Dreadnought (Nemesis, #1)

by April Daniels

For the girls still in hiding.

This is taking too long. I just want to pay for the shit and go. It’s not like I’m breaking the law or anything—except it totally feels like I’m breaking the law. It’d be really cool to be able to do this without shame, without hopping on a train to ride halfway across the city first.

Finally, I get to the front of the line and drop the nail polish on the counter. The cashier rings me up with a smile that makes me curdle inside. I wonder if she knows. I take my nail polish and get out of there as quick as I can.

I make sure not to glimpse my reflection in the mall windows as I beeline for the exit. More and more I hate to look in the mirror. It’s getting worse every day. The first little bits of hair are pushing their way up from my face, and my voice dropped so early it’s al...

There’s a space in back of the mall, out of the way and behind a corner. The kind of place you get an instinct for finding if you grow up a certain way, the way that teaches you how to hide.

The sky is low and gray. Traffic hisses above me. The cement is cold where I sit on it, and I am utterly alone. For the first time this week, I’m happy.

The nail polish is a nice deep red. I’ve been running mostly with blue recently, but I think it’s time for a change. The cotton balls soak up remover and the blue polish rubs off my toes a bit at a time. It feels right. It feels necessary. Painting my toes is the one way I can take control. The one way I can fight back. The one way I can give voice to this idea inside me that gets heavier every year: I’m not supposed to be a boy.

Ouch.

Sometimes I want to climb up on a table in the cafeteria and scream it out at the top of my lungs. There’s been a horrible mistake. I’m trapped on the wrong side. I’m not a boy. I won’t be a man. I’m a girl. I’m a girl. I AM A GIRL!

Obviously I can’t tell anyone about this. If it got back to Dad, he’d kill me. He’s obsessed with “making a good man” out of me. “You’re a man now,” he says as his justification for friggin’ everything. He wants me to be strong and boisterous and popular. It’s bad enough I’m quiet and like to be alone, bad enough I don’t like sports even after he forced me to join the football team, bad enough I couldn’t care less about cars. If he found out I might be a girl…well, I don’t really want to think about what might happen.

The dirty little secret about growing up as a boy is if you’re not any good at it, they will torture you daily until you have the good graces to kill yourself. The posturing and the dominance games are almost inescapable. It’s hard to walk from one end of school to the other without getting shoulder-checked in the halls. Locker rooms are a forgotten circle of Hell. God forbid anyone ever catch you sketching flowers in class, or reading a book that’s “for girls.” Maybe for people who really are boys, that stuff works. Maybe it fits for them. But I don’t get to fit. Not anywhere.

When I turn eighteen, if I haven’t killed myself yet, I’m going to move out of the house and go on hormones. Maybe save up for surgery. But for now, what I have is nail polish.

“Hi, Dad.” “Wh—I don’t have a daughter.” “Um, you do now. I’m Danny.” My posture folds inward. My arms cross across my stomach, and I can’t look him in the eye. I hate how I always wilt like this, but, well, it’s easier this way. Sometimes even this isn’t enough. Sometimes it pisses him off that I’m a coward. But it’s not like there’s an alternative.

“Roger,” says Mom. Her voice is shaking a little, but she steps to my side, and I love her more now than I ever have before. “This is Danny. Look at…well, look.” My father’s eyes get wide. His face goes the color of spoiled milk. “What did you do?” he asks, quietly enough to scare me.

I don’t care what he says. I don’t care what he wants. I don’t care what he thinks. I am a girl. I am free. And I am never. EVER. Going back.

“Danny, I want you to know that you can talk to me. About anything. Okay?” Which is not even close to true, but she can’t know how wrong she is. “Okay, Mom. I…I just want some time alone, okay?”

The lingerie shop in the mall is packed front to back with floor-to-ceiling photos of impossibly beautiful women posing dramatically in their underwear. And I mean literally impossible. These women have all been airbrushed and retouched until they are something that basically does not exist in nature. Even actual models don’t really look that way—it’s a full-time job for them to do the kind of dieting and exercise needed to be a top-tier model, and then on top of that they have staff to help them.

Another little burst of joy flits through me hearing her say that. Her daughter.

“We need to get you to an endocrinologist. I think that, given the circumstances, we can skip the psychological counseling necessary to begin treatment for gender identity disorder.” “What?” “There are these rules called the Harry Benjamin standards of care that mandate at least three months of counseling to clear you for hormone replacement therapy, but since you were male until two days ago, we might be able to start you on testosterone shots right away. I’d need to get an opinion from a specialist, though.” He doesn’t even know the Harry Benjamin standards have been out of date for years now. Hell, they’re not even called that anymore. Part of me wants to laugh, and another part wants to cry, and a third part wants to scream. They butt up against each other and form a kind of tripod of misery, a stable equilibrium of horror and despair. NOW they want to treat me. NOW they want to change my gender. NOW it’s all hands on deck to consider the pressing possibility that something might be wrong with my body.

“You think it’s a uterus that makes a woman? Bullshit. You feel like you’re a girl, you live it, it’s part of you? Then you’re a girl. That’s the end of it, no quibbling. You’re as real a girl as anyone.

The shelter of boyhood ended, and they called me a young man. For no reason at all, they looked at the things that felt right to me, and they took them. Even down to the way I carry my books and cross my legs. They took it. They took everything. Puberty came, and my body turned on me, too. Watching every part of myself I liked rot away one day at a time, the horrified impostor staring back at me. Watching the other girls, the ones they let be girls, head in the other direction. Every day, torn away further from myself, chained down tighter. Suffocated. Strangled. They’ll make a man of me. Show me how to be a man. Teach me to man up by beating me down. THEY NEVER ASK IF I WANT TO BE A MAN. And now I’m finally free. I’m finally myself, inside and out. So they spit on me. They’re embarrassed by me. They hate me. FOR A MISTAKE THAT THEY MADE. They want me to cooperate in my own destruction. They want me to tell them it’s not true. They want me to help them believe the lie. NEVER AGAIN.

I see a world that is terrified of me. Terrified of someone who would reject manhood. Terrified of a girl who knows who she is and what she’s capable of. They are small, and they are weak, and they will not hurt me ever again. My name is Danielle Tozer. I am a girl. No one is strong enough to take that from me anymore.

As my anger cools, I realize I’ve been feeling things a lot more recently. My highs are higher. My lows are lower. Before, it seemed like half the time I didn’t have feelings as much as I had a script of how I thought I was supposed to feel, and I just followed the script. Maybe for people who are actually male that’s not what it feels like, but for me, testosterone muffled everything. Now it’s like the estrogen in my blood has taken the cotton out of my head, and I’m feeling things clearly for the first time. Maybe it’s not fair to say my feelings are stronger now, but they have more resolution. Before I was living in muddy pastels, and now things are all lit up in neon. I like it. Even when it hurts, I like it a lot.

Can one of my superpowers please be melting through the floor, disappearing forever, and having everyone who ever met me forget that I exist? Please?

Her voice is soft and kind. “Danny, do you feel safe at home?” No. There it is. I don’t feel safe at home. I open my mouth to say something, and as I do I realize that like my mother, I can’t give it its name. Not out loud. Not even to Valkyrja. Because if I admit it, if I call it what it is, then I can’t hide from it anymore either. It becomes real in a way I am not ready for. Might never be ready for. There will be no illusions of safety, no peaceful times alone in my room. There will only be times when he’s not hurting me.

The justifications, the optimistic scenarios, come naturally to me. Because it’s a skill set. And I’ve had practice.

Finally, I get to be who I want to be, and to stop pretending to be something I’m not. There’s nothing wrong with being a boy, but that’s not who I am, and I never have been. But instead of being happy for me for being able to live as a girl, they all want to make me miserable, like I did something wrong and need to be punished. I hate it so much, and as I talk about it, I am surprised by how much heat comes into my voice. I guess I didn’t know how angry I am.

“I didn’t quit. Coach and I agreed that since I’m not a boy anymore—” “Danny, you are a boy,” snaps Dad. “You were born a boy, and I raised you as one.” There’s like ten million things wrong with that sentence, but all I can think of to mutter by way of reply is, “Yeah. Well. Things change.”

In a voice so steady it surprises me, I say something really stupid. “Dad, I’m transgender. I like being this way. I’m not going back, and you can’t make me.” He gets this confused look on his face, with an undercurrent of something that scares me, so I push on quickly to get it all out while I’ve still got my nerve. “I’ve known I wanted to be a girl for years. This change is the best thing to ever happen to me. I won’t go back.” He sits back in his chair, and looks at me like he’s never seen me before. The deep flush starts low on his neck and moves upward. His eyes go hard, and I brace up for another Vesuvian detonation of Mount Screamer.

His words are lost in the sheer noise of it. He gets up and paces around as he bellows, as if his rage is too wild for him to be still. When he blew up after I went back to school I thought we’d touched bottom, but I was wrong. He’s letting loose with everything now. Freak. Tranny. Faggot. He goes down the list. Worthless. Disgusting. Failure. There’s no end to it. Abomination. Sinful. Unnatural. I’m fighting to become safely dead inside. Queer. Homo. Shemale.

By the time I get to the library the shaking and the fear has dribbled away. Now I’m feeling angry and mean. On the train, a man old enough to be my father—and right then, even that was enough to hate someone—leaned forward and said, “Smile dear, it can’t be that bad.” For a moment I was stunned. A boiling fury consumed me. Here I was, glowering in peace, and this…this insufferable jackass decided to insert himself into my life and pass judgment on all its events and my feelings. For a few seconds there, I seriously considered the merits of kicking him through the side of the train and down onto the streets below.

Halfway through the crackers and not nearly far enough along through my homework, Mom speaks, her voice quiet, almost musing. “I used to wonder what you’d be like if you were a girl.” I look up. “Really?” “Yes.” She seems surprised to hear herself talking about it. “When you were little, you once asked me if you could be a princess.” “I don’t remember that.” Except now I’m starting to think I do.

“You did. You never went through a cooties phase, either. You got along so nicely with girls from your class.” That, I do remember. I also remember how I slowly began to drift away from them. Or did they push me out? It’s not clear. There are so many things that happened in middle school that I can’t remember anymore. I’ve buried them so deep, I don’t think I’ll ever find them again. Not that I really want to, of course.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. “Because,” says Mom. “Because you seemed like a happy little boy. It never crossed my mind that you could be anything else.” “I was too scared to say anything.” My pencil feels clumsy in my hand. My throat is tight. So much time lo...

Mom nods like it makes sense, like any of this makes sense, and dives back into her reading. Or, no. Tries to. A few minutes later she looks up. “Danny, are you really happy like this?” The answer comes immediately. “Yes.” “You’re not going to consent to hormone shots.” It’s not a question. “No.” We both know that’s the end of the line. I’m fifteen, which is old enough to put up a fight. My situation is too strange, too exotic, for the doctors to have any firm ethical guidelines. I doubt any of them would risk d...

She stares into her mug of tea. “I feel like I’ve lost my son.” “Mom, you never had a son.” Mom seems to crumple. “We tried so hard, Danny. Is it something I did wrong?” “Jesus, no! Mom, it’s nobody’s fault. It’s not a bad thing.” “Are you sure? I just…it’s going to be so hard for you. I think of what…trans?…transgendered people go through, and I don’t want that for you. I’m scared of what will happen to you, Danny.” “Mom, that stuff doesn’t matter,” I say. She doesn’t look like she believes me. I need a way to make her understa...

Mom leans back in her chair. “It wasn’t so bad, was it? You were growing up so well.” “It was torture! You know what I was doing when Dreadnought—when that supervillain attacked me?” I don’t believe it. It’s like she’s willfully misunderstanding it. They never take my word for it; why can’t they take my word for it? “I was painting my toenails behind the mall because that’s the only way I could keep sane. Does that seem normal to you, Mom? Does that seem healthy?” “I just…I don’t see you as a girl,” she says. “Even now, even looking like that. You were going to be such a fine young—” “I was goi...

“Don’t talk to me like you give a shit about who I am! I told you who I am, and you called me a liar!” I am shaking with rage, and my feet do not touch the ground anymore. “And you knew! You knew I didn’t want to be a man, that’s why you forced all that shit on me! Well, I’m never going back! I’m a girl, and they’re my superpowers, and I’m not changing back, and there isn’t a goddamn thing you can do about it!”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little selfish?” asks Mom. The world lurches out from underneath me. “What?” “You’ve said what you want,” she says. Her arms are crossed, her shoulders pulled up, but she’s looking me dead in the eye. “We want our son.” “Mom, no.” My feet touch ground again, but it doesn’t feel solid. Everything is sliding away, spiraling down into chaos. “Yes, Danny. I thought we just had to make the best of it. But you’ve been lying to us this whole time, making this huge decision that affects all of us all on your own, and not even telling us what options we had. It’s got to stop.” “It’s my decision!” This is insane. The world has gone mad. How can this be anything but my decision?

“You’re only fifteen,” she says. “You’re too young to make this kind of choice. You need to give Dreadnought’s mantle back to the Legion, and when you’re eighteen, if this is what you really want, we can talk about it.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” It’s a struggle to keep my voice down...

“You don’t make the rules, young man!” barks Dad. “Your mother is right, you are being very selfish right now! As long as you’re going to act this way, you are not welcome in this house.” Someone has sucked the air right out of me. I gawp at him for a moment. “You can’t do that! Mom, tell him! He can’t do that!” Mom looks at Dad, and then back at me. She closes her eyes, and forces the words out. “I’m sorry, Danny, I really am.” “So what’s it going to be, huh, tough guy?” asks Dad. “You gonna keep throwing this fit?” I clench my fists, painful tight. “I am never going back.” “Fine then.” Dad walks over to...

it occurs to me I should be more upset. Like, I’m out here in the woods because I’m homeless, right? And yeah, I am bothered. I’m more than bothered. I’m pissed and scared and I feel lost. But I’m not shattered. Last night, I expected to wake up broken, nothing more than a torn-up, chewed-out, smaller half of what used to be a person. But I feel whole. Really, completely whole. Strip away everything: my house, my stuff, my family. Strip away the Legion, and Calamity, and my secret identity. Everything. What’s left? What’s left are the things I can count on. I have my body, my powers, and my freedom. Maybe that will be enough. It will have to be. For the first time in my life, I am completely in charge of myself. With that realization comes a misty relief that settles in the bottom of my chest. It’s over. All that shit with Mom and Dad—it’s done. My whole life has been leading up to this moment, and now there’s nothing else they can do to me. No more lies, no more pretending, no more shouting. No more pain. I’m free. Whatever else will suck about this week, I’m free.

Doc holds up a phone. “Also, your parents have been calling nonstop. Do you wanna talk to them?” Again, I hear the door slamming behind me. Time to slam one right back. “Fuck no.” Doc nods and takes the phone off hold, turning on her heel to head back down the hall. “No, she can’t come to the phone right now. Yeah, superhero stuff. I know, I know, kids these days. Anyhow, have you considered getting a lawyer? Restraining orders can be so embarrassing…”

That’s it. That’s the end of the speech. Here’s where I’m supposed to start taking questions. But there’s something else, something I wasn’t sure until just now I was going to say. “And one more thing. I’m not telling you this because it’s important, but because I know you’ll hear about it eventually and I don’t want anyone to think I have something to hide.” The clapping dies off and they push the microphones in closer. “I’m transgender, and a lesbian, and I’m not ashamed of that.”