A/N: Here's chapter 4 for you! This is about twice the length of my normal chapters, which kind of freaks me out, but I also kind of like it. I'm writing and updating when I can, don't worry. And this is the chapter where we meet Shasta at last! Enjoy, and don't forget to review! - Ell

So. That's the story of my expulsion from Maiwand. But that's not what this story is about. This story is about how unexpected and dramatic the change to my life was afterwards, and how I was introduced to the most peculiar and intriguing girl I have ever met.

But just hang on. There's still a little bit more I have to breeze through about that summer.

About a month after the incident, I was drinking a smoothie at the park a block away from my parent's house, baking in my jeans but unwilling to expose my legs.

I heard a small group of boys conversing among themselves as they approached, and couldn't help but listen in. I'd spent the last few weeks wandering around my parent's small town, people-watching, since my father had been rather hostile towards me since my dishonorable return from Maiwand.

"Dude, did your cousin seriously decide he -"

"She, Jackson, God!"

"- decide he was a girl?"

"She's a girl, you idiot. Show some fucking respect or I'll shove this ball in your nuts." He made a low pass with his basketball at Jackson as a warning.

Jackson sidestepped the ball and snorted. "So she's a transvestite."

"She's transgender, Jack, what the fuck's wrong with you?" Chimed in the third boy.

The first boy redirected the conversation. "Anyway, so she chose the name Ava and my mom was a little weird at first, but today she's making breakfast, right, and she just goes, 'Ava. That's a really pretty name. I like that better than I liked Kevin.' And you know what? She's right. And I was thinking…" They faded out of earshot.

Something in their conversation hit me and stuck like a tennis ball hitting one of those velcro-covered mitts you'd strap to your hands and play catch. Transgender. I chewed the end of my straw in thought as I looked down at my boobs and curves. It made perfect sense. The way my eyeball twitched slightly out of irritability whenever someone called me Jacqueline. My burgeoning discomfort with the feminine areas of my body. The way I envied the guys wearing tuxedos at school formals when I was stuck in some stupid, frilly formal dress. Could it be that this wasn't puberty, as my mom always dismissed it, but dysphoria?

I tossed my empty smoothie cup and walked home, my thighs slick with sweat from my long pants. I had some internet searching to do in the safety of my air-conditioned bedroom.

So I was a boy. And my name was Jay. Jay Watson. I liked the sound of that.

I won the scholarship on my 17th birthday. I know it seems like I should make a bigger deal out of it, given how excited I was about the concept of it. And I was excited! But my family dropped their disappointment in me to hold a huge celebration, and I think that sucked the joy out of me. I was relieved, so relieved. There wasn't the worry of finding another area school that would take me for my senior year. And I could start over somewhere completely and entirely new, reinvent myself as a boy, and introduce myself as Jay to people who hadn't known me my whole life. But the cloud of proverbial smoke from the night of the fire still hung over my head, and it wasn't in me at the moment to be outwardly joyful.

The 14th of August, with one week left until I moved into the dorms at the Musgrave Academy, I was cleaning out the crevices of my room and found the black dress from the party stuffed all the way under the bed, right up against the wall.

Bile in my throat, I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and texted Ellis, the first time either of us had initiated contact that summer. I found that dress I borrowed. You want it back?

I heard back about ten minutes later. U keep it. I can't b reminded of that nite. I ditched my outfit 2.

I slumped down on my bed and put my head in my hands, letting my phone fall in my lap. I stared at the dress, crumpled on the bed beside me. On a whim, I held it to my nose briefly. It had never been washed, and still smelled faintly of booze and smoke. This dress represented everything I had been, everything I had hoped for, and everything I wasn't anymore. My heart swelled with courage, and I picked up my phone again. I got the scholarship.

I never got a response.

It took a lot of thought, but I finally elected to stuff the dress in a plastic freezer bag and pack it in my last suitcase. I was never, ever washing it. I didn't have to avoid the memories, not like Ellis. I would never be like Ellis, the weak friend who let their roommate take all the blame just because I was scared. That dress shaped me, and I would keep it as a reminder of how I got to be who I am.

My parents let me haul all my bags down into the back of my dad's old Plymouth by myself. They said it was important that I do this work by myself, since I did all the work to earn the scholarship. Sweat dripped from every part of my body, and I begrudgingly removed a pair of shorts from my luggage to change into. It was better than enduring the half-day road trip in stinking, sweaty pants.

I climbed in the backseat of the car as my parents kissed goodbye to our graying old bulldog. My fingers tingled, and I took a breath. I knew things were about to change. But oh boy, did I know nothing.

When we pulled into Musgrave Academy, my jaw went slack. I was more than familiar with the photos of the campus in the pamphlets. Hell, I even had a collage of campus views printed and stuck to my wall at home. What can I say? I was a covetous 8th grader.

None of the collections of pixels translated onto paper could ever do it justice. We drove through a massive set of iron gates on the way in, and the grass was as close cut as a newly minted marine's hair. Not a single blade had been missed. There were no dandelions, and no clover. How was that even possible?

The buildings looked straight out of the Harvard catalogue: tall and brooding and smacking of intellect. The light brown stone was accentuated by wrought iron and immaculate ivy tendrils. Flower beds flanked the pristine walkways to every building in side, and lilacs and box shrubs lined the front of the main school building.

My dad parked in front of the administrative building and looked around appraisingly. "Well, I must admit, the state of the campus alone explains the price of tuition." He took my mom's hand and turned back to me. "Come on, sweetie. We'll get your luggage later. We need to go check in and find out who your roommate is."

Oh my God. I didn't have any idea going into this who my roommate was going to be.

Mom must have seen my face, because she gave me a soft, sympathetic smile. "This wasn't exactly planned ahead, muffin. I'm certain they'll have somewhere to put you. You may even get a single room for a while!"

Dad snorted. "A single room gives her more room to misbehave, Miriam."

I slid my hand under my thigh and clenched it. "I went to one party, Dad. Three years of high school and one party."

"And you see where that got you. You think it was strict enough at Maiwand? Schools like this are like prison, Jacqueline. You put a toe out of line and they will tear you apart."

I swallowed hard. "Sometimes staying in line is all it takes to be out of line."

My dad pressed his lips together. "Come on," he said finally. "Let's get this over with."

He was wrong, I told myself over and over as we walked briskly towards the administrative building, passing the already moved in students who were milling around, talking and laughing and showing off their new cashmere tops and two hundred dollar jeans that had been distressed and ripped in the factory for some ungodly reason.

This place may be manicured like the first lady's poodle, but sometimes a higher standard gave those under its rule much more freedom than they'd have on a looser leash.

I was thinking too much. I had fallen behind. I knew this the moment the figure beside me wasn't either of my parents.

"You think it looks perfect, don't you?" asked the boy next to me. He was tall, had short brown hair, a thick Boston accent, and his hands were scrunched deep into his jeans pockets.

"It's everything I ever dreamed," I breathed.

"You're wrong," he said simply, and walked away.

I looked after him, puzzled, but was torn away by my dad's voice from the doorway. "Let's go, Jacqueline!"

I flinched at the use of my birth name, and looked around to make sure no one was paying attention. I fully intended to introduce myself as Jay to every student.

"What are you doing? We'll be late for our meeting with the headmistress."

"Just taking in the sights," I called. "On my way, Dad."

I jogged to catch up with him, feeling the heat of the New York summer air on my cheeks, and I was still a little flushed when we stepped into the headmistress's office.

"Good afternoon!" She said warmly. "I'm Mrs. Doyle. You must be the Watsons!"

I wondered if she had deduced this by the fact that my father wasn't wearing an Armani suit or that we didn't have a security detail. Then I remembered that I had been the sole winner of the school's first ever full ride scholarship, and that the time of our meeting had been meticulously set two weeks ago.

My mother and father shook her hand and primly took their seats. Mrs. Doyle turned to me. "You must be Jacqueline!"

I smiled stiffly and shook her hand.

She sat back down, face still aglow with hospitality. I didn't know if it was relieving or frightening. "Now, I will be meeting with you all for about 15 minutes, and then I'd like a word with Jacqueline alone. After that, I'll give you directions to the girl's dorm halls, and you can meet Jacqueline's roommate!"

"Who's my roommate?" I asked nervously, sliding into the split second before my mother opened her mouth. She gave me a look. "Ma'am," I added.

Mrs. Doyle opened the file in front of her and scanned for a moment. "It looks like the girl's dorm head has elected to room you with Shasta Holmes…" She paused, chewed her lip, and met my eyes. "I do hope you'll get along all right. Miss Holmes has a bit of a...reputation."

My dad leaned forward in his chair, all broad shoulders and muscles from years in the army. "Will this girl get my daughter into any kind of trouble? Because I'm sure you've read what happened at her previous school. If there could be any kind of illegal activity, I want my daughter roomed elsewhere."

Mrs. Doyle nodded earnestly. "I understand your concerns, Mr. Watson. Frankly, I find your concern refreshing. Most of these student's parents couldn't give a hoot who they room with, just so that it's somewhere with a pretty campus and a pricey tuition. But I assure you that Miss Holmes isn't involved in any illegal activities. Quite the opposite, actually. She's got quite a...keen eye, shall we say, and has helped local police on many occasions. The only thing is that she can be a little...high strung. Of course every genius must have a flaw, right? Anyway, her previous roommates have raised issue with her attitude, but I'm sure this year will get along quite smoothly. After all, it is senior year!"

I heard Mrs. Doyle gushing, but my heart sped up, and I stopped giving my full attention once I realized who my roommate was. It couldn't be anyone but Violet Holmes, the girl Ellis had told me about back when I found out about the scholarship. But Mrs. King had said her name was Shasta. Oh well. Violet was probably the name she used on her website.

I reached into my pocket for my phone, ready to shoot Ellis a text. You'll never believe who my roommate is! Then I remembered, and resigned myself to another shot in the heart.

My dad silently cracked his knuckles one by one as he uncomfortably studied the edge of the desk. "I'm sure it's all in your file, but after Jacqueline entered her essay for the scholarship, there was an issue at her old school, and she was expelled. It's quite sensitive, we're actually extremely lucky no one pressed charges. It's best to be forthright, really: it was arson."

My mouth dropped open. "How many times do I have to say I didn't do it?"

My dad glared at me, and Mom shifted silently in her chair.

Mrs. Doyle held up a calming hand. "Now, now, regardless of the real fault, the official record states that you were at least partially responsible. And, after all, there was alcohol involved in the situation, which certainly adds more confusion on everyone's part. However, we at the Musgrave Academy pride ourselves on our discretion, especially considering the relations of many of our students. In addition, this was the first note on a spotless record, and your grades are impeccable. As long as you keep your head and your grades up, there's nothing to worry about it."

If I could have added a :) onto her statement, I would have.

They quickly reviewed the rest of my transcript, then Mrs. Doyle asked to speak to me alone, ushering my parents out to wait in the hallway. "We'll just be a moment," she assured them with a smile that looked like chloroform.

She sat me back down, and instead of sitting behind her desk, she took the seat beside me. Not the one two over, no. The one beside me. She left no space between us. This threw me off. "The final year of high school is a hard time in anyone's life," she said, placing a hand cautiously on my knee. "And sometimes parents aren't the best advice givers, I get it. So what's on your mind?"

I narrowed my eyes. "What makes you think something is?"

"When I said I'd be meeting you one-on-one, your eyes lit up."

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say in response, so I paused for a moment and licked my lips before responding. "That night was the first party I went to in high school."

Mrs. Doyle stuck out her bottom lip and nodded. "It's good to hear you're not one to cave into peer pressure easily."

"My old friend Ellis - she was my roommate at Maiwand - she convinced me to go. She said I was a fledgling bird and needed to leave the nest or some shit like that." I looked quickly up at Mrs. Doyle. "Sorry," I added. She hadn't flinched. I'd forgotten she worked with teens. "Freshman year she got super drunk at some party and went home with some guy. She woke up in the morning and didn't even know his name, so she called me to come get her because she didn't want to go buy the morning after pill alone. She got turned off of guys after that; it's been all girls ever since. I owed her after that too, she got me through most of high school without pulling my own hair out, so I figured I should protect her from any more drunk sex."

I looked up again. Mrs. Doyle was still listening intently, so I continued. "That night I noticed Ellis and this girl from the school across town chatting it up over drinks. So I was keeping an eye on them. But when I saw them, I felt weird. Not just scared for her, but...I don't know. Bitter? So I got a drink. My first drink ever. And my older brother's an alcoholic, right? So I've never once wanted to touch any kind of booze. But I saw Ellis with that girl and I couldn't stop myself. I grabbed a cup of punch and poured a whole bunch of vodka in it."

Mrs. Doyle smirked. "Did it not occur to you that the punch was already spiked?"

I sighed. "Apparently not. It was disgusting, and by the time I turned back around, Ellis and the girl were gone."

I was about to describe the truly disastrous part of the evening, but Mrs. Doyle held up her hand. "Do you think you were jealous of Ellis being with someone else? Maybe you wanted her?"

My hands immediately became a very fascinating thing to look at. "I - I don't know. Actually...can we talk about that in a minute? I need to finish my story."

"Of course."

"Okay, so they disappeared. So I went in to start checking bedrooms. I found them, and the girl - her name was Ruby - jumped off the bed to put her shirt back on. She backed up into the bedside table and knocked over this candle. When Ellis realized the table was on fire, she grabbed Ruby and pulled them out of there to yell for help. But I just stood there watching the fire start to spread. I was so drunk. Everyone thought I started it. And you know, it was a big party. People missed the details. And Ellis couldn't remember the next day, and they never found Ruby to get her statement. It was weird, really, Miles Perry hadn't invited her, and she wasn't anyone's plus one. Anyway, so the next morning we got called into the headmaster's office, and -"

Mrs. Doyle stopped me. "The transcript of that meeting is in your file. I just wanted to hear that night in your words."

My shoulders slumped. "Ellis went along with everything just to protect herself. She won't talk to me this whole summer. I doubt she ever will again."

Mrs. Doyle patted my knee. "Sometimes it takes a complete nuclear fallout to show us who our real friends are."

"I guess so."

"Now, what about that jealousy?"

"I always thought I was straight. I dated a boy for a while in 8th grade, just to do it." I scrunched up my face. "Actually, I don't think we ever definitively broke up. But I never saw the need for dating through high school. I've always been busy reading and writing and studying."

I paused. I was going to tell her. I couldn't wait any longer. "Romance brings me to something else. A lot happened this summer. And it kind of brought some things to light for me. The person I was before - that wasn't me. I hate people calling my Jacqueline. I always had people at school call me Jackie. And I hate my body. I mean, not my body. I don't think I'm fat. But I have boobs, and a vagina, and super feminine cheekbones, and I hate it. I haven't told anyone yet, but I think I'm transgender. With this being a new school, I figured I can't disguise the fact that I'm a girl, but I can at least tell people my name is Jay. I mean, I know it has to say Jacqueline on my record, but I figured you could at least help a little?"

Mrs. Doyle was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Jay...I understand. I gave birth to a baby with a penis. She started transitioning about three years ago. You're right; I can't change your official student record. But I'll pass around your name to the teachers for roll call. It's up to you, you can tell all the kids your pronouns, too. And if they give you shit?" She leaned in close to me, and I smelled her sugary perfume. "You come tell me."

Something about that struck a nerve with me. It wouldn't improve my reputation at a new school to have the headmistress fight my battles for me. And a standout reputation was part of being Jay-not-Jacqueline. But internally, I was still terrified, and I appreciated the gesture. I'd just bared my soul to Mrs. Doyle, however, and I didn't feel like sharing this, too. Plus, I had to save something juicy for my new roommate. So I just nodded.

Mrs. Doyle squeezed my arm and rose. "Come on, Miss Holmes is probably waiting. I'll see you out and give your parents directions."

I stood and followed right behind her, almost bumping into her when she paused with her hand on the doorknob. "Jay?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Maybe you are straight. Think about it."

Before I could get in enough rapid blinks to process her statement, she was opening the door. She faced me in the hall in front of my parents. "You'll be in Wisteria Lodge. Pull out of this parking lot and take a left. Park in the main lot, and it'll be the building on the left. Go in and meet Ms. King, the house leader, and Miss Holmes, and then you can get your luggage settled in."

She'd made a commitment to me both to respect me and not out me to my parents, and she was being careful not to address me directly in front of them. I appreciated her flexibility. I'd tell them at some point, just not now. Picking me up from my old school, they had to find out I'd been expelled. As they were dropping me off at a new school, my quietly conservative parents didn't need told that their daughter was a son.

"Just a warning," she continued, still talking to me, "you are the sole recipient of a brand new, school specific scholarship. There will be a short announcement at breakfast tomorrow. Just stand up and wave so everyone knows that's who you are. You'll have the weekend to settle in, and classes start on Monday. I believe you were asked to sign up for your electives by last week. And finally, text me if you need anything." She pulled a small card from her blazer pocket and handed it to me.

I folded it into the pocket of my shorts and thanked her. She handed a card to my parents as well before we left.

We pulled into the parking lot for the "Lady's Quadrant," as a granite sign proclaimed it. It was wide, and divided into two sides. The left appeared to be for Wisteria Lodge, which I would soon call my home, and the right was for the other girl's dorm, Briony Lodge. The parking lot was faced by a courtyard, for lack of a better term. There were three buildings: The lodges on either side, and on the far end, another, longer building. I wasn't sure what exactly it was. I'd be sure to ask. All of the buildings were in the same, classical style as the rest of the campus, and were connected by brown stone walkways. Stone and iron benches were scattered along the edges of the courtyard, with equal parts shade trees and open sun in the center. To the left of the parking lot, right next to Wisteria Lodge, was an ancient, gnarled wisteria tree, which I could only assume had given the lodge its name.

Stars sparkled in front of my eyes, and I blinked, realizing my breath had literally been taken away. My heart was pounding. I wiped my hands on my shorts and pinched my thigh to ground myself in the moment.

I overtook my parents on the way up to Wisteria Lodge, which I could tell they found odd, but that it made them infinitely proud that I had stepped out of their shadows for once today.

I guess inside I expected the place to look a lot like the outside. And, to a point, it did. The foyer was floored with panels of mahogany, and a golden chandelier hung overhead, casted monochrome disco lights over all of us. But from what I could see of the common room, the stairway, and the hallways both upstairs and down, it was perfectly evident that several dozen teenage girls lived here nine months out of the year. Someone had already shed a pair of frighteningly high heels and a fluffy pink cashmere sweater on the side of the stairs, and three separate cans of Diet Coke were within my line of sight. A girl was at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed on top of the banister, looking down on the lower floor like a hawk.

A plump, rosy woman in a black and yellow sundress bustled out from behind a desk unit in the foyer, opposite the common room. "Hello, dear! I'm Ms. King, head of Wisteria Lodge. Who might you be?"

"Jacqueline Watson," I forced out. I'd update her later, if Mrs. Doyle didn't.

Ms. King smacked her bubble gum, and I caught a whiff of strawberry-citrus. "Good, good!" She shook hands with my parents and embraced me as though I were already under her wing. "Now...Violet should be around her somewhere…"

My mom's eyebrows crinkled. "Violet? Mrs. Doyle said my daughter's roommate was named Shasta."

Ms. King waved her hand dismissively. "She asks us all to call her by her middle name. Now, where is she…"

"I'm here, Eileen," came an imperious voice from somewhere overhead. The girl on the second floor straightened up and walked down the stairs like a prom queen, even though she was only wearing skinny jeans and a filmy black cold shoulder top. She was petite, only about five foot two, and her long, black hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her nose was narrow and long, like the bird of prey she'd so resembled up there, and as she approached, I could see that her eyes were an astounding silvery gray. I got the distinct impression that she'd only been up there so that she could make a dramatic entrance.

"I'm Jay," I told her.

"Jay?" my mom asked in confusion.

Shit. I shrugged and turned to her, willing myself to play it cool. "New school, new rules. It's even shorter than Jackie."

"Okay, muffin…"

She shook hands with me, and then my parents. "I'm Violet Holmes," she introduced herself. She was British. Her accent was prim and concise. North London, maybe? I watched a lot of British cinema, but I couldn't be certain. And I was definitely not going to think of her as simply Violet. She held herself far too regally for that.

"Well, she doesn't seem like the rebellious type," my dad muttered to my mom.

I elbowed him. "Dad!"

Shasta raised one thin eyebrow. "Well, I could certainly look the part if I had to," she replied with a level voice. "I trust you know what I do?"

"Er, yes, the headmistress filled us in," my dad answered.

Shasta's other eyebrow raised. She looked genuinely taken aback. "You mean you didn't already know?"

"I did," I volunteered.

She gave me a half smile before turning to my parents, clapping her hands decisively. "Well, now that we're all acquainted, you can all bring in Jay's luggage and say your goodbyes. I need to use the loo, and then Jay and I will take the things to our room." She flashed us a smile and set off down the hall.

"Well," my dad mused, "she's all right, I suppose. A bit conceited, but -"

"Harry!" My mother admonished. "Do you have to be so critical of our muffin's new roommate?"

My dad opened his mouth to argue but sensed it was wiser to shut up.

It took the three of us three trips to bring in my bags from the car and set them at the base of the stairs. I hugged each of my parents goodbye several times; they were tearful, I wasn't. Then they took a last look at me before walking out the door.

Shasta returned from the bathroom on cue. I wondered if she'd watched from around the corner until my parents had gone, and I couldn't decide if this was tactful or irritating.

I wanted an explanation to be the first thing out of my mouth, but Shasta spoke before I could. She even sounded a little bored. "You're trans, and your parents don't know."

It took me a moment to be able to speak. "How…"

She shrugged. "You're dressed in a way that very purposefully hides your feminine curves. You usually wear a simple layer of makeup to conceal your pores, which are frankly awful, by the way, but today you took special care not to accentuate your eyes or cheekbones. Oh, and you blurted out a shortened version of the short version of your name before your parents could say anything."

"Wow," I managed, slightly offended, but mostly impressed.

Shasta's eyes flicked towards the clear glass double doors. "Now, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"I - what?"

"Your father," she explained with a note of impatience. "Was he in Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Uh, he did two tours in Afghanistan, 12 years ago. How are you doing this?"

"I see things other people have inadvertently trained themselves to overlook," she replied. "Let's get this stuff to our room. I made sure when I first got here that my room was down here. It's easier for moving my equipment."

We both slung a large duffel bag over our shoulders, took a wheeled suitcase in one hand and a handheld suitcase in the other. This only left a couple of duffel bags and my backpack left on the foyer.

When Shasta opened the door to our two-room suite, 221, I was appalled. Boxes and bags were already everywhere. I really had to step in for a closer look.

There were two twin beds, against the walls in the back of either side of the room. There were still imprints on the carpet from where they'd originally been. Someone had moved them there. The carpet itself was stained and faded. Our room faced the outside of the building, and there was a single window between the beds. We each got our own footlocker at the foot of our beds, and our own desk and chair with a decent sized bulletin board in front of that. Near the door on the right was a bookshelf and a mini fridge with a microwave on top, and then the door to the bathroom. To the left of the door were two folding tables that had been set up and pushed together. On top of them were three boxes with beakers and lab equipment visible from the top. Suddenly, the stains on the carpet made a lot more sense.

Shasta saw me peering at them. "I dabble in chemistry. I have keys that allow me access to the school's science labs, but I still prefer to do small experiments here, where I can keep a better eye on them. Hence the carpet."

I nodded and lugged my bags over to the unclaimed bed - the one on the right.

Shasta followed my lead and then turned to me. "An ex-military man, particularly one who was deployed, has a very peculiar posture. They never quite lose it. But his isn't as pronounced as it would be if he'd only been medically discharged, say, a year ago."

"How do you know he was medically discharged?"

"He has a limp. He was either shot there or caught a piece of shrapnel. But it's an old wound, just over ten years old. It only bothers him in times of transition. And I was outside when you got here. Your family's car has a bumper sticker that says 'my husband is deployed.' It's got to be at least ten years old, it's peeling like a bad sunburn. Where could a man of about 40 have been deployed and wounded in just over the past decade? Afghanistan or Iraq."

I took it all in and shook my head. "That's weak. You had no way of knowing that my dad's old wound was connected to the military."

She smirked. "But I was right."