David swallowed. “I know.”

Later, when Iris left to smoke, David filled a cup with water and wandered the edge of the dance floor as the crowd balled up more and more energy. A circle of people in a corner watched a breakdancer. David craned his neck to see better—

Oh my God.

The breakdancer was a guy from the old support group. From years ago. Well. “A guy.” He was one of the few bio males around David’s age, and at the support group he’d said, “I want sexual reassignment surgery. I don’t know about anything else, but I know I want that.” He and David became Facebook friends after, and they’d tried to message, but it didn’t go anywhere, their exchanges awkward and flailing as a bad first date. The guy had no profile picture, a question mark above his name. He had, however, installed a widget that let you list multiple gender and sexuality options on your profile. His gender identity: Psychologically androgynous.

Tonight, he was wearing a button-up and khakis, flying around the floor like a bird, and when he stopped, the crowd blew up. The song had been “Lucky Star.” He bowed, a lit-up body of sweat.

The guy saw David and froze. The crowd didn’t notice. David nodded. The guy nodded back, but he looked scared. David knew he wasn’t supposed to be there. He slipped back to the edge of the floor and scanned the room for Iris, but she wasn’t there. From behind, he felt his skirt creep up his legs. He turned around and there was a woman with blonde hair, a tube top, and nice jeans, drawing back her hands. The woman giggled and said, “I just wanted to see.”

David walked outside and found Iris with a chirpy old classmate fresh from a show at the Crystal. Iris saw David was ashen-faced in a way she couldn’t understand, so she said, “Okay, honeybunch, you look ready to go home. You want to take a cab? Let’s get a cab; we’re adults. My treat—you got the rum.” Soon, the city rushed above them on the 405, the skyline receded over the Ross Island Bridge, and darkness settled as they descended into the southeast quiet down McLoughlin. They talked little, not touching until they hugged in front of David’s apartment. He’d figure this moving shit out, he said. He’d call her in the next week, he said. He felt good about it. Now. Determined. They did make pretty good exes. In the end.

COULDN’T HEAR YOU TALK ANYMORE

After Tiana recovered from surgery, she started hooking up with guys in Osborne Village. The guys never guessed what was up, though once, a mystified, coke-addled older man said, “Why are you so tight? Why are you so tight? Oh my God, are you a hermaphrodite?” She acted haughty: “God, no! Why would you say something like that?!” It worked. Most of them, though, she marvelled at their obliviousness. She wondered if it was bad lighting? Drunkenness. Who knows?