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It was morning, and I was just sitting on the porch watching a caterpillar crawl along the railing, inching its way toward nowhere in particular. The sun wasn’t too high yet, and everything smelled like dew and pine needles.

Then—BANG—the screen door flew open.

“HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!” Lily shouted like we were at a parade.

I didn’t even flinch. Just raised an eyebrow and said, “Yeah, and tomorrow? Happy Fifth of July.”

She frowned. “That’s not a real thing.”

“Neither is yelling at caterpillars before breakfast, but here we are.”

Lily rolled her eyes and dropped into the rocking chair next to me, still wearing pajama shorts with tiny fireworks on them.

“I never got why we say ‘Fourth of July’ anyway,” I said, flicking a glance her way. “Yeah, that’s the date, but wouldn’t it make more sense to call it what it actually is? Independence Day. Sounds more official.”

She shrugged. “’Cause Fourth of July is more fun to yell.”

I shrug.

The caterpillar kept inching along, completely unfazed by our conversation.

“You think it’s gonna turn into a moth or a butterfly?” Lily asked.

“Depends how lucky it is,” I said. “Not every transformation turns out how you want.”

She looked at me sideways but didn’t say anything.

Just then, we heard Mom in the kitchen calling, “Pancakes! Come and get ‘em before your dad eats ‘em all!”

Lily jumped up like she’d been launched. “Last one there’s a soggy firecracker!”

I stood more slowly, glancing once more at the caterpillar. It had reached the edge of the railing and paused, like it was thinking about its next move.

“Happy Independence Day,” I whispered, then followed Lily inside.

I walked into the kitchen, and before I could even sit down, Lily pointed at me with her fork.

“You’re a soggy firecracker,” she said, grinning like she’d just won an award.

I gave her a look and reached for the syrup. “That the best you got?”

“I’m saving the good stuff for later,” she said, stuffing a bite of pancake into her mouth.

Dad was already on his second helping, pretending not to have a mountain of whipped cream on top. Mom gave him a look but didn’t say anything—she was too busy flipping the next round on the skillet.

“Any plans for today?” she asked, not looking up.

“Fireworks at the park, right?” Lily said. “And face painting. And maybe the bouncy house?”

“I’m too old for the bouncy house,” I mumbled, pouring syrup way too slow just to make Lily impatient.

“You say that until you see it,” Dad said. “Last year I almost broke my ankle trying to race a toddler.”

Lily giggled. “That was the best part!”

Mom slid another plate onto the table and nodded toward me. “You sure you’re feeling up to it all, Em? It’s gonna be a long day.”

I paused, then smiled. “Yeah. I’m good.”

I kept slowly pouring the syrup.

Painfully slow.

Like watching molasses crawl uphill in January.

Lily stared at me, eyes narrowing. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Doing what?” I said innocently, tilting the bottle just a little more.

“You know what.”

“You said I was a soggy firecracker. Now you gotta wait for your syrup like one.”

She groaned dramatically, slumping forward like she might melt into her plate. “This is why I don’t share anything with you.”

“You never had syrup. Technically, you’re not sharing.”

Mom looked over from the stove and arched an eyebrow. “Pour it before she explodes.”

I sighed and passed the bottle over. “Fine. Boom.”

Lily snatched it and mumbled, “You’re the worst.”

“Love you too,” I said, grabbing my fork.

Across the table, Dad was laughing quietly into his coffee. “If this is how the day’s starting, I can’t wait to see how y’all handle the sparkler war later.”

I watched Lily scarf down her pancakes like she hadn’t eaten in a week. Syrup on her chin, butter in her hair somehow. It was a spectacle.

Meanwhile, I cut mine neatly, took slow bites. Because I’m not an animal.

As I chewed, I picked up my phone and opened the app I always forget I have—my puzzle game. The one with the oddly satisfying little shapes that clicked together with a soft pop every time you got it right.

Lately, I’d been obsessed with this one level where you had to rotate a wooden sculpture until it formed a perfect silhouette of a horse. It made no sense and every time I got close, it just turned into a weird shrimp-looking thing.

But this time?

Almost there.

I turned the sculpture a few degrees left—pop.

A perfect galloping horse filled the screen in soft golden light. The app chimed like I’d just solved world peace.

I smiled a little. “Finally.”

Lily looked up, mouth full. “Whuh?”

“Nothing,” I said, tucking the phone away and taking another bite of pancake. “Just beat level 127.”

“You’re weird.”

“You’re sticky.”

“Touché.”

Samantha came in a little while later, rubbing sleep from her eyes and already mid-yawn.

“Wait, no pancakes for me?”

“Your dad ate the last one,” Mom said, flipping off the stove. “Should’ve come in when I called earlier.”

“I didn’t hear you,” Samantha groaned, dropping into the chair across from me. “I was busy playing Grand Theft—” She froze.

Mom’s head snapped around.

“—I mean… Animal Crossing,” she finished twirling her hair in her fingers.

Mom squinted. “Uh-huh. Grand Theft what, exactly?”

Samantha shifted in her seat. “Nothing. I meant, like… Grand Theft Carrots. It’s a new farming sim.”

“Don’t play smart with me, Samantha.”

“How’d you even get that game?” she asked, voice rising. “It’s rated M. You are not old enough for that kind of violence.”

Samantha groaned again and buried her face in her hands. “It was on sale and I used a gift card and I didn’t think you’d—”

“Well, you thought wrong, young lady. I better not catch you playing that again or I’ll take away the whole console.”

Lily, still chewing, turned to Samantha and opened her mouth wide. “You can have mine,” she said, proudly displaying her half-chewed pancake like a prize.

Samantha recoiled. “I’d rather starve.”

I nudged my plate toward him. “You can have mine if you want it.”

She blinked at me. “Really?”

“I’m full,” I said, even though I wasn’t. “And it’s not like you’re getting any of Lily’s slobber cake.”

Samantha gave me a grateful look and took the plate. “You’re my favorite sister.”

I gave her a look. “I don’t really think of myself as a sister.”

She paused, halfway to her first bite. “Right. Favorite sibling, then.”

I shrugged. “Still a low bar.”

She grinned. “Yeah, but you’re winning.”

Dad put his plate in the sink and stretched with a quiet groan. “Time to prep the battlefield,” he said, already heading for the door.

“You mean the grill?” Mom asked, not even looking up from wiping the counter.

“Same thing,” he called back as the screen door creaked open. “Victory requires a clean grate.”

We heard the familiar rattle of the grill lid and the faint muttering of a man at war with stubborn grease.

I took my plate to the sink, then slipped upstairs to my room, flopping onto my bed with my phone in hand. The group chat was already buzzing.

Mia: we’re almost there

The sun outside was getting brighter, baking the windows and casting stripes across my floor from the blinds. Somewhere in the distance, I could already hear someone testing out fireworks. The soft pop-pop-pop of freedom gearing up for showtime.

I barely had time to reply before the doorbell rang downstairs.

“Em!” Mom called. “Your friends are here!”

I sat up fast, typing brb into the chat even though they were literally at the door now. I checked my reflection — messy hair, whatever — and headed down.

Mia and Jasmine stood in the doorway with their parents behind them, both already smiling like we were halfway into a sleepover. They wore matching red tank tops with tiny stars and jean shorts, looking like they walked out of a Fourth of July ad.

“Finally!” Mia said. “We were starting to think you ghosted us.”

“You live down the block,” I said, holding the door open.

Their parents stepped inside to say hi to mine, and the usual grown-up chatter started in the background. But I noticed Jasmine glance toward the kitchen—and stop.

Mia followed her gaze.

Samantha was standing by the kitchen island, trying very hard to look casual as she refilled her water. She wore a soft, summery top with white shorts, and her long brown hair—extensions, mostly—rested gently over her shoulders.

She looked beautiful.

And nervous.

The second she noticed them staring, she dropped her gaze to the counter and mumbled, “Hi.”

Mia blinked. “Wait… is that… Sam?”

Samantha gave a tiny nod, not quite looking up. “It’s… Samantha now.”

Jasmine’s mouth opened, then closed again like her brain needed a second.

“You look really nice,” she said softly.

Samantha barely smiled, her shoulders tense like she was bracing for something worse.

“It’s just… new,” she said. “I’m still figuring it out.”

Mia stepped forward a little. “You don’t have to figure it out for us. We’re not judging.”

Samantha finally met her eyes, a bit of relief.

“I like your shirt,” Jasmine added, almost shy herself now.

Samantha let out a small laugh—awkward but real. “Thanks." She smoothed down the front of her shirt and glanced at her shorts.

“…Why don’t girls’ clothes have pockets?” she asked quietly, not looking up.

Mia blinked, like she hadn’t thought about it in a while. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

“They should,” Jasmine added. “It’s ridiculous.”

“They’re real shorts,” Samantha said, frowning. “There’s enough room. They just… sewed it shut.”

She stuck her fingers into the fake seam, then pulled them back like it had personally betrayed her.

“I didn’t even notice until now,” she mumbled.

“You’re not alone,” I said. “The first time I wore jeans like that, I thought I bought a defective pair.”

“It’s not you,” Jasmine said. “It’s girl math.”

Samantha gave a tiny smile, but I could tell she was still wrapping her head around it. The clothes, the cut, the way everything felt a little different—not bad, just… unfamiliar.

We all heard Dad cursing in the backyard—nothing too bad, just his usual war cries against rust and stubborn charcoal buildup.

“Come on, you grease-stained traitor—just open! I swear, if you had feelings, I’d hurt them!”

Mia snorted.

Jasmine burst out laughing.

I covered my mouth to keep from choking on air.

Even Samantha giggled—softly, almost like a question. It wasn’t quite natural. Not forced, either. Just… careful. Like she was copying the rhythm of our laughter, checking if it landed right.

Like she was studying how to laugh like a girl.

No one called her out on it. No one even looked her way for more than a second. But I saw it—the way she glanced at me after, just briefly, as if to ask: Did I do it right?

I smiled at her.

And that seemed to be enough.

We ran up to my room, still giggling about Dad’s latest battle with the grill. Samantha stayed behind at the table, poking at her phone with that quiet focus she always had—half in the world, half somewhere else.

The moment we got to my room and shut the door, Mia flopped onto my bed like she owned it. Jasmine sank into my beanbag with a dramatic sigh.

There was a pause.

Then Mia glanced toward the hallway. “So… is Samantha…?”

Jasmine didn’t even let her finish. “Transgender?”

Mia nodded. “Or gender fluid? Or… something else?”

I sat on the edge of my bed, picking at the hem of my shirt. I’d kind of been waiting for the question. I just didn’t know exactly how it would come out.

“She’s still figuring it out,” I said quietly. “But yeah. She’s not a boy. Not anymore.”

Mia and Jasmine exchanged a look, but it wasn’t a bad one. Just thoughtful.

“She seemed… nervous,” Jasmine said.

“She was,” I said. “You’re the first people from, you know… before. That she’s seen like this.”

Mia nodded slowly. “Makes sense. I’d be nervous too.”

“She looked pretty,” Jasmine added. “Like, really pretty.”

I smiled. “She’ll probably overthink that later, but yeah. She did.”

There was another pause, softer this time.

“She’s still Sam, though?” Mia asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Still the same person. Just more a girl now.”

That seemed to settle something for them. No more weird looks. No big drama.

Just quiet understanding.

Outside, Dad finally managed to scrape the last of the burned chicken off the grill—charred remnants from a week ago that had somehow fused with the metal like it was trying to become permanent.

He stood back, brush in hand, examining his work with the satisfied look of a man who had conquered something stubborn and greasy.

“Not sure why it was so caked on like that,” he muttered to himself, flipping the lid up and down just to make sure it wouldn’t stick again. “Pretty sure this thing aged five years since last Thursday.”

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, then reached for the tray of foil-covered supplies.

“Alright,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “Time to grill the wieners and burgers. Let’s make some magic.”

He gave the grill one last pat, like it was an old friend he’d just patched things up with.

Dad pulled the foil off the tray like he was unveiling treasure.

Hot dogs and burger patties.

He lined them up on the counter next to the grill, then turned the knobs like he was preparing to launch a space shuttle.

“Pilot light... engaged. Flame level... controlled. Confidence... unearned.”

The grill hissed to life.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, flipping the first few patties onto the grate with the kind of precision usually reserved for bomb squads or professional chefs on TV.

Sizzle.

He nodded, proud. “That’s the sound of progress.”

A breeze kicked up, and the smoke swirled directly into his face. He coughed once, waved it off dramatically, and muttered, “It’s not a cookout unless your sinuses get a smoke cleanse.”

Then came the hot dogs—each one carefully spaced like he was laying bricks. He even turned them all so the grill marks would be even.

He stood back and admired his work.

“Behold,” he declared to the empty backyard. “The wieners of liberty.”

One of them promptly rolled into a gap in the grill and nearly fell through.

“No!” Dad lunged, catching it with his tongs just in time. “Not today, traitor. You get back on the battlefield.”

The hot dog flopped back into place, slightly charred on one side but still intact.

Dad exhaled and shook his head. “They don’t teach you this stuff in culinary school.”

Which was fair. He hadn’t gone.

But in that moment, with the smoke rising, the burgers sizzling, and one very confused squirrel watching him from the fence line, Dad looked completely at peace.

Mom was in the living room with Mia and Jasmine’s parents, sitting comfortably with a glass of lemonade while soft music played in the background. The scent of barbecue drifted in from the open windows, mingling with the warm buzz of the summer afternoon.

Mrs. Carter leaned forward slightly. “So, anything new happen with your family recently?”

Mom smiled. “Well, we moved in a few weeks ago, so we’re finally starting to feel settled. Got the curtains up, the neighbors figured out, and we even found the nearest grocery store that doesn’t feel like a maze.”

Mr. Carter chuckled. “That’s when you know you’re home.”

Mom nodded, then hesitated—just for a moment. “And… Samantha came out to us recently. She’s our daughter now.”

Mrs. Carter blinked, but her expression stayed warm. “Oh. That’s… that’s a big step.”

“It is,” Mom said. “For all of us. But she’s been so much more herself lately. Happier. More confident.”

Mr. Carter glanced toward the stairs. “We weren’t sure at first. We thought maybe… well. Sam just looked different.”

Mom smiled softly. “She’s figuring things out. Trying on who she is. And we’re doing our best to support her.”

There was a pause, not heavy, just thoughtful.

“She seems sweet,” Mrs. Carter said. “A little shy, but sweet.”

“She is,” Mom said with quiet pride. “And stronger than I think even she realizes.”

****

Mrs. Carter had just finished saying something kind about Samantha when we heard soft footsteps on the stairs.

Samantha appeared at the edge of the living room, still hugging her phone to her chest. Her eyes flicked quickly to Mia and Jasmine’s parents, then back to Mom.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “Um… can I ask you something?”

Mom turned, already smiling. “Of course, sweetie. What’s up?”

Samantha hesitated, brushing her fingers through her hair. “I was just reading something… online. About, um… hormone blockers?”

Mrs. Carter sat up a little straighter.

Samantha kept going, voice just above a whisper now. “It said they help stop changes before puberty really starts. Like—before it gets too hard to feel okay in your body.”

She glanced at Mom. “Do you think I could… ever do that?”

There was a long, quiet second.

Not heavy.

Just full.

Mom put down her glass and reached a hand out toward her. “Come sit with me.”

Samantha walked over slowly and settled beside her on the couch, legs tucked underneath. Mom wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“We can definitely talk about it,” Mom said gently. “Together. With a doctor who understands these things.”

Samantha looked up. “So… maybe?”

“Maybe,” Mom said, kissing the top of her head. “It’s not a no. It just means we learn about it first. Make sure it’s the right path. One step at a time, okay?”

Samantha nodded, holding her phone a little tighter.

“You’re not alone in this,” Mom added softly. “We’re here. Every step.”

Mr. and Mrs. Carter didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to. Mrs. Carter offered a quiet smile. Mr. Carter gave the smallest, supportive nod.

We were all sitting outside at the picnic table, eating our burgers and hot dogs off flimsy paper plates that kept trying to fold in half every time you looked at them wrong.

Lily had ketchup on her cheek. Again.

Dad was manning the grill like it was a stage performance, waving his spatula around and announcing each batch like it was a five-star menu.

“Fresh off the flames—liberty dogs and freedom patties! Get ‘em while they’re patriotic!”

Mia and Jasmine’s parents sat nearby, chatting with mine, while the rest of us claimed the shadiest corner of the yard under an old maple tree that kept dropping leaves on the table like it wanted to be included.

Samantha sat across from me, picking at her hot dog but smiling a little. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and she was wearing a soft tank top with little stars around the collar. She looked more relaxed than she had all day.

“So how’s it feel?” I asked, nudging her plate with the tip of my straw.

She looked up. “The hot dog?”

I snorted. “No—this. The cookout. The whole… being seen.”

Samantha shrugged, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Weird. But… good weird.”

Jasmine slid into the seat next to her with a bag of chips. “Just so you know,” she said casually, “you have the best outfit here. It’s not even close.”

Samantha turned a little pink. “Really?”

Mia nodded. “No contest. We look like walking flags.”

“I like walking flags,” Lily mumbled with her mouth full.

“You like anything that involves snacks,” I said.

Samantha laughed softly and took a bite of her hot dog.

A faint pop came from the far end of the yard, followed by a little puff of colored smoke that drifted lazily into the air.

Mr. Peterson, in his usual khaki shorts and an apron that read Licensed to Grill and Possibly Explode Things, stood near the shed with a big plastic bucket full of supplies and a very serious expression. He held up a small firework in one hand and pointed it toward the open patch of grass like he was conducting science.

Another pop sounded—this one sending a shower of red sparks just a few feet into the air.

“Just practice rounds,” he called out cheerfully. “Nothing that’ll make Grandma jump out of her chair!”

Lily immediately perked up. “Can we go watch?”

I looked at Samantha.

She didn’t say anything, but I could tell she was listening—her fingers stilling on the edge of her plate, her shoulders a little stiff.

“We’re not going to the big show this year,” I explained to Mia and Jasmine, who were already half-rising from the table.

“Red, White and Boom?” Jasmine asked. “That’s the big show downtown, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’ve never been, but I’ve seen the pictures.”

“It’s huge,” Mia said. “You can hear it all across the river.”

“It sounds cool,” I said. “But… it’d be a lot.”

Samantha kept her eyes on her plate. She didn’t say anything, but I knew she was listening.

“Too many people,” I added. “Too loud. Too many stares.”

Even Lily nodded. “And too many phones.”

Mr. Peterson, bless him, had picked up on that earlier in the week. That’s when he offered to do his own “quiet-ish” version in the backyard.

Samantha looked up. “It’s okay. I’m just glad we’re doing something.”

“You’re not missing out,” I said. “You’re getting the VIP edition.”

Mia grinned. “With snacks.”

Jasmine added, “And one very intense backyard fireworks expert.”

Another fizz and a poof of red sparks twirled through the air behind the shed.

“See?” I said, pointing. “Private show.”

Samantha smiled, just a little. “Yeah. That sounds pretty perfect.”

even paper plates and half-eaten hot dogs look kind of magical.

Most of the guests were scattered now—some stretching out on lawn chairs, others helping Mr. Peterson drag the firework buckets farther back toward the fence.

Samantha and I were at the picnic table, stacking paper plates and crumpling napkins into the trash bag Mom handed us.

She was quiet. Not in a bad way. Just thoughtful.

“You doing okay?” I asked, gently tapping her knuckle with mine.

She shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

“You guess?”

She glanced around to make sure no one else was close. “It’s just… this is the first time I’ve ever done something like this. As me.”

I paused, hands full of ketchup-smeared napkins.

“As Samantha,” she added, quieter this time.

I gave her a soft smile. “You did great.”

“I kept thinking people were staring,” she admitted. “Not in a mean way. Just… noticing.”

“They probably were,” I said honestly. “But so what? You looked amazing.”

She smiled at that, then looked down at the stack of plates she was holding.

“And I kept waiting for someone to say something. Something weird. Or wrong. But no one did.”

I leaned my hip against the table and nodded. “Because this is who you are. And everyone’s catching up to what we already knew.”

She was quiet again for a moment, then said, “It felt good. Not having to pretend.”

“Good,” I said, nudging her shoulder with mine. “That’s how it’s supposed to feel.”

She exhaled slowly, almost like she’d been holding her breath all day without realizing it.

We went back to stacking plates.

The wind rustled through the trees overhead, and somewhere nearby, Mr. Peterson shouted, “Nobody panic! That was meant to sparkle like that!”

Samantha laughed.

And this time, it was her real laugh.

Samantha was quiet again, folding the edge of a napkin between her fingers like she was working up to something.

Then she turned back to me.

“I think I’ve figured it out,” she said. “I really want to be a girl. No more questioning it. No more wondering.”

I didn’t say anything. I just let her talk.

She looked at me, eyes a little brighter than before. “I love being a girl. Even though it’s only been a few days, it just... feels right. Like I’ve finally stopped fighting with myself.”

I nodded slowly, heart full.

She smiled a little. “I asked Mom about puberty blockers earlier, and she said she’d help me. Like, with a doctor and everything.”

“That’s amazing,” I said softly.

She looked down again. “It’s kinda scary, too. But mostly? I’m just really happy.”

I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around her in a hug—no big words, no fanfare. Just the kind that says I see you. I’ve got you.

She leaned into it.

And for a moment, everything was quiet and still and safe.

The sky had faded into that perfect shade of deep blue, right before it turns black. The first few stars were peeking out, blinking like they were waiting for the show too.

Everyone had gathered in the backyard now—folding chairs dragged onto the grass, citronella candles lit, sparklers in the hands of half the kids and probably two of the adults who should’ve known better.

Mr. Peterson stood near the back fence with a box of carefully labeled fireworks and the proud stance of a man who had absolutely been banned from the official city display at least once.

“All right, folks!” he called out. “These won’t go up too high—but they will sparkle.”

Dad leaned toward us and whispered, “He once launched a chicken-shaped one that laid an egg midair.”

“I’m terrified,” Mia said.

“I’m intrigued,” Jasmine added.

Lily held a sparkler over her head like a sword. “Let the glitter battle begin!”

The first firework fizzled to life—a fountain-style one with bright blue sparks that sprayed upward like a fire-breathing garden hose. It hissed and popped, then faded into a shimmer of gold.

Samantha sat beside me in the grass, legs crossed, arms folded around her knees. Her eyes reflected every flash.

“You okay?” I asked, leaning close so only she could hear.

She nodded, lips parted in awe. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

The next one crackled to life—green, then pink, then a brief puff of purple.

It wasn’t the biggest show. It wasn’t the loudest.

The next round of fireworks came a little faster now—one after another, each one lighting up the yard in bursts of color and soft hissing sounds.

One shot out silver sparks that swirled like spinning stars. Another turned into a cluster of tiny red comets that arched and fizzled mid-air like they were trying to form hearts.

“Whoa,” Mia whispered, tilting her head back. “That one looked like a jellyfish.”

Mr. Peterson struck a dramatic pose behind his launch bucket. “Thank you! I call that one Cephalopod of Liberty!”

Everyone clapped. Even Dad.

Samantha let out a laugh that wasn’t careful or cautious—it just happened. She looked lighter than she had all day.

Another firework started crackling—bright yellow and blue—throwing flecks of light across her face. I looked over and watched as she tipped her head back, watching the sky.

She looked... peaceful.

And proud.

And herself.

When the last fountain finally burned out, leaving behind just a curling trail of smoke and a few glowing embers, the yard went quiet. For just a moment, no one said anything.

Then Mr. Peterson wiped his forehead with a rag and said, “Well, nothing caught fire this year, so I consider that a raging success.”

Mom laughed. “Everyone okay?”

“We’re good,” I said, standing up and brushing off my shorts. “Better than good.”

Samantha looked up at me and smiled, her eyes still catching the last of the light. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

“For what?” I asked.

She thought about it. Then just said, “Everything.”

We helped gather chairs and sparklers and paper cups, the kind of cleanup that didn’t feel like work because no one was in a rush. The stars were out now—real ones this time—and they didn’t need fireworks to sparkle.

Later, as we headed inside, I looked back at the yard.

The smoke had faded.

The lights were off.

But something about tonight would stay with me.

Something bright.

Something brave.