I have just turned sixteen.

I am rushedly stripping out of my girlish uniform,

taking off the armor and replacing it with my skin.

My boyfriend just left, and I am so happy that

I can now change into my old, almost clean sweatpants.

I run down the stairs, dancing alongside a girl

who will end up testing my faith between

my two best friends from my new school.

The girl who will end up adopting me as their brother is

flirting with her future girlfriend for the first time.

The girl whom I adopted as my sister,

and who will end up transforming into a

sibling without a gender, nor sexuality, quietly sits on the stairs,

iPod in hand as she mocks my French A Capella.

Hours fly by faster than rockets, and I end up

stripping out of my sweats, my shorts underneath

passing as boxers in the back of my mind.

I go to the bathroom, picking at scabs on my

still lightly worn thighs. They do not know.

"Uh, Kohl?" My future almost twin calls out,

hesitance and confusion masking her voice.

"Yeah?" I shout back, washing my hands of

the blood before I leave, following her voice to the front room.

In her hand is a rolled packer, as thick as two fingers,

and an inch longer than my hand.

I do not move.

"What is this?"

My st-st-st-stutter comes back in full force.

"Th-that's my… uh… packer…?"

The girls around me do not know

the anatomy of the transgender male,

and I do not want to be the one to tell the person

who will end up becoming my best friend

that she is holding my dick in her hand.

What's that?

As calmly as I can, I chuckle out with a flush face,

"That's my dick."

Shrieking fills the air, and a wild laughter follows

as my future sister sprints faster than Sonic

to the downstairs powder-room,

bawling about how she has to bleach her hands.

To this day, if I so much as mention the word, "packer"

she goes running for the hills,

pretending that I am not the only man she knows

whose penis is made out of rolled socks.