“Confusion,” Randy corrects her.

I shake my head. “There’s no confusion.”

“Feelings aren’t real,” Mom says. “Reality is created by God. Just because you feel like a boy, the reality is that you’re a girl. Biologically, you are a girl.”

“So my feelings aren’t real. My gender dysphoria isn’t real? Every minute I hated being in dresses and skirts not real? The nights I cried myself to sleep feeling wrong aren’t real?”

Randy raises his hand. “This beer can is a beer can. It can’t decide it’s a coffee cup. It can’t make up its own reality.”

“You’re comparing my life to a beer can?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t get the senior citizen discount because I identify as an eighty-year-old man. Your mom can’t decide she’s a dragon.”

I sit back in my chair. Stunned.

Randy continues, “What would happen to society if we let people decide how they identify? People would be birds. They would marry animals. It would be moral chaos.”

“That’s dramatic,” I say.

“You’re sick, and you need spiritual help to get better.”

Mom puts her hand on my shoulder. “Pastor Tim says a life built upon imagination is false and destructive.”

“Destructive,” Randy says, wagging his finger. “That’s why there’re so many suicides.”

“That’s why you think transgender people die by suicide?” I ask.

“When they go against God, yes,” Randy says, pleased with himself.

Every part of me wants to scream. I think of Ajax. Being trans didn’t push him, his family did. “You know what causes suicides? Parents like you. You’re the reason. If you loved me, and accepted me, then maybe I wouldn’t have thought about it, too,” I say, shocked that I said it out loud.

“She’s sicker than we thought,” Randy says.

I stand up. “No, I’m fine. I’m better than I’ve ever been.”

“Don’t leave,” Mom says, getting to her feet.

I put on my backpack. I almost forgot to ask the question. “Were you going to send me to Brand New Day?” I ask. They look at each other, surprised. “I saw a letter.”

“What if we were?” Randy asks.

My stomach turns. “Those places are abusive and dangerous. Going there would have really hurt me.”

“You need to be fixed,” he says.

“You think I’m broken?” I look at Mom. “I just need to hear you say it. Were you going to send me?”

She sits back down and fold her hands, like she’s about to pray. Five seconds of silence pass before she says, “Yes.”

“We still can,” Randy says to Mom, getting on his feet. He moves toward the door.

“You can’t stop me from leaving,” I say.

“Wanna bet?” he says, stepping toward me.