Things continue like normal throughout the year. Training with Bro. Sleepovers with Dave. Watching romance movies. Reading books. Getting on Kankri's nerves.

Six grade starts a lot like a broken down, rusty old truck. Sputtering and jerking until it finally starts rumbling along. The first day is a bit of a shock. Many of your classmates, particularly the girls, hit major growth spurts over the summer. Groups of girls stand around in circles throughout the halls, giggling to each other. You catch some bragging about their cup sizes going up, others complaining about how huge their hips are getting, or how much cramps hurt. A few girls proudly sport revealing clothes that show off their, holy crap is that a C cup already?

If the world wasn't already split heavily in Boys or Girls, it sure is now. The boys in your class try and fail spectacularly to impress your female classmates. The girls begin donning makeup and whisper about which boys have the best hair. Some talk slyly about (and you stiffen in surprise) sex, and snicker about other things you're not even sure you've heard of.

One day one of the more 'mature' girls sits next to you and asks in a hushed voice if you and Dave are together and what kind of things you've done so far. Your mind short circuits and you dumbly reply that you like to sword fight and once you made a pillow fort outside. She looks distinctly unimpressed and says that any girl who had Dave Strider should jump on that 'hot ass.'

You're aware that there are many kids who are still impressed with Dave's 'coolness' but you honestly have a hard time seeing him as anything other than your dorky best bro. Privately, you contemplate what it would be like to start going out with him. You suppose it would be fun, but probably not all that different than what you already do with him. Besides you don't want to have to wear dresses for him or try to look pretty. The only really awesome thing you can think of is that if you marry him someday then Bro would actually be your brother which would be awesome. The awesomest.

Though when one of the boys in your class mocks you for not even noticing Dave's obvious crush on you, you're not sure what to think.

It's about halfway through the first semester of sixth grade that your teacher informs you that you'll be having another 'girl talk' and sends the girls to another classroom while the boys stay behind.

Your head buzzes with familiar anxiety as you follow the girls to another room.

Once seated, an elderly lady guest speaker begins by asking how many of the girls have started their periods. This time around, half the girls in the room raise their hands with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The other half of the class looks around anxiously, you hear some of them mutter words of jealousy and you can't for the life of you fathom why.

This time around the lesson isn't just about impending changes with your own body, though you are handed free pads and deodorant to take home with you. No, this time around your instructor informs you that you'll be talking about some of the changes the boys are going through. Which of course causes the class to erupt into a furious fit of giggles.

Some of what you learn isn't so bad. Changing voices, the need for more showers, even the hair in awkward places. Other parts leave you feeling dazed. How did you not know what an erection was? What do you mean boys have, have wet dreams? When your mind, completely against your will, starts to wonder if Dave experiences these things (oh, man, he must, oh god) you feel like you might actually combust in your chair.

And when you think your lesson can't possibly get any more painfully embarrassing, your guest instructor brings out a diagram of boy and girl bits and begins describing how sex works and how babies come out from it. She explains things simply scientifically, which helps with the burning mortification you feel spreading throughout your skin, but it doesn't prevent the horror you feel as she explains how a vagina can expand, and how it can hurt if you don't do it right and, oh god, you think you're gunna be sick.

You can't exactly lower you head or cover your eyes without being obviously lame, so you avert your gaze to spy on the reactions of the girls in the room. You feel a small wave of reassurance wash through you when you see that many of them also look as horrified as you feel, though there are a few who act like this is all old news to them, that look actually pleased with themselves, and wow, you don't want to think about it.

But just like the previous time you endured this talk, you can't shake this awful sense of wrongness you feel throughout the entire lecture. You don't know how to describe it, even to yourself, this feeling like you've gotten the wrong half of the chart pushed on to you.


For about a week or so after your second sex-ed class, Dave acts all awkward around, and you realize, hey, he probably just learned a lot about female anatomy that he probably didn't really care to hear, but, you think, screw him, you're the one who has to actually live it.

And, oh, how it pecks at you, this nagging sense that somehow you're not quite in the right…body of all things. Like maybe somewhere along back before you were born, God, or whatever the hell put you together, made some mistake and your soul got slipped into the wrong model before being shipped off into your mom's belly.

After a few short weeks, you're feeling frazzled and raw. So one evening after school, a day your dad has to stay late at work and Kankri is visiting Meulin's, you shuffle yourself into the single bathroom of your house, lock the door (just in case), and start peeling your clothes off, kicking them to the ground in your haste.

You slam the lid of the toilet seat own, the clink sounding hollow and empty in your ears as you scramble to stand on top of it. You close your eyes, take a deep breath in, hold for a few seconds. Just when your head starts to swim you slowly start to let your breath out through your teeth as you turn your body to face the mirror on the opposite side of the room.

For a short moment, you feel so ridiculous you almost jump off the toilet and return to your bedroom to, oh, maybe slam your face against a book a solid thousand times. But instead you steel yourself and open your eyes, giving them a moment to adjust to your reflection in the mirror.

From atop the toilet, you can see your entire body in the mirror. Dark all over, not the tan dark like Dave, but soft dark like your grandparents from the Philippians, long black hair that almost reaches your waist, brown, brown eyes. You scrunch your nose and use your hands to pull back your flyaway hair, try to imagine what you'd look like with short hair.

You think you'd look like the boys in your class. Your eyelashes are a bit long, nose too small, you scrutinize. Your face is maybe a bit too round, but you think that might change as you get older. You hope your jaw gets stronger.

You let your hair flop back down as you lower your gaze. Your chest is still board flat, and your hips still narrow. Your middle is trying to catch up with your spindly too-long legs and arms, but you've still got a layer of squishy padding all over your stomach that you don't remember ever seeing on Dave. But as a whole, if it weren't for your hair, you think you'd look just like the boys in your class.

Well, except of course for…

You cautiously lower your eyes to the V between your legs. No hair yet (thank god), but only a matter of time. You've seen the scary wiry stuff on some of the girls in the locker rooms at school. Really, if it weren't for the little crease right at the bottom, you'd have anatomy just like a Ken doll.

You try to imagine what it would be like to have a penis like you saw in those videos in class. Must be weird to have a dangly bit hanging there. Would it feel weird to walk with? How far down would it go? You're not even entirely sure what one looks like even - those images in class mostly were just vague outlines. The only time you've ever seen one in real life it that one time back in Kindergarten that you accidentally walked in on Kankri in the bathroom, but even then, you slammed the door shut so fast you never even got a good look at it. (Not that you wanted to. Ew.)

You move your eyes back to your chest. A small prickle of dread prod through you as you think of the inevitability of your chest growing, and you pray so hard that please, please, if they have to be there just let them be small. You like the way it looks now, just like any other boy out there. You puff up your lungs and push your chest forward, try to imaging it growing into strong pecks and not floppy breasts.

Your let yourself deflate with a huff and get down from the toilet.

You've been lucky so far. Eleven years old and not so much as a hint of puberty so far.

You hope with all your heart that that'll continue to last.