just lost our big vilin, the ending’s sort of a fait accompli, no? Eine’s going to walk away the big winner, the only question is how far will Gooch, Oscar, and Victor go? And nobody’s really interested to see who will come in second pce.”

  Jamie rolled her eyes at her own stupidity.

  “You’re talking about the show, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. What did you think we were– oh my god.” Sam said with realisation.

  They couldn’t even look at each other due to embarrassment for a few moments. And then Sam said:

  “Wait. You were open to it?”

  “Sam,” sighed Jamie, “for you? I mean, I hated the idea of it, but I want you to be happy.”

  “God,” said Sam, “you are the best, you know that, right?”

  “So are you.”

  ***

  When Jamie and Sam arrived home te that night, Bradley was at the door to greet them.

  “Hey Jamie! Hey Sam! Welcome home! Let me help you with your bags!”

  “Thanks, Bradley! You did a great job with the window!” said Sam.

  “You really did,” said Rafael, who hopped out of the back seat of the van, and headed up.

  “HEY!” said Bradley, which was returned with a simir “HEY!” from Rafael, and a massive bear-hug where both participants tried to out-bear hug the other.

  “Yeah, Rafael wanted to stop by and say hello before anything else.” Jamie kindly smiled.

  “Oh, that’s great! Rafael, you look good.”

  “Thanks! You too!”

  “So, how much has Rafael been telling you about the show?”

  “I heard you’re down to the final four? Also, that my ex-boyfriend nearly turned himself into a shish-ka-bob?”

  “Right on both counts,” said Sam, stretching out, and yawning. “Hmm,” she pondered. “Sleep… or coffee. Sleep… or… coffee. Better make it coffee - one of us has to drive Rafael back home.”

  Jamie’s mind got an idea at that moment, a wonderful, crazy idea.

  “Sam, could I speak to you in the kitchen for a second?”

  Sam nodded, leaving Bradley and Rafael to catch up.

  “So, how’s life in show biz?” asked Bradley.

  “Honestly, I have bitten off more than I can chew. It’s exhausting, and I always feel like I’m flying by the seat of my pants and making it up as I go along. There’s a reason they don’t let film school people direct major productions before they even graduate - I don’t have the experience, or the knowledge,” said Rafael. “Jamie and Sam help as much as they can, but I keep worrying that I’m going to mess it up.”

  “Have they said you’re messing it up?” asked Bradley.

  “No, in fact, Jamie is going out of her way to say how she’s ‘kvelling’.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Fuck if I know!” said Rafael, exasperated. “What about you, how are you holding up here?”

  “Well, it’s pretty much the same-ol-same-ol. Get up, go to work, come back to Jamie’s pce, make sure that the barbarians haven’t sacked the pce, rex, fall asleep, and wake up the next morning.”

  Rafael looked around. “Say, where do you sleep? There’s just the one bedroom, and the guest house.”

  “Jamie said it was fine to use the main bedroom when she’s not here. For this week though, I’m using the pull-out couch.”

  “The pull-out couch? This thing?” Rafael took a look at the leather sofa, and instantly recognized the model from any number of dormitory common rooms he had visited. As a couch it was certainly a serviceable example of mid-century modern design, but as a bed, it exemplified the interior decorating aesthetic of the Spanish Inquisition.

  “Oh, that can’t be good for your back. If it wasn’t for the fact that I sleep in a twin bed… and live with my parents… and that you’re probably not hoping to jump into a retionship right away…”

  “Oh, yeah, no,” said Bradley. “Let’s jump.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty much ready to jump right back into a retionship.”

  Aside in the kitchen, Jamie and Sam were having a conversation.

  “When I ask you this, Sam, I want you to know that I mean this in its entire literal intention of the words. I’m not talking euphemistically, right?”

  “Okay?” asked Sam.

  “Would you be interested in literally spending the night with me? That is, would you be interested in literally sleeping with me, like in a literal sleep sense, not in a–”

  “Not in a bow-chicka-wow-wow sense?” Sam said.

  “Not that I wouldn’t like the bow-chicka-wow-wow sense,” said Jamie, “but I get the feeling that it might be a little early to be anywhere close to the bow or the chicka.”

  “That seems fine,” said Sam. “Hell, maybe we could try having a little wow-wow, but only if you’re up to it.”

  “What would wow-wow entail?” asked Jamie.

  “Kissing, maybe? Lovely PG level kissing?” said Sam.

  “I mean…” said Jamie, getting flushed, “that would, I would… if you think that it…”

  “Well, if you think that it’s… and it’s what you want, then maybe…”

  Jamie cleared her throat as both of the useless lesbians looked away. “Right. But, logistically, if you’re going to be in my room with me, then instead of having to take the couch, Bradley can get your bed in the guest house, that is, if you’re okay with that.”

  “We should ask Bradley if Bradley is okay with that, but I’m okay with that,” said Sam.

  “Right. I’ll go ask, said Jamie, and headed back into the living room.

  There, Bradley and Rafael had already flown way past PG and were starting to head into PG-13 territory on the couch.

  Without saying a word, Jamie walked back into the kitchen.

  “Second thought. Bradley can have my bed, why don’t we both head to yours, Sam?”

  Sam sighed and slumped her shoulders. “Are they going at it in there?”

  “They blew past ‘wow-wow’ and are nearly up to ‘bomp-bomp, chicka, chicka-chikow’,” Jamie nodded.

  “They’re in their early twenties. And they’re guys. That’s not surprising.” Sam took out her phone. “I’ll text them, tell Bradley that we’ll be in the guest house, he can have the main bedroom for tonight, and Rafael can stay if he wants. Unless it’s an imposition - it is your house, after all.”

  “No imposition. I mean… it’s kinda our house?”

  “Jamie, honey? Don’t overthink it. I’m tired. You’re tired, and I spent most of the pne ride home thinking about how awesome it would be to be the little spoon.”

  Jamie nodded, then tried and failed not to giggle like a little schoolgirl at the prospect of being Sam’s big spoon.

  ***

  ‘Isnds’ is a chain of polynesian themed sports bars and diners in Southern California. Polynesian themed in decor - the menu is a small selection of burgers and fries, and a collection of domestic beers on tap. As a conceit to the polynesian theme, however, you can order your burger with a slice of pineapple on it.

  In other words, a chain restaurant. And that’s where Oscar, Reg, and Harry decided to spend the evening, drinking beer, and watching sports.

  “Two months. I’m surprised you’re not growing tits yet,” said Reg, to Oscar.

  “Technically I might be, I’m not sure. It’s getting a little squishy up top. Probably should drop out soon. I mean, it turns out I was wrong about the whole reason for getting involved in the first pce.”

  “Told you when you first mentioned this, Oscar.” said Harry. “Man, two months of that woke garbage. Must have been hell.”

  “Well, no, actually. It was actually nice. Met some nice people - well, except for the one asshole. But other than that, quite nice. And not at all what you’d expect,” said Oscar, sipping from a bottle of domestic beer.

  “Okay. What’s it like then?” asked Reg.

  “Well for one, I was all wrong about trans women being guys - perverts - who were faking it. Nah, it turns out that being trans is like… actually a thing. Like, there was a construction worker and a personal trainer - these are men’s men, you know, and they’re out of the competition already. They couldn’t handle the effects of the hormones. Hell, one of them - Bradley - he’s such a sweet guy - couldn’t even handle dressing as a woman in public without having a breakdown.”

  “And on the complete opposite end, there’s Eine. Nerdy as hell, but a mind like a steel trap. Vic and I - Vic’s an actor I met there - Vic basically called her a magnificent she-bastard. And she is - not just book brilliant, but cunning like a fox. While the rest of us were just filing around in some of the challenges, Eine had solved things in her head and was just waiting for us to catch up.”

  “Wait,” said Harry. “Eine? I thought this was a contest for guys to dress up as girls?”

  “Eh,” Oscar equivocated, “kinda-sorta-maybe. Turns out Eine was a trans woman all along and had kept it secret - so while the rest of us were worried about what was coming up next, she was trying her best to hold back how happy she was at everything. I mean, she entered the contest, same as the rest of us, but when they pulled the twist on us, Eine quickly realised it was a way to get everything she always wanted. As I said. Magnificent she-bastard.”

  “Well, doesn’t that prove your original point? That trans women are just men faking?”

  “Not really. Eine was a woman who had to fake being a man, I was trying to show that men were faking being women.”

  “You’ve lost me,” said Harry.

  “Me too.” said Reg.

  “Okay, basically, maybe some men could fake being a woman. Maybe I could if I tried really hard, or maybe Vic could, because he’s an actor. But most can’t and even for those who can, it’s fucking hard – way harder than you would think – and now I’m thinking that that’s probably not what the trans women are doing. Honestly, if I wanted to be a perv or cheat at sports, I’d have to think that there were easier ways to do so than pumping your body full of the wrong hormones, changing everything about the way you live.”

  Reg shook his head in disgust.

  “I can’t believe they got to you, man.”

  “?Que?” said Oscar.

  “ You’re speaking like one of them, you know?” said Reg.

  “Spanish? I mean, I picked up ‘cerveza’ and ‘?que tal?’ and ‘fuego’ and ‘suave’...”

  “The woke mind virus, Oscar. You’re speaking like a Democrat.”

  “Guys. It’s me. Sure, my perspective has changed, but you’re talking like I’m a completely different person.”

  “You are the one talking like a completely different person, Oscar,” said Harry. “C’mon man. You can’t buy into this bullshit. Men are men. Women are women. That’s it. That’s the way it was, is, and will be.”

  “Yeah,” said Reg. “It’s not like you see women trying to be men, right? It’s a pervy sex thing, nothing more.”

  Oscar paused. “Wait, have I not told you about Rafael?”

  “Who’s Rafael?”

  “Rafael’s a trans man. That is, he was born a girl, but needs to be a guy. Like… if it was all about biology or genitals or whatever, Rafael should have run away with the contest. Instead, he was like the second to drop out.”

  “So, what, like a really butch lesbian?”

  “No, actually he’s… you know what, I’m thinking this is going to take too much to expin.”

  “Oscar,” said Reg. “Buddy. Pal. Dude. That pce is brainwashing you. You can’t go back. The pce sounds like a fucking cult.”

  “It’s not a cult, it’s a game show,” said Oscar. “Now, if they told us that we had to stay in then–”

  Reg and Harry’s phones buzzed at the exact same time, and they both immediately reached for them.

  “Sorry to cut you off, Oscar, but this is important. It’s a message from the big guy!”

  Reg and Harry went through their phones, and read the test social media post from the ex-President, digesting it.

  “Damn,” said Reg. “Those gold shoes look great. If I wasn’t already facing so many bills, I’d grab a pair.”

  “Let me see?” asked Oscar.

  Reg nodded and passed him his phone. On it was the gaudiest pair of high tops that Oscar had ever seen.

  “Even got his name on them. You walk around in those things, people know exactly where you stand, right?” said Reg.

  “How much is his campaign asking for them?” asked Oscar, passing the phone back.

  “Four hundred bucks. But it’s worth it, you know,” said Harry.

  Maybe they were right, thought Oscar. Maybe he had changed from all that time in Casa del Garden.

  Because there was absolutely a time when he would not have thought of those gold shoes as the tackiest thing he had ever seen in his life. Even his perspective on art had changed. Maybe that was the estrogen, but Oscar didn’t think so. Maybe it was just… being around so many creative people, it kind of showed how uncreative his previous life was in comparison.

  And oddly, he found himself missing life in Casa del Garden.

  Yeah, he was not going to have a barbecue this month. He needed to figure some stuff out. And he wasn’t going to do that sitting around a sports bar with Reg and Harry, that’s for sure.

  So after the tab was settled and Reg and Harry headed home in Reg’s sticker-covered truck, Oscar made a phone call from his car.

  ***

  Across town, Victor settled back in at home. He lifted the lid on his ptop, everything had been covered with a thin yer of dust from the three weeks that he’d been in Merida. He opened up his freezer and got out a microwave meal for one, tore it out of the package, threw the package out, put the meal in the microwave, cursed his stupidity, picked the package out of the trash, read the instructions, put the package back in the trash, and microwaved his dinner.

  He flipped through all the various shows on Garden Alpha, finding nothing that really piqued his interest (except for that documentary by one of the British Car Idiots on life in Taiwan, but he’d already seen it twice).

  Another week. In L.A. Alone. Wonderful.

  Victor didn’t know if he wanted to risk moving past Dr. Vadekar’s red line - he really didn’t. But being on ‘Woman Up!’ was the most exciting thing to happen to him in a good long while.

  It was sad, really. The more time he spent hanging out with the contestants and crew, the more he felt bothered by his isotion back at home. He used to think he lived a simple, spartan life, now he saw it as nothing but a boring, pathetic one.

  And he probably would have continued in that self-pity spiral for the rest of the evening, had his phone not rang.

  “Hey Vic, it’s Oscar. Say, do you have any pns for tomorrow?”

  Vic looked at the calendar on his wall. It’s where he would have written down any appointments - if he had any.

  “No, I’m pretty free, Oscar. What’s up?”

  “I was thinking - maybe we should head over to that center that Sheri works at? I could use a buddy, you know?”

  “A buddy?”

  “You know. A… I’m going to feel weird walking in there alone. On account of, you know, being a straight guy. A straight Republican guy.”

  “Ah yes. You need a human shield to hide behind - you don’t want to get any of the gay spshed on you by accident.”

  “C’mon, Vic, you know I didn’t mean it like that!”

  “I know you didn’t, Oscar. I’m just busting your chops. When do you want to meet up?”

  ***

  When Rafael got home the next morning, he opened the door, pced his travel suitcase inside the hallway, and called upstairs.

  “Mom, Dad, I’m home. Though I have a job now, it pays super well, it’s in the film industry, and my first paycheck just deposited, so I’m going to move out and get my own pce, so me and my boyfriend can have some privacy, okay?”

  “Renata, is that you?” called Rafael’s mother from upstairs.

  “Nope,” said Rafael. “It’s your son.”

  “Oh. We were expecting you st night, but we got your text. Everything okay?”

  “Yes. Better than okay. I’m thriving. Did you know not only am I getting paid for my work, but I might actually be eligible for DGA membership at the end of it? I don’t know who the youngest member of the Director’s Guild is, but I’m pretty sure I’m in the running.”

  “That’s excellent! So proud of you, honey! Wait. Did you say something about a boyfriend?”

  “Yes. His name is Bradley, he’s a construction worker here in L.A., we met through the show, he’s sweet, kind, funny, and his abs are…”

  Rafael gave a chef’s kiss.

  “Sounds like the whole package. So, when do your father and I get to meet him?”

  “Well, that’s up to you, really. He only knows me as Rafael. Because that’s my name. Rafael. Ra-fa-el. I’m not going to spend all dinner answering one name to my parents and another name to my boyfriend. So when you’re ready to start calling me by my real name, then we can see about meeting the boyfriend, okay?”

  Rafael’s mom frowned. “You’re back on the drogas masculinas, aren’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  Rafael’s mom sighed. “I don’t like you like this, Renata, you know. It’s like my shy, precious daughter has been repced by a… grunting bull.”

  Rafael opened his mouth in shocked realization, and sat down on the couch.

  “Oh my god. I can’t believe I didn’t get it until now. Sheri was absolutely right. My pn was trying to get you to see how much it hurt me to be a woman by going on that damn TV show. But that suffering I did. All that I would have done. It would have been for nothing. Because you think that suffering, being miserable, hating life? That’s how you think women are. How they should be. You think sadness is the natural feminine condition.”

  “Yes, isn’t it?” said Rafael’s mother, darkly ughing. “Show me a woman that doesn’t hate something about her body. Or who likes having periods, or working harder to get paid less, or feeling unsafe around men. Doesn’t every girl feel that way? But you just buck up and power through, you don’t entertain fantasies about being a boy!”

  Rafael took a deep calming breath. “Whoa. That is… everything you do makes so much sense now.”

  He headed over and gave his mom a hug.

  “Mom, there is a lot here we might want to unpack someday, but for right now, I’m letting you know, I’m not happy here, moving out is the best thing for me, and now that I can afford it, I’m doing exactly that.”

  “You don’t have to move out, you know. You’ll always have a pce with us.”

  “No, Mom. I mean to say, you are literally driving me crazy and I need to get out of here.”

  “Oh.”

  Rafael’s mom paused.

  “You really feel that way?”

  “Mom. I’ve been telling you I feel that way for years. I just wish you had listened sooner.”

  ***

  “So, you’re moving in with Lenny?” asked Mrs. MacDonald.

  “Yeah, it just makes a lot of sense. I’ve already won enough in this reality TV show thing to afford to move closer to campus, and, you know, it’s about that time,” said Eine, while folding and packing some of her clothing, and most of her stuff, into cardboard boxes.

  “Does it have to be that Harrison kid?” said Mr. MacDonald, sipping coffee, addressing Eine without looking up from the ptop on the kitchen table. “I like him, sure. But I don’t trust him. Always making jokes. I’ve never trusted anybody who makes too many jokes, it’s like they’re hiding something.”

  “Yeah, well, you know, we get along great. We make a great team.”

  “Hell, you two are practically gay lovers,” said Kay, from the couch, half of her attention on her phone.

  “Kay! We don’t joke about that. Apologise to your brother,” said Mrs. MacDonald.

  Kay rolled her eyes and sighed. “Sorry, Ethan. That was a joke too far. I know you’re not gay.”

  “That is… accurate,” said Eine. “Say, Kay, do you know where my copy of ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide’ is?”

  “Oh yeah. I borrowed it, didn’t think you’d mind. It should be on the bookshelf in my room,” said Kay.

  “You ‘borrowed’ it, and put it amongst all your other books?” said Eine.

  “So sue me, I really liked it, I kept meaning to put it back but it’s such a good book. Well, set of five books, actually.”

  “Right, well, I might buy you a copy, but for right now that’s the one book I wanted to take with me.” Eine sighed. “Don’t get up Kay, I’ll just grab it quickly.”

  Kay shrugged, and Eine headed into Kay’s room. Eine always felt a little uncomfortable here, among the stuffed animals (gathering dust, she noticed,) and the makeup set on the vanity (mostly unopened, she saw,) and all the girly accouterments that were denied her.

  Over on the bookshelf, Eine found her copy of the ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide’, and took it down off the shelf.

  And then she did a double take.

  Because among the various gay-vampire-romance-novels, the various young-adult epic fantasy and urban fantasy fare, was a book she had heard about in passing - just once.

  But it was at such an emotional moment in her life she never forgot the name of it.

  Eine took the book off the shelf, and flipped through it. It was well read. Very well read. There were dog ears on certain pages, even some highlighted passages, and notes in the margins. Notes with a lot of question marks.

  She took the book, and headed back out into the living room.

  “Almost done. Say, Kay, before I move out, you want to get some lunch at that pce you like? The one up in Poway, with the old 1800s working train?”

  “Nah,” said Kay, without looking up from her phone. “You go ahead.”

  Eine walked over to Kay, and, making sure her parents weren’t paying close attention, asked again, this time, showing Kay the cover of the book she had picked up from Kay’s room.

  “You sure, Kay?” asked Eine. “There’s some stuff I think we should talk about. Privately.”

  And when Kay finally looked up from her phone to see what Eine was holding, she dropped her phone in shock.

  Kay quickly turned around and made sure neither of their parents had noticed the book - not that they would know what to make of it, if anything. Probably just a nice book about a cute boy or whatever, who gets viciously attacked by butterflies.

  “Okay. Let’s go. Now.” said Kay, with an edge in her voice.

  Eine nodded, and Kay quickly yanked her copy of “Welcome to Camp Yelrod” out of Eine’s hands and stuffed it in her purse.

  ***