Не так уж во многом в этой жизни Сэм Гибсон была уверена на все сто, но она знала всем сердцем, телом и душой, что он – трансгендер.
В детстве Сэм не задумывался о том, почему ненавидит носить платья, неохотно позволяет матери надевать ему банты или с куда большим удовольствием играет с соседскими мальчишками, чем с девчонками. Слова «ты же девочка» и «юная леди» его раздражали, но скорее потому, что за ними всегда следовали указания, как правильно сидеть или как себя вести. Сэм долго не понимал, что все это были намеки от его истинной личности.

“I wasn’t avoiding you because I was angry, I was avoiding you because I was confused. It was a surprise finding out you were trans, but an even bigger surprise when I realized I was okay with it. I’ve always been attracted to girls, but there’s only one person I can say I’ve loved in that way… and that’s you. The world isn’t black and white, and the people who think it is are the ones who always screw things up. I don’t want to be one of those people. I just want to be happy, and nothing makes me happier than you. So what do you say? Can we try being gray together?”
“But what if it doesn’t work out?” Sam asked.
“Then it doesn’t work out,” Topher said with a shrug. “Even if we end up as just friends, I can’t imagine anything worse than not having you in my life. So, I’ll always be here for you, for whatever you need, whenever you need it. It’s as simple as that.”

“Truth-shaming?” Joey asked. “What’s that?”
“It’s like fat-shaming but for honest people,” Cash explained. “It’s the reason famous people can never be totally truthful when they speak publicly. Think about it—everyone usually has the answer they want to hear before they ask the question, especially from celebrities. However, if we answer honestly and it differs from what people want to hear, unintentionally bursting a bubble or two, we get shamed for it. We’re called ungrateful, selfish, disgraceful—everything but truthful. Alternatively, if we give the answer everyone wants to hear, but it doesn’t seem genuine enough, we’ll get shamed for that, too. It’s a real mind fuck.”

“Dear Heavenly Father,” the pastor began. “We’d like to take a moment on this beautiful Sunday morning to thank you for all you have blessed us with. We thank you for our home, we thank you for our family, and we thank you for allowing us to share your glorious word.”
Whenever Joey prayed, he always imagined God as Ian McKellen lounging on a cloud and listening to the receiver of a golden rotary phone. He wondered if God appreciated all the gratitude in his father’s prayers or if he ever thought, Just get to the point, you little kiss-ass!

“All right, I just left a comment on chapter four,” Joey said.
“Awesome! You’re the best, Joey!” Mo happily checked her comment box, but did a dramatic double take when she read his post. “All you put was ‘Nice adjectives.’ Is that all you could come up with?”
“Hey, you’re the writer,” Joey said. “Why don’t you write your own reviews and have us post them?”
Mo was initially repulsed by the idea, but the more she thought about it, the more his proposal intrigued her.
“That’s actually genius,” she said. “Normally I’d be turned off by something so dishonest, but fanfiction is like the fricking Hunger Games—only the cunning survive. Check your e-mail tonight, I’ll send you guys comments to post later.”

Cash was not a jealous person, but he envied people with quiet. Only in absolute silence could he simply exist and not be reminded of who and what he was, or according to his critics, who and what he wasn’t. But finding a space that wasn’t dominated by the commotion of a television set, the rapid clicks of paparazzi cameras, or the murmuring of a hungry crowd was very rare. The bathroom may have had cracked tiled walls, peculiar stains on the ceiling, a terrible musky smell, and someone definitely had been murdered there in the past—but to Cash, it was a sanctuary.