“This might seem like harmless fun to some of you,” he says gravely while Dee and I exchange looks, “but people are getting hurt. Physically and emotionally. I will not name names, but this should be a safe space for every single student. I do not take this lightly.”

“There’s blood in the water,” Dee says to me, quietly.

The thing is, though, even though it’s unsettling, it’s so great to see people rise up. Pete doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know what it’s like down here in the trenches. It’s different than when he was young, and even when Lottie and I were young. I don’t think he really could possibly understand. People need to play dirty sometimes, and yes, maybe it’s a little out of control, but I kind of love that.

Pete asks me to stay after class.

I saunter up to his desk, which still has a sign on it that says MRS. SHERMAN. I jut my chin out and try to effect some attitude, but this is a person who cleaned up my Brownie tights when I peed in them in kindergarten, so it’s a little hard to pull off.

“How long are you going to keep that name tag?” I ask, pointing to it.

“I’ll ask the questions, thanks.” Pete sighs, gesturing for me to sit down on the chair in front of the desk, the one reserved for kids in shit. I sit and lean way back, lifting up the front legs of the chair. He raises his eyebrows.

“What’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you behind any of these, I dunno, pranks?” He leans forward, folding his hands. I notice that his face has broken out in a rash of tiny pimples, and I remember what he said about how transitioning would be kind of like going through puberty again. I briefly wonder how he’s doing with it, then push that out of my mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t.”

“Nope.” I let the chair fall forward with a bang.

“I revert to my original question: what is going on with you? You seem kind of out of control lately. Things okay at home?”

I don’t know why grown-ups always ask this. They think it’s the kind of question we have to answer, the secret key that is going to get kids to open up. Man! If someone would just ask me if things were okay at home! I mean, for Pete standards, this is pretty weak.

“Sure, things are okay. Things okay at your home?” I pick up one of his pens and start to fiddle with it, spinning it over my knuckles in a way Dee taught me.