I pull out the soda I’d just bought from the Wawa before coming outside and sitting down. I stood in the medicine aisle for a few minutes staring at the bottles of Advil, my thoughts as dark as when I lived in West Grove. I guess they didn’t go away. I didn’t buy the pills, but I still could.

The sun lowers, and the streetlights come on. I don’t have energy—my arms and legs are too heavy to move. My phone keeps dinging in my backpack, but I can’t bring myself to look. I feel too empty. Maybe I can take a nap on this bench. I’ve seen others do it. I pull up my hoodie and lay my head on my backpack.

A couple of minutes later, I hear, “August?”

I look up and see my friend. Is this a dream? “Hugo?”

“Yeah, buddy, so good to see you,” he says. I stand up and we hug. I can’t believe my best friend from my old school is here.

“Seriously, August, you look really freaking cool.”

“You do too,” I say. He’s wearing a Pokémon shirt and cargo pants.

“I know,” he says.

“What are you doing here?”

“I knew where to find you,” he says, sitting down across from me.

“You were looking for me?”

“Your friend Juliet DM’ed me. She thought you could use a friend. I was going to drive by your house, but I thought I’d check the Wawa first.” He takes my soda and drinks. He always did that.

“Is it weird to see me like this?”

“Like yourself?” he asks, smiling.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was transgender.”

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” he says.

“I didn’t want to lose you as a friend. That was my reason.”

“I would have never done that, man. Never.”

I’m amazed at how seamlessly he’s using my name and pronouns. “My parents did. I’ve lost my parents,” I say.

“That’s why you came back here?”

“I needed to confront them and find out the truth.”

“And did you?” he asks.

“My truth is my parents were going to send me to conversion therapy. They think I’m sick and broken.”

He shakes his head. “I disagree.”

We always used to argue; it was fun. “Then what is my truth?” I ask.

“Your truth is that you have unaccepting parents. And that really sucks.”

I sit back. He’s right. It does suck. I thought I could be good enough and they would accept me. Succeed enough and they would love me. I played the role of their daughter; I played the role of Rizzo—I put on so many acts for them. I didn’t want to play any of those roles. But I did it for them.