Sometimes I want people to know, but other times I’d rather keep it to myself. Being transgender felt like something to be ashamed of back in Pennsylvania. Something to hide. Something to never talk about. “I wanted the class to clap because I’m a good actor, not because I’m transgender.”

“They liked both things. It was a good performance with social commentary.” She does the chef’s kiss.

“But how do they know?” I ask, unable to let it go.

Anna waves me off. “At SPA, your gender identity doesn’t matter. It’s just another thing—like you have brown hair, green eyes, and are also trans. It’s the definition of no big deal.”

She’s so flippant about this. Does she understand it’s not that easy to be trans, even in a liberal New York school? “My old town was different. I’m still adjusting, I guess.”

“That reminds me,” Anna says while mashing up a matzo ball with her spoon. “I think you should tell our lunch bunch the truth about your parents.”

Real freaking ironic coming from Anna, who has yet to tell me that her dad is Mr. Daniels. My muscles tighten up, in defense of my lies and anger at hers. “They don’t need to know,” I say. “It changes nothing about me to know about my parents.”

“I disagree,” she says, then reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. “Letting people know you isn’t a bad thing. You don’t have to keep your guard up all the time.”

Her advice is probably sound, but I’m too busy thinking about why she won’t tell me about her dad. I decided to wait for her to tell me about Mr. Daniels, but it’s starting to annoy me. “I’ll think about it,” I lie.

We finish our meals, split the bill—I only had twenty dollars—and head into the night. I picked a diner close to the party, but not close enough considering how much it’s raining. We walk under my four-dollar umbrella purchased from the bodega. It’s a tiny umbrella, so we walk close, our bodies touching. This is becoming quite the unintentional date. Anna laces her arm into mine and we skip down the street, belting out the words from “Singin’ in the Rain.”

We enter the apartment lobby like wet puppies. The doorman holds the door while we shake off the rain and close the umbrella (which already broke).

“Who are you here to visit?” the doorman asks. He’s wearing a suit and white gloves.

I shake the water out of my hair. “We’re here for Riley’s party. I’m August Greene.”