The alarm clock blared, throwing Mello from his slumber. The fourteen-year-old moaned, reaching a hand out from under the blankets to find the offending machine. As he turned it off, he moaned into his quilt.

I do not want to get up today.

He threw his pajamas to the floor, searching in his closet for something comfortable. When he was satisfied with his clothes, he took a quick look in the mirror before leaving. His eyes were immediately drawn to his chest. Yup. Still there.

"Hey Mello, want my milk?" asked Matt. "I asked for orange juice but they gave me milk instead." He waved the carton in the air.

They were sitting in the dining room, eating breakfast. Mello stopped drizzling chocolate sauce on his pancakes to look over at his friend.

"No thanks. You know I don't like milk."

"Alright, I'll just throw it out. Ready for the physical today?"

The blond made a noise of disgust.

"I hate physicals. Stupid nurses, poking and prodding my body. I know I'm healthy. If something was wrong with my body, I'd be perfectly capable of telling the doctor myself. I don't need someone else telling me whether my body's right or not." He slurped juice through his straw. He didn't need to add that he knew there was something wrong with his body, that he wanted to tell a doctor of some sort and get it fixed, but that he simply couldn't.

"I know, right? It's such a waste of time."

Truth be told, Mello knew that the physicals were necessary. There was probably some protocol in whatever laws governed the orphanage that said they had to have physicals. But to state this would mark him as uptight. It was uncool, even among gifted children, to try to understand the adults' point of view.

However, just because they were necessary didn't mean he had to like them. He hated physicals. How could he not – it was a slap in the face to hear how he wasn't growing, how he wasn't gaining weight. And to hear his name. Oh, that name – Margaret. If he had to be stuck with a girl's name, at least he'd like to be stuck with something prettier. Margaret sounded like some cantankerous old lady. Disgusting.

There was a nice breeze in the air, and some boys were outside playing football. The kids at Wammy's weren't known for being athletic, but they could still put up a pretty good fight when they were bored enough to bother. One of them waved to Mello.

"Hey, Mello! Wanna be team captain?"

Any other day I'd jump at the chance, but… I just don't feel myself today. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Eh, not today. Thanks anyway!"

As he turned to walk away, he heard the voices chattering softly behind him. Bits and pieces of conversation floated over to him.

"…probably scared. Can't… beat us…. Girl."

Mello stopped in his tracks when he heard the g-word, clenching his fists. He turned on his heel and walked back over to the boys. Their faces dropped.

"Which one of you was talking about me?"

No one said anything, but the direction of their glances made it clear that the culprit was Ever, a redhead who Mello had only exchanged a few words with during his whole time at Wammy's. Mello stepped over to him, clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"And what exactly makes you think you can talk like that about me?"

"I didn't say nothin'! Honest!"

"You said I was scared. Because I was a girl. Isn't that right?" He dug his nails into the smaller boy's skin.

"I just thought… because you didn't want to be captain…"

"You thought wrong." He shoved Ever, hard, nearly throwing him to the ground. "What do I have to do to prove myself around here? I'd think you would all know by now that I don't take that shit." He took another step closer, and Ever cringed. "What? Now you respect me? Who's scared now? I know it's not me."

Ever stumbled back, regaining his balance. His face changed drastically as he tried to figure out what to say. He sneered.

"But… y-you're a girl! I don't have to be afraid of a girl!"

...

Crack!

That was the sound of Mello's knuckles crashing into Ever's face. The other boys started yelling, one ran for an adult. Ever started crying. What a wimp. It's his own fault. He's disgusting. Upon that realization, Mello felt another rage wash over him, and kicked the redhead where he was laying on the ground. Again and again.

"Don't call me a girl!" he screamed. "Don't call me a fucking girl!"

Hands grabbed his shoulders, yanked him back. Mello's head whipped around to see Roger pulling him from behind. Immediately he knew that the fight was over. There was nothing he could do now but submit and wait for punishment. Crossing his arms, he allowed the older man to lead him away by the wrist.

The two of them sat in Roger's office. Mello sat in a large armchair in front of the desk, arms still crossed over his chest. He felt his breasts against his arm, which only reminded him of how upset he was. How dare that boy call him a girl? How dare he imply that Mello was somehow less than him? As if being born with a vagina made you weak! As if he were less of a man because he had breasts! Disgusting! Mello glowered at Roger, angry that he'd been pulled away. It had to be like that. No fighting. It kept chaos from erupting. But he hated it.

Roger sat across from him at the desk, fingers steepled. He looked at Mello with a degree of curiosity, as though he couldn't understand what could have provoked him to violence.

"So why did you punch him?"

"He called me a girl," Mello muttered, looking away.

"Speak up."

"He called me a girl."

Roger nodded, leaned back in his chair.

"Mello, I know that this is a very touchy matter with you. But what you have to realize, what I've been trying to tell you, is that you are a girl. That doesn't mean that you're weak, and it doesn't mean you're dumb. Girls can do anything that boys can do, and vice versa. The word 'girl' isn't an insult. It's a description. An accurate one."

"No, Roger, you're wrong. I know girls can do anything boys can do. I know it's not an insult. I know all that. But what is an insult is someone deliberately ignoring your gender identity despite the fact that you've explained it to them multiple times. Which is what you're doing. Your ignorance is insulting to me." He got up, scowling. "I may be under your care and training, but I have a right to be listened to. I won't talk to you about this until you educate yourself." He started for the door.

"He didn't even know that you want to be a boy, did he? I'm the only one you've told."

Mello stopped, but didn't give Roger any respect by facing him.

"It doesn't matter." None of it matters. Mello let the door swing shut behind him, not letting anyone see his eyes go glassy with tears. None of it matters.

He found himself running down the hallways to his room, his bare feet smacking against the wood. Eventually he got to his room and leapt onto his bed, huddling up against the wall.

He doesn't get it. He doesn't fucking get it. I've told him I'm a boy. He knows. He just won't acknowledge it. What, because I'm second-best, my identity doesn't matter? If Near claimed to be a girl, would his identity be respected? He slammed his fist into the pillow until his hand hurt.

There was a knock on the door.

"Go the fuck away."

"It's me," Matt's voice called.

"I don't want to talk, come back later."

"I know. They just sent me to tell you to come down for your physical."

Shit, I forgot.

"Fine, I'll be down in a minute."

As he heard Matt's receding footsteps, he exited to room and started walking down to where the physicals were being held. A visiting nurse looked him up and down, then glanced at her clipboard.

"You're Margaret Keehl?"

Mello made a noise that neither confirmed nor denied that fact.

"Okay, let's start."

About half an hour later, Mello left feeling utterly embarrassed. As if he wasn't aware of the issues his body presented. He didn't need some nurse to tell him that he wasn't healthy. Her words rung in his brain. "You're too skinny, dear, you need to eat more." He didn't tell her that if he ate more, his boobs would get bigger. That seemed to be the place he gained weight first, his chest. Ever since hitting puberty a few years ago. The less he ate, the less curves he had, the less chance he had of being mistaken for a girl. End of story.

When he went back up to his room that night, he took his shirt off and looked in the mirror. Still there. I wish I could just remove them. He curled up under the blankets. Being so angry earlier had exhausted him. I want to be happier but they're all just so fucking stupid. I hate them.

I hate them.

I hate me.