It was still pitch black out, but the number listed was an office phone, so I knew it wouldn’t wake her up. I reached for my phone, on the floor next to my bed, and dialed the number. I was shivering, though my room was warm, the radiator blasting despite what was only a fall chill. Her voice mail picked up. I hung up, heart racing. I laid the phone on my stomach, masturbated again—just one more time—or, well, who was I kidding—then wiped my hand on my sheets and called her again. This time, I left a voice mail. I wanted to set up a consultation as soon as possible.

Jojo had left my three good shirts hanging on my doorknob; she did this from time to time when I fell asleep before choosing my work outfit, so that I wouldn’t wake her up in the morning. My favorite of the three was a sleeveless white silk button-down with a pointed collar, which I would wear underneath a black sweater. I liked buttoning the shirt all the way up to my neck, liked the way the little sweater hugged me, how I looked like both a girl and a boy. I would wear this with my fitted trousers, to heighten the androgyny; I was powerful in this outfit, playing a role that wasn’t quite me. But that was teaching, too: I was the best version of myself. The trousers should have been hung up, but I felt I could ask Jojo for only so much closet space, so these I wore more often than was really appropriate, to reduce their tendency to wrinkle. I wondered if my students noticed; it was only a month in, but I’d worn these pants at least twice a week. Now I shook them out, then put them on my bed to smooth over the creases.

I would be good today.

I hoped intensely that she would call me back.

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The subway ride to school was the same as to my parents’; I wondered every day whether I would run into them on the street and prayed I wouldn’t. I hadn’t yet; the route didn’t require me to pass by their apartment—they were west of the subway, on Park Avenue, while the school was a couple of avenues east—and, if I thought about it for a minute, it made no sense that I would see them. They worked from home and avoided going east if they could help it. Did I think they would go to the bodega for a soda? Really? But a part of me also liked that they were nearby—that I could go hide out in childhood whenever I wanted, theoretically. Or maybe it was the exact opposite: that I was deliberately snubbing them every day, asserting my power.