Kids clamp Sunny in hugs. “Sunny Talks,” “My internet crush,” “You’re so mini in real life.” He lets them linger in his arms. Sunny’s wonderful with the weak. That must’ve been why I thought I could talk to him.

“Emmerson’s panel is next,” he says. “I’m going to ask a question. Like, a super pointed question.”

I’m about to ask what the big deal is about a question, but he’s not in school, hasn’t been for two years.

“No one challenges that kid. Like, ever.”

As we pick our way up the hall, Sunny spots a friend loitering by the water fountain, hands in pockets, chin high, a little older, around nineteen. Shiny of face and puffy of body, the friend sits between genders. Whenever I encounter someone in between, their success or failure predicts my future attempt. If they’re attractive, if they achieve the middle, my heart soars for my own transition. If they’re unappealing or settle too clearly in the camp of man or woman, I despair. This person is tall and soft with a haircut that starts short on the brow, piles up all swishy at the crest of the head, and shortens severely against the neck. They’ve achieved the middle, but they aren’t attractive.

Sunny says, “Button’s channel dominates,” then hugs them in his easy, happy way, like a kid who spent his life ricocheting between siblings. He introduces me as his favorite aunt, and Button bobs on their heels.

“Sunny’s family!” they cry. “You need a hug.”

“That’s okay.”

Button leans in. My elbows jut out and I clap their shoulders, hunching my back to keep space. I hide my face against their chest. And then I’m sheltered in the hug. In the dark heat of Button’s sweatshirt, I will never have to make decisions. My arms soften, like they never do, and, for once, a hug feels nice.

“Wow,” Button says, face twisted in confusion. “Are you mad at me?” I step back.

“She hugs strange,” says Sunny. “But she’s a cool person.”

Heaviness drops through me. I study the corporate pattern woven into the carpet.

Button turns to Sunny. “I upset the lady. Yo, hey. Don’t freak. At the beginning of my transition I was a rough hugger too.”

I freeze. But of course Button knows. Why else am I here? Relief blows through me in a cold wind.

“Don’t despair, beautiful.” Button claps my shoulder. “It takes time to get used to a new body. And you totally mostly pass as a chick.”

“Oh,” I say, cheeks tingling. They have me the wrong way round, but it’s something. A panel releases. Conference-goers push and shove, a bright, heady jostle. Button’s big face bobs over the shoulders of teens.

“No, dude.” Sunny’s voice strains. “Hold up, no. She’s not trans.”

Button’s lip twitches. They bow. “Ah. Apologies.”