And They Were Roommates

by Page Powars

FOR SHANNON, MY CLASSMATE-TURNED-VALENTINE. WILL YOU MARRY ME?

Holy shit! What a fabulous way to propose!!!

Delilah has “accidentally” committed arson on oak trees in the surrounding Au Sable Forks woods more times than I’ve seen her in person since camp—twice.

I need to assess that anger on a range from tree arson to whole planet arson before I tell her the entire story. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t have any sparklers handy. But with Delilah, you never really know.

“It’ll be fine.” “Good. Or I’ll set them on fire.” “Do not.” “We’ll see.”

No matter how far back I tip my head, the bookcases rise. A forest of stories lives back here.

“You really chose to bring your life-sized cutout? Out of everything?” “It was a gift from Poetic Fortune Digest. What else was I supposed to pack?” “Gee, I don’t know.” I kick one of his books. “You have stacks of a certain something all over your desk. And your floor. And my floor.” Jasper blinks. Potentially genuinely. “A bookcase,” I say through clenched teeth.

Mom has always focused on putting our community in Queens over profits. Maybe most Valentine alumni make change in the world as doctors and lawyers and professors, and maybe Grandma and Grandpa expected that from her, too, but she’s doing the same in her own way.

Luis gestures a Father, Son, and Holy Spirit across his upper half. I mirror him until I remember signing the cross doesn’t operate like a handshake.

“I’m careful, for sure. You just gotta find your people, you know?” I nod, even though I don’t know. Minus Mom and Delilah, I had no one to lean on when figuring myself out. Especially no one like me. Besides, how can I figure out who my people are without first telling them who I am and risking they won’t be?

“You’re lucky people like you, or they’d beat you up.”

his poetry takes more effort to understand. Yet his emotions are still so visceral on the page. That’s much more difficult to pull off.

I want nothing to do with Jasper. Unfortunately, he lives in my bedroom.

“I yelled at you.” “You did.” “You’re not mad at me?” “It’s an honor that you shared your feelings with me. You often don’t with others.”

Unspoken Guideline 14: Mr. Acosta wants me to slam my skull against the counter and split it in half, forever changing the trajectory of his life.

Usually, his hypothermia look would be a cause for concern, but I’m 90 percent sure his newfound twelve-year-old hobby is dabbling in effects makeup.

Mom’s varsity ring catches on it and locks with his bracelet, trapping us in place. I try to free myself. Nothing budges. I pull again, again, again. “If you wanted to handcuff me, you could’ve just asked,” Jasper mutters.

“It all began when I brought that dreadful bookcase in our room. Why ever did I engrave our names like that? Have you noticed it looks like a wedding invitation?” “Wait. Then? That was before you even knew who I was.” “That’s why I was having a CRISIS,” Jasper shouts, breaching into hissing basilisk territory, and his eyes blow wide. “I thought I was falling for the love of my life’s BROTHER. I was about to set myself on FIRE.”

Maybe, with all these changes, we actually need to forget who we used to be. Instead, we need to work more on learning who we are now.

Special thanks to the booksellers, reviewers, influencers, and librarians who keep books about transgender teens on shelves. I am two hundred feet away from your home and rapidly approaching to get down on one knee.