I close the door behind me, the quiet house amplifying the fridge's hum. Dropping my bag by the door, I ignore the spilled books and drag myself to my room. School. Home. Repeat.
In my room, I lock the door and peel off my hoodie. The school uniform underneath irritates my skin. My gaze settles on the mirror. Months of waiting for changes, and what's there to show for it? Little changes nobody else would notice.
The doctor said it would take time, but some days the gap between what I see and what I feel is overwhelming.
Exhausted, I sit on the edge of my bed in my light blue sanctuary. Aunt Clara let me paint it, a small plant thrives on the windowsill, and books lie stacked in piles.
Kyra's face flashes in my mind - her curious eyes as she asked if she knew me from somewhere. My heart raced as I lied. She wasn't convinced but smiled and walked away.
She does know me… before I was Ely and left my old school.
I lie back on my bed, paralyzed by thoughts of Kyra instead of doing homework.
I should get started otherwise Aunt Clara will get on me about it again.
But I can't focus on homework. Kyra's face keeps floating back, her expression when she said "You remind me of someone." Like she was trying to solve a puzzle. I wonder what would happen if she figured it out. Would she tell everyone? Would she…
The front door clicks open downstairs. Keys clatter against the ceramic dish by the entryway. The refrigerator door opens with that sticky sound it always makes.
"Ely? You home, sweetheart?" Aunt Clara's voice drifts up the stairs.
I don't answer right away. My body feels heavy. Eventually I push myself up, run a hand through my hair, and trudge downstairs.
Clara's unpacking groceries, still in her teaching clothes. Her cardigan has chalk dust on the sleeve.
"There you are," she says, smiling without looking up. "I've got some of that pasta from last night if you're hungry."
"Maybe later." I lean against the doorframe.
"How was school?"
"Fine."
"Just fine?" She glances at me, eyebrows raised.
"Yeah. Nothing special."
Clara nods, accepting my non-answer. She finishes putting away the vegetables and wipes her hands on a dish towel. The silence isn't uncomfortable exactly. That's one thing I appreciate about Clara—she doesn't push.
"Oh, before I forget," she says suddenly, "your appointment is tomorrow afternoon. I put it on the calendar but I know you don't check it."
My stomach drops. The doctor. I completely forgot.
"Tomorrow?"
"Three o'clock. You'll need to leave school a bit early."
You? What about Aunt Clara?
"Wait, who's..." I swallow. "Who's taking me?"
Clara folds the dish towel, taking her time. "Your mom called. She wants to take you."
The kitchen goes still. Even the refrigerator seems to quiet down. I stare at the linoleum floor, counting the tiny blue specks in the pattern. One, two, three...
"Ely?" Clara's voice is gentle.
I nod. It's all I can manage.
"She's trying," Clara adds softly.
I nod again, then turn to go back upstairs. Each step feels heavier than the last. Mom. The appointment. Mom at the appointment. The questions she'll ask. The way she'll look at me. The way she'll call me—
Back in my room, I close the door without locking it this time. What's the point? I slide down against it until I'm sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest. My phone buzzes in my pocket. Probably Clara checking if I'm okay.
But when I look at the screen, it's a notification from the school app. A message from someone named KM.
Kyra
Kyra Martinez. My fingers hover over the message icon. Why would she—how would she—
I open it.
"Hey Elias, it's Kyra from Westlake. Saw your number in an old group chat. Just wondering if you're ok? You disappeared last year. People said you moved but nobody knew where. Anyway, hope you're good."
My throat tightens. The phone suddenly feels hot in my hand. Of course. My number. I never changed my number when I changed everything else. Stupid. So stupid.
I stare at her message, the little "Read" receipt now showing underneath. She can see I've seen it. My finger hovers over the keyboard, then drops away. What would I even say? "Sorry, Elias doesn't exist anymore"? "Wrong number"? "It's me, but I'm Ely now"?
I sigh and set the phone face-down on my bed. Another thing to deal with. Another reminder that no matter how careful I am, the past is always right there, waiting to trip me up.
---
The clinic's waiting room smells like disinfectant and artificial lavender. Mom sits beside me, flipping through a magazine she's not really reading. I stare at the faded watercolor print on the opposite wall—some kind of flower arrangement that's been hanging there since my first visit.
"Ely?" The nurse stands in the doorway with a clipboard. "We're ready for you."
Mom and I follow her down the hallway. I keep my eyes on the speckled linoleum floor, counting steps. Fourteen to the scale. Seven more to the exam room.
"How are you feeling today?" Dr. Reyes asks after the nurse takes my vitals. She's always direct but kind, her dark eyes scanning my face as if she can read more there than in her charts.
"Fine." The paper crinkles beneath me as I shift on the exam table.
She raises an eyebrow. "Just fine?"
I shrug. "Tired. Normal stuff."
She nods, typing something into her tablet. "And the dosage we discussed last time? Any side effects?"
"Not really. Just..." I glance at Mom, who's sitting perfectly straight in the visitor chair, hands folded in her lap. "Nothing major."
Dr. Reyes goes through her usual questions, then has me lie back for the examination. Mom stares out the window during this part. I focus on the ceiling tiles.
"Well," Dr. Reyes says finally, sitting back on her stool. "Your hormone levels are looking good—actually, they're rising naturally, which is interesting. Your body seems to be responding very well to treatment."
"What does that mean?" Mom asks, her voice carefully neutral.
"It means things might start accelerating from here," Dr. Reyes explains. "The physical changes Ely's been waiting for could begin happening more rapidly.
She gives me a small smile. "Actually, this might be a good time for you to reconnect with your mother, Ely. Having support during these changes can make a big difference."
I stare at the floor. Like it's that simple.
"I agree," Mom says, her voice too eager. "I want to be there for you."
Dr. Reyes looks between us. "Do you have any questions for me?" she asks Mom.
"The changes you mentioned—what should we expect? What should I be looking for?"
They talk about me like I'm not here. Development timelines. Mood swings. Possible complications. I pick at a loose thread on my jeans and try to disappear.
"Most importantly," Dr. Reyes says finally, "just be present. Listen. That's what Ely needs most."
Mom nods like she's taking mental notes. I wonder if she'll remember any of this tomorrow.
"See you in two months," Dr. Reyes says as we leave. "Call if anything comes up before then."
In the car, Mom fidgets with the radio before settling on some soft rock station I hate. The silence stretches between us.
"So," she says finally. "School's going okay?"
"Yeah."
"Clara says you're doing well in English."
"I guess."
She taps her fingers on the steering wheel at a red light. I can almost hear her thinking, searching for the right words.
"You know, if you have any questions about... about the changes Dr. Reyes mentioned... I mean, I know what it's like to..." Her voice trails off. She glances at me, then back at the road.
I sink lower in my seat. Please stop.
She clears her throat. "I just want you to know you can talk to me. About anything."
"Thanks," I mumble, not meaning it.
She sighs, giving up. We drive in silence for another mile before she brightens suddenly.
"Oh! I meant to tell you—Caleb's home for the weekend. Surprise visit from college."
My stomach drops. "What?"
"He got in last night. He's been asking about you."
"I can't—I don't want—" My throat tightens. "Mom, he doesn't even know—"
"He knows, Ely." Her voice is gentle but firm. "We talked about it. He wants to see you."
"Take me back to Clara's." My voice sounds small, even to me.
"Running away won't help anything. You'll have to face him eventually."
"Not today. Not like this."
"Ely." She uses her mom voice, the one that used to end arguments when I was little. "It's better to get it over with. Caleb loves you. Give him a chance."
I press my forehead against the cool window glass.
God im not ready for this.