As my anger starts to burn hotter than my coffee, I give up on saving my day and text Brian to pick me up, saying, Mom stalled my credit card. Come get me.

I’m at orientation. Text me the address, and I’ll get you when I’m done.

So I do, and I find myself sitting out on the curb hating my life for the next three hours.

DebunkingMCD posted:

Since you guys still don’t believe me, here are some more links for you. Only 0.6% of the population is trans, the city of Miami has less than five hundred thousand people, and only 6% of that population is between the ages of fifteen and nineteen. That leaves a hundred and eighty people to potentially be featured in over a hundred stories posted on this blog. Are we really supposed to believe one in two trans people in Miami is having the ultimate love story?

Byawndone replied: Wow, I never thought of it that way. I guess that doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?

Bdpwsqr replied: These are just numbers! Maybe some people had multiple meet cutes? And some people are closeted!

Ilybromine replied: Ugh, I knew this blog was too good to be true.

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I can’t bring myself to write in the Diary. It’s probably just shooting myself in the foot since really, I should be online proving to people that love is real, but I can’t work past the churning in my stomach. I just want to go to sleep forever, or at least until my mom restores my credit card.

I completely forget about agreeing to trivia until Brian’s knocking on the closet door like, “Noah, we’re supposed to leave in like five minutes, and I need my shoes.”

So I suck it up, using some water to restyle my frizzy hair and spraying on some light cologne so it at least smells like I tried.

We slip into the car without speaking, and Brian turns on some classic rock station before pulling out onto the street. After a few minutes, he says, “So, besides losing your only source of income, how did today go?”

Since I came out to him, there aren’t a whole lot of secrets between us, but he doesn’t know about the Diary. Like, sure, he knows that I blog and spend the better part of my life on the internet, but he doesn’t know any of the details, and I intend to keep it that way. Besides the fact that he’d think it’s pointless and immature, I just don’t want people to know about it. It’s my thing, and a little bit Becca’s thing, but no one else’s.

I shrug. “It was fine, I guess. How was orientation?”

“Pretty chill. I’m friends with a few of the people who work the camp, so I just took the counselor position to stay busy over the summer. Mom making you get a job?”