I was at the sink, scrubbing the plates from breakfast, when I noticed it again. The soap suds clung to my fingers as I paused, peering through the window. A police car, the same one I'd seen earlier, crawled past the house, like it was trying to sneak by without actually sneaking. The officer's face was just a shadow behind the windshield, but I could tell they were watching.

Behind me, Mom was sprawled on the couch, the glow of her soaps flickering across the room. Her laughter burst out at something on the screen, followed by the clink of her beer bottle against the table. I glanced back to see if she noticed, but of course, she didn't. She never noticed much when her shows were on.

The cruiser sped up and disappeared down the street, but the knot in my stomach didn't loosen. Twice now. Twice in one day, the same car, slowing down right in front of our house. I squeezed the dish towel in my hands, my heart racing faster than it should have been. Something wasn't right, and I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, they weren't looking for someone—they were looking at us.

The screen door creaked as I nudged it open, my heart pounding in my chest. Mom's laughter spilled out from the living room, drowning out the faint sounds of the soap opera she was watching. I wiped my hands on my jeans, hoping the noise of the show and her beer-induced haze would keep her distracted long enough for me to slip away.

I'd done all the chores—scrubbed the dishes, swept the floor, even cleaned out the fridge—all in the hope she'd be too absorbed to notice me leaving. The smell of stale beer lingered in the air as I stepped out onto the porch, the screen door snapping shut behind me. I froze, holding my breath, but there was no sound from the living room. I was in the clear.

The evening air hit my face, cool and fresh compared to the stifling atmosphere inside. My feet carried me down the worn path toward Jasmine's house.

When I reached her door, I didn't even have to knock. Jasmine opened it with a grin, her dark curls bouncing as she pulled me inside. "Hey, stranger! Finally escaped?" she teased, her voice light but knowing.

"Yeah," I said, managing a small smile. "Mom's glued to her soaps."

Jasmine's kitchen smelled like heaven. Something savory was cooking on the stove, and I caught a hint of garlic and spices in the air. "Hungry?" she asked, already grabbing a plate.

I nodded, realizing just how empty my stomach felt. She piled the plate high with pasta and sauce, a slice of bread on the side. As we sat at her small table, Mrs. Carter walked in from the hallway.

"Emily!" Mrs. Carter beamed, her eyes lighting up. "It's so good to see you again, sweetheart. Jasmine's told me you've been busy."

"Hi, Mrs. Carter," I said, feeling warmth spread through me. She gave me a quick hug before heading back to the stove, humming to herself. It felt good to be around someone so happy to see me.

Jasmine and I ate together, the clink of forks the only sound for a while. With each bite, I felt the tension in my shoulders ease.

"You're too skinny," Jasmine said, pointing her fork at me. "I swear, if I could adopt you, I would."

I laughed, the sound surprising even me. "Thanks. I think."

She tilted her head, her sharp brown eyes studying me.

I took a deep breath. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you," I began, my voice shaky. "But I didn't know how. Or if you'd understand."

"Try me," Jasmine said, her tone steady and reassuring.

I glanced at her, searching her face for any hint of doubt or judgment. But all I saw was patience. I swallowed hard and said it before I could chicken out. "I'm gender fluid." The words hung in the air between us, terrifying and freeing all at once.

Jasmine's eyes softened. "Okay," she said simply, as if I'd told her my favorite color.

"Okay?" I repeated, my voice rising in disbelief.

She grinned. "Yeah, okay. It's you. You're still Emily, or whoever you want to be. It doesn't change anything."

I blinked back tears I hadn't realized were forming. "It's just... I haven't told anyone else," I admitted. "Not even my mom. Especially not her."

"That's okay," Jasmine said. "You don't have to. You tell people when you're ready, and only if you want to. But I'm here, okay? You're not alone."

I believed her. Sitting there in Jasmine's kitchen, with her warmth and acceptance surrounding me, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time. I felt safe.

When we finished eating, I wandered to the window while Jasmine cleared the table. From her kitchen, I had a clear view of my house a few streets over. My stomach dropped when I saw a familiar sight. A police car was parked out front, its engine idling. The officer inside seemed to be watching the house again.

I gripped the windowsill, my pulse quickening. Jasmine came to my side, following my gaze. "That's the fifth time today," I said quietly. "They just sit there and then drive off."

Jasmine frowned, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. We stood there together, watching as the cruiser finally pulled away. The unease lingered, but with Jasmine beside me, it didn't feel as overwhelming. At least for now, I wasn't alone.

The next day, Trevor didn't let up. If anything, the teasing got worse as the weeks went on. It wasn't just the snide comments about my clothes or the smell—he had found his new favorite topic: me being gender fluid.

It started small, almost subtle, as though he was testing the waters. In class, he'd mutter under his breath, just loud enough for the people around him to hear, "Wonder what Emily woke up as today?" A ripple of laughter would follow, and I'd pretend not to hear, staring straight ahead and gripping my pencil so tightly that my knuckles turned white. But his confidence grew with every reaction he got, feeding off the smirks and chuckles of his audience.

One afternoon, during gym class, Trevor made a big show of standing next to me in the lineup. "Hey, coach," he called out, loud enough for everyone to turn and look. "Which team does Emily go on? Boys or girls? Or maybe she'll just cheer us on from the sidelines. That's probably more her thing, right?"

The gym filled with a mix of laughter and awkward silence. I could feel the heat rising in my face, the way my pulse quickened as if my body was trying to escape the moment. Coach's disapproving look didn't deter him; Trevor's smirk only grew wider, and I knew this was far from over.

The hallway was his stage, and I was his favorite target. One morning, he called out as I walked to class, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Hey, Emily!" he shouted, emphasizing my name with exaggerated mockery. "Wait, is it Emily today? Or are you calling yourself something else now?"

The group around him erupted into laughter. My face burned as I tried to keep walking, my heart pounding in my chest. But Trevor wasn't done. He jogged to catch up with me, his voice loud enough to make sure everyone nearby could hear.

"So, how does it work?" he said, grinning. "Do you wake up and spin a wheel to figure out what you are? Boy? Girl? Something in between? Must be exhausting."

The laughter behind me grew louder, and I could feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I wanted to say something, anything, but my throat felt tight, and my words wouldn't come. Trevor's grin widened as he leaned in closer.

"Or maybe you just want attention," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Is that it? Trying to be special or something?"

By then, it wasn't just words. Trevor had started leaving notes in my locker, scrawled in sharp, jagged handwriting. "Pick a side," one read, with a crude drawing beneath it. Another time, my locker had been covered in sticky notes, all of them bearing the same word: "Confused."

It felt like there was no escape. In the cafeteria, he'd loudly wonder which table I should sit at, boys' or girls'. In group projects, he'd "accidentally" use the wrong pronouns, then laugh and say, "Oh, sorry, it's hard to keep track." Each comment felt like a paper cut, small but sharp, and they added up until it was hard to breathe.

Jasmine appeared out of nowhere, stepping between us with a glare that could have melted steel.

"Leave Them alone, Trevor," she said, her voice firm and unwavering.

Trevor held up his hands in mock innocence, his smirk not faltering. "Oh, relax," he said. "I'm just asking questions. You know, trying to understand this whole... whatever it is."

"You don't care about understanding anything," Jasmine snapped. "You just like making people feel small."

For a moment, Trevor's grin faltered, and I saw something flicker in his eyes—maybe surprise, maybe embarrassment. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual smugness.

"Whatever," he said, stepping back and turning away. "Not my fault if people can't take a joke."

His friends trailed after him, still chuckling, but the moment felt lighter without him there. Jasmine turned to me, her expression softening as she placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently.

I nodded, but the lump in my throat made it hard to speak. "Thanks," I managed to whisper.

Jasmine gave me a small, encouraging smile. "Don't let him get to you, okay? He's just a jerk."

I nodded again, but her words felt hollow. Trevor's voice still echoed in my mind, and the weight of his cruelty was hard to shake. Even as I sat in my next class, trying to focus on the teacher's words, I couldn't stop replaying the scene in my head, the way Trevor's laugh seemed to linger, like a stain I couldn't wash away.

By lunchtime, the whispers and stares were everywhere. Trevor had clearly been spreading his "jokes" around, and now it felt like the whole school was in on it. The moment I stepped into the cafeteria, it was as if the air shifted. The usual hum of conversations quieted for a moment, replaced by an unsettling ripple of heads turning in my direction. My heart pounded in my chest, a heavy, thrumming beat that seemed louder than the rustle of trays and the clinking of cutlery.

I kept my eyes glued to the floor, my cheeks burning, and hurried toward the back of the room where I knew I could hide. The cafeteria was vast, but the tables felt too close together today, the noise a messy tangle of half-heard laughter and voices that made my stomach churn.

Jasmine found me again, her presence a small anchor in the chaos. She balanced two trays in her hands, weaving through the sea of tables with a grace that I envied. Setting one tray down in front of me, she took the seat across with her usual ease, but her smile was different today—kind but tinged with worry, as if she could feel the weight pressing down on me.

"I thought you might need some extra strength today," she said, her voice soft but steady as she slid an apple and a sandwich onto my tray.

I stared at the tray, my appetite nonexistent, but the gesture made something ache inside me. "You didn't have to do that," I mumbled, my voice barely audible over the clamor of the cafeteria.

"I wanted to," she replied firmly. "You're my friend."

The word "friend" hit me like a sudden gust of wind. It was warm and grounding, yet it reminded me of how fragile that bond felt under the weight of Trevor's taunts. I wasn't completely alone, even if it felt that way most of the time. I picked up the sandwich, unwrapping it slowly as if the task could distract me. My throat was tight, and swallowing felt like pushing a stone down a narrow pipe, but I forced myself to take a small bite.

Across the room, I caught sight of Trevor. He was leaning back in his chair with the cocky ease of someone who had nothing to fear. His smirk widened when our eyes met, a sharp, mocking grin that made my skin crawl. He leaned toward one of his friends, whispering something that sent both of them into fits of laughter.

I looked away quickly, the lump in my throat growing thicker.

"Ignore him," Jasmine said. She had noticed my reaction, her tone firm but not unkind. "He's not worth it."

I nodded mechanically, but the humiliation still lingered, hot and acidic, bubbling just beneath the surface. How could I ignore him when he was everywhere? His voice echoed in the hallways, his jokes were etched into the glances and snickers that followed me, and his words stuck like burrs to my skin.

Jasmine tried to draw me out of my thoughts, nudging her tray toward me. "Hey, you have to try this brownie. I swear it's the only good thing in this whole cafeteria."

I looked at her, surprised by the shift in tone, and for a second, I saw the spark in her eyes that always seemed to cut through my darkest moments. She tore off a piece of the brownie and held it out like an offering.

"It's really that good," she said, her voice teasing now. "Trust me."

Despite myself, I let a small smile slip. I reached out and took the piece, popping it into my mouth. The chocolate was rich and sweet, and for a moment, it pushed back the bitterness in my chest. Jasmine grinned triumphantly.

"See? Told you," she said.

Her lightheartedness was a balm, but it didn't last long. The sound of chairs scraping against the floor made me flinch, and I glanced toward Trevor's table. He was on his feet now, walking toward the trash cans, his friends trailing behind him. As he passed our table, he slowed, just enough to let his presence loom over us.

"Enjoying your pity party?" he sneered, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear.

Jasmine bristled, her hand tightening around her fork. "Move along, Trevor," she said coolly. "Nobody's interested."

He laughed, a sharp, grating sound that cut through the room. "Oh, I think plenty of people are," he said, glancing around to make sure he had an audience.

I stared down at my tray, willing myself not to cry, not to react, but every fiber of my being wanted to scream or run or do something. Jasmine didn't back down, though.

"You know," she said, her voice steady and razor-sharp, "the only one who looks pathetic here is you. Guess it's hard to feel big when you've got nothing to back it up, huh?"

Trevor's smirk faltered for a split second, but he recovered quickly, throwing a mocking laugh over his shoulder as he walked away. My hands were trembling, but I didn't know if it was from anger, fear, or something else entirely.

"Thanks," I whispered, barely able to get the word out.

Jasmine reached across the table, her hand brushing mine. "You don't have to thank me," she said softly. "That's what friends do."

The rest of lunch passed in a blur, but her words stayed with me, a fragile lifeline in a storm I wasn't sure how to weather.

Trevor didn't let up after lunch. If anything, he seemed more emboldened, feeding off the laughter and jeers of his friends like a predator stalking its prey. By the time I made it to gym class, the weight of his cruelty felt like it was crushing me. My stomach churned, and my legs felt like lead as I trudged into the locker room. I quickly changed into the over sized gym shorts and faded T-shirt that barely fit me, my fingers fumbling with the drawstring. My hands trembled as I laced up my sneakers, every muscle in my body tense, bracing for whatever Trevor had planned next.

The gym teacher—a gruff man with a booming voice and a no-nonsense attitude—barked orders for us to start with laps around the gym. The shrill blast of his whistle echoed off the walls as we began running. I hung back, keeping to the rear of the group, hoping to blend in and escape notice. My heart pounded in rhythm with my footsteps, but it wasn't just from exertion. I could feel Trevor's gaze like a spotlight on the back of my neck.

"Hey, Emily," Trevor called out, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He jogged up beside me, a smirk plastered across his face. "You keeping up okay? Or is running too hard for someone who can't even figure out what they are?"

Heat surged to my cheeks, and I quickened my pace, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor. My chest burned, and my throat tightened, but I didn't respond. Trevor matched my speed effortlessly, his smirk widening.

"What's wrong?" he sneered. "Too tired to talk? Or are you afraid you'll say something confusing? Like whether you're a boy or a girl today."

Laughter erupted from a few of his friends nearby, their voices echoing in my ears. The sting of their mockery pierced through me, sharper than any physical blow. I willed myself to disappear, but no amount of wishing could make it happen.

When the laps were finally over, the teacher blew the whistle again and announced that we'd be playing dodge ball. The class groaned, but I felt a fleeting moment of relief. Maybe, just maybe, I could stay out of Trevor's cross hairs by keeping to the opposite side of the gym. The teams were quickly divided, and the game began. Balls flew through the air as students dodged, ducked, and scrambled to stay in the game.

For a while, it worked. I managed to avoid the chaos, sticking to the edges of the court and dodging the occasional stray ball. Trevor was too busy showing off to his friends, launching balls with unnecessary force and laughing as they smacked into unsuspecting players. I thought I might make it through unscathed, but then the teacher turned his back to deal with a commotion on the other side of the gym, and Trevor saw his opportunity.

I was standing near the wall, catching my breath, when I felt a sudden, violent tug at my waistband. Before I could react, my gym shorts were yanked down to my ankles. The laughter that erupted around the room was deafening, a wave of cruelty that crashed over me, drowning me in humiliation. My face burned as I scrambled to pull my shorts back up, my hands shaking so badly I could barely grip the fabric.

"Oops," Trevor said, his voice dripping with mock innocence as he took a step back. His grin was wide, his eyes alight with malice. "Didn't mean to do that."

The laughter intensified, students doubling over and pointing as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I glanced at the teacher, but he was still distracted, oblivious to the scene unfolding in the middle of the gym. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. The world blurred around me, the faces of my classmates blending into a sea of ridicule.

Jasmine's voice cut through the chaos like a bolt of lightning. "What is wrong with you?" she demanded, storming across the gym with fury blazing in her eyes. She dropped the dodge ball she had been holding, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she planted herself between me and Trevor.

Trevor's smirk faltered for a split second before he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "It was just a joke," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Don't get so worked up."

"That wasn't a joke," Jasmine snapped, her voice trembling with anger. "You're just a bully."

The laughter around us began to die down, replaced by murmurs and uneasy glances. Trevor's bravado wavered as the weight of Jasmine's words hung in the air, but he quickly masked it with a scoff. "Whatever," he muttered, turning on his heel and walking away.

Jasmine turned to me, her expression softening as she reached out a hand. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice gentler now.

I nodded, but the tears brimming in my eyes betrayed me. "Thanks," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears.

She gave me a small, reassuring smile. "Don't let him get to you, okay? You're stronger than he is."

The rest of gym class passed in a haze. I stayed close to Jasmine, avoiding Trevor and his friends as best as I could. My humiliation still lingered, a weight pressing down on my chest, but Jasmine's words were a faint light in the darkness. When the final whistle blew and the teacher dismissed us, I bolted for the locker room, desperate to escape.

As I changed back into my clothes, I caught my reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink. My face was pale, and my eyes were red-rimmed from holding back tears. I felt small and powerless, but somewhere deep inside me, a flicker of determination sparked to life. Trevor wasn't going to win. Not today, not ever.