June 23 he graduated from McKinley. It was ridiculously hot out on the football field, and he was wearing uncomfortable black dress pants that made his legs feel like they were on fire. It didn't take long for all the administrator's speeches to start blending together in a vaguely positive, platitude heavy haze. Mike gave the valedictorian's speech, even though he was the salutatorian, the real valedictorian was a socially awkward kid with a huge fear of public speaking, so he begged Mike to do it instead.

It was like all the other speeches they had heard that morning, so sure that they'd all be on to great things, and this was just the start of their journeys, and a bunch of hokey stuff that Mike, the nice, genuine guy that he was, probably believed at least a little.

He tried looking around for the glee kids, but only managed to spot Finn, since he was all the way down the other end of his aisle, and Kurt the next chair over from him. Mack was a couple of rows up, she had finally passed everything (barely) and got to graduate this year. She didn't say a lot about it, but he could tell she had been excited and relieved the past couple of weeks.

Up in the bleachers he saw his mother in one of her ridiculous pastel skirt suits, trying to appear as though the heat wasn't bothering her, but the miserable look on her face told him otherwise. A few rows behind her was his father. Judy had warned him that he'd be there, so it wasn't shocking, other than the fact that he actually showed up. He had no plans of interacting with him, though. And his mother explicitly told him before they left earlier that he didn't have to.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they started handing out the diplomas, which went surprisingly fast. Figgins and everyone on the shoddily constructed stage probably wanted to be out of there the worst. His name was eventually called, and Figgins shook his hand while handing him his diploma. He made his way down a long line of teachers and students, shaking their hands and nodding thanks when they all said "congratulations." When he got to Mike, he pulled him in for a quick hug, and told him "good luck" quiet in his ear. He said thanks, and wished him luck too, then was thankfully off the stage.

After everyone got their diplomas, hats were thrown (along with glitter, and some silly string), and he set out to find his mother in the huge crowd of people. He took a second to look at the diploma he was given, signifying that Quinn Fabray had graduated from William McKinley High School, and thought about how Quinn Fabray would probably never leave. But he was getting out in only two months.

His mother finally found him, and gave him a genuine hug, probably the first he had gotten in years. She told him how proud she was of her baby girl, and he tried not show how those words made him unbearably nauseous.

The next morning when he got up, his mother had already left for the day, probably church, then brunch with her friends. When she was home on weekends, she kept a pretty regular schedule. He went downstairs to make coffee, and on the kitchen counter was a letter addressed to him, from Shelby. A yellow Post-It with his mother's handwriting was stuck to it.

This came in the mail last week. I didn't want you to be distracted for your final exams.

Anger started to boil up at Judy keeping this from him, but he tried his best to keep calm and opened the envelope. Shelby had written a long letter about how Beth had been in the past year, and how she was developing. What she liked (graham crackers and Yo Gabba Gabba) and didn't (baths, because she didn't want to get sucked down the drain). She was so smart, and apparently way ahead of the curve on talking and her motor skills. She loved Central Park and feeding pigeons, even though Shelby tried to discourage it.

He couldn't keep reading the letter, not all at once, so he shook the envelope, and a stack of pictures fell out. The one on top a shot of her feeding a particularly fat pigeon, smiling like it was the greatest thing she had ever done.

She looked like the both of them so much. That was unmistakably Puck's goofy grin, but she had his eyes, and his hair. And he started to break. The tears that had been threatening when he read the letter finally started falling. He went to the fridge and grabbed the orange juice and a cup, just to distract himself for a moment. He flipped over the letter and began reading from where he had left off.

Beth was amazing, she truly was just this perfect thing. And Shelby was such a good mom, and he was so glad that she was so good to Beth. In the last paragraph, Shelby asked what he was doing next year for college, and if he would maybe want to visit sometime.

He dropped his glass, which was mostly empty, and it shattered on the floor.

Shelby wanted him to see Beth. To visit them in New York. The child he didn't want and couldn't keep that had taken every bit of him two years ago. He couldn't breathe, and bits of glass were jabbing against his bare feet. The pain didn't even register. He didn't know what to do. He didn't even know if he could move.

What the fuck was he going to do?

Would he have to tell Shelby? About him? Did he even want to go? He didn't know if he could lie to Beth. She deserved better than that from him. The thoughts all came at once, and he couldn't concentrate.

He went to the dining room, where they kept the alcohol. The vodka was closest, so he swiped it and tracked blood over the hardwood floors back to the kitchen, not noticing the trail he had left behind. He drank straight from the bottle until his eyes watered. It wouldn't stop the panic, but he knew it would at least slow down so he could breathe.

Within an hour he was bordering on a blackout. He shoved the bottle across the counter, so he wouldn't be tempted to empty it completely. The stack of pictures taunted him. Beth with the pigeons, and on a kiddie swing, with a mom who loved her more than anything in the world.

And Shelby wanted Quinn Fabray to visit her child, wrote it like it was nothing for her to ask. He held his head in his hands, trying not to vomit. How could he lie to Beth? How could he pretend to be this person who didn't exist anymore? How could he tell his child that her birth mother was a ghost?

He sat for a long time starting at the picture of her feeding the pigeon, so drunk he lost all concept of time. He heard the front door open and close and the click of his mother's heels, abruptly stopping at the threshold to the kitchen.

She dropped her purse to the ground and rushed over to him. By now he had seen the small blood trail he had left on the floor, but he still didn't feel any pain. The near empty vodka bottle was tipped on its side by the sink. She took it all in, then saw the picture he had been staring at.

"Oh, Quinnie."

He opened his mouth to try and give an explanation, but he had none. His mother wrapped her arms around him while he sat at the counter on a rickety stool that should have been thrown out years ago. Then he started to cry, harder than he thought he could. She pulled him in closer at an awkward angle and held on tight as he sobbed, both of them staring at the beautiful little girl feeding the pigeon.

The day after he read Shelby's letter, after his mother had held him while he sobbed, he decided he needed to tell her. He couldn't hide it anymore from her, because now she knew too much, and it would be easy to just blame it on Beth, but he couldn't lie anymore, either. He was so tired of it, just so fucking tired of trying to be a daughter his mother had not had for a long time.

It had been two weeks since his mother had found him drunk. They hadn't said anything about it, and likely never would. Judy left early Friday morning to spend a night away with the women's group from the new church she had started attending in the past few months, ever since his father had started showing up at their old one regularly again, new wife in tow.

He made plans to spend the weekend down in Kentucky with Sam. They hadn't seen each other in person since the one weekend their spring breaks matched up, and that was only for a day, since Sam had to do Easter stuff with his family. He also decided that this was the best time to tell his mother, since he wouldn't have to directly confront her. A duffel bag was packed with a couple more days worth of clothes than he actually he needed, just in case. The Evans may not get it, but he knew that if he needed a place to stay, he would be welcome there.

Before he left for Sam's, he pulled out an old biology notebook from under his bed and began to write on a blank page.

Mom,

I'm writing this because I'm too scared to tell you in person. After what happened two years ago, I just can't do it. I hope you understand.

I have no idea how to do this. I've felt wrong for a long time, I think since I was a little kid, but it took me until this year to admit what it was. You and dad did so much to make me into someone you could be proud of. I ruined it once, and now I'm probably going to ruin it again, but I think we've gotten better. It feels like we've gotten better. You feel like my mom again, instead of just my mother and the person I shared a house with. That probably sounds harsh, but we both know it's true. I was just as guilty as you were, though. I know that too.

I'm transgender. I don't even know if you know what that means, but for me, I'm a guy. My body's wrong, and it has been for a long time. I just know what I am. I wish I could explain it to you, but I can't find any words for it that I think you would get. Lucy knew it too, but it got fixed in a different way. And I thought that would make it all okay again, or at least better, but it didn't. Not really anyway. In a lot of ways it made it worse. I knew I was supposed to be happy and normal, but I never felt like either. Sophomore year was because I wanted to feel normal.

I can tell you've been worried. I can see you look at me sometimes like you don't know what's going on with me. That's it. I figured it out, and I had to spend this whole year trying to get okay with it. I'm not totally there yet, but I'm better. I told Sam in November, and he's the only other person that knows. And he has been great, so whatever your reaction is, I at least have him.

I didn't want to tell you, but I didn't think it was fair to keep lying to you either, especially since we've both been trying more this past year. And after what you saw a couple weeks ago, I don't think either of us can pretend everything's okay anymore. You needed to know, so now you do. If you feel like calling me once you read this, you can. If not, I'll be back on Sunday, if you still want me home.

Love,

Your son

He folded up the sheet of paper, wrote "Mom" on it, and left it on the island in the kitchen. He stared at it a long while, contemplating whether or not to actually leave it. Ultimately, he grabbed the duffel bag by his feet and headed out to his car, his heart racing.

Four hours later he had crossed the Kentucky state line and was on the Evans' porch, rapping on their front door. Sam had taken the next two days off work, so he was the one who greeted him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and leading him into the house to say hi to his siblings, who were thrilled. Immediately, Stacie pulled him into the living room to show him the jewelry making kit she got for her birthday. Sam laughed and took his bag to Stacie's room, while she gave him a bracelet she had made. It was pink and black, because those seemed like his favorite colors now, and she tied it to his wrist as best she could. He'd fix it later.

He and Sam spent the afternoon playing with Stacie and Stevie until his dad got home from work. His mom was working a later shift, but Mr. Evans let them go to do whatever, as long as it wasn't something stupid. They both promised, and he gave Sam the keys to his car, because he actually knew his way around. He pulled his knit hat off once he was in the passenger's seat and tossed it in the back. He couldn't take it anymore, it was too hot. Sam laughed at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Dude, how can you wear that in the middle of summer? It's, like, a hundred degrees out."

He shrugged. "I dunno. It makes me feel better."

Sam nodded at that, and glanced at him. "Well, at least we don't look like we're related anymore."

Since they had last seen each other, the rest of the pink had either washed out or was incredibly faded. It was mostly his natural color for the first time in almost five years.

"You want to get something to eat?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, sure." He fiddled with the bracelet Stacie had given him, tightening it up a bit. "Can we stop somewhere first?"

"Of course. Where do you need to go?"

A half hour later they were sitting in Burger King and he was enduring an endless stream of Bieber jokes and impersonations. Sam had taken him to a Super Cuts, and he left with something vaguely Bieber-esque, but nothing worthy of the shit he was currently taking.

"You looked like this for a year. And formed a Bieber tribute band! You cannot give me crap," he said, pulling his hat down further.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Sam said, trying to stifle his laughter. "It's just, everyone gave me so much shit for the Bieber look. Including you, if I remember correctly. Sorry, but it's nice to take it out on someone else for a change."

"Asshole," he mumbled just loud enough for Sam to hear.

"No, man. I mean, tt looks good, better than what you came here with definitely."

"Thanks. I think." He ate a few fries while Sam devoured his Whopper. "I told my mom."

"Wait, what?" Sam said through a mouthful of burger.

"Well, I wrote her a letter. She'll probably see it tomorrow when she gets home."

"Oh my god."

"I know."

"Is that why your bag was, like, a little heavy for a weekend?"

"Yeah, I mean. If she kicks me out…"

"Okay. Yeah, I get it now. Shit, dude."

Sam stared at him like he wanted to say more, but refrained.

"I'm trying not to think about it."

"Right. Yeah. Uh, wanna go play mini-golf or something? My dad got some free passes from his boss."

He nodded and smiled. He really didn't know how he could've done all this without Sam.

Saturday afternoon, he and Sam watched Spongebob reruns with Stacie. Mrs. Evans had taken Stevie to his baseball practice, and Mr. Evans was working a side job installing some cabinets for a little extra money. He kept running a hand through his short hair, trying to get used to it. Just as the show was going to commercial, he felt his phone go off.

It was his mother.

Sam gave him a concerned look. "Your mom?"

He nodded. "Can I?" he asked, motioning towards the front door.

"Yeah, of course. Good luck," Sam said, clasping him on the back and giving a weak smile.

He took and deep breath and went out to the porch, clicking the answer button on the way.

"Quinn?" his mother asked.

"Hi, mom." His voice was weak and it felt as if all the air had left his lungs.

"I read your letter."

"I figured." He sat down on the wicker rocker in the corner and tried to take a few deep breaths.

"Is this real?" Her tone wasn't harsh, but definitely confused.

"I would never write that as a joke. You know that."

The line was silent for a long while. He thought that perhaps she had just hung up.

"Mom?" he asked.

"I love you, Quinn. It probably hasn't always felt like it, I know, but I do love you. Do you know that?"

He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. This was going better than the worst case scenarios he had imagined. Maybe there was hope.

"Yeah, I know. I didn't for a long time, I think, but…" he trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.

"I don't really know what else to say right now, but I needed to call and tell you that. I love you no matter what."

Tears began to leak from his eyes, and he was having difficulty keeping his voice even. "I love you too." He added after a moment, "Thank you."

Judy was silent again, but he heard her sniffle on the line, letting him know she was still there.

"I'm sorry you feel like you have to thank me for that, honey. I'm so sorry."

He was actually crying now, and couldn't hold a conversation anymore. "Mom, we'll talk tomorrow, okay. I just-I can't right now."

"Alright. Just, please let me know when you're on your way, okay?"

"I will. Bye, mom."

"Goodbye, Quinn."

She hung up, and he dropped his head back against the chair, covering his mouth with his free hand, trying to stifle the sound. A few minutes later, Sam opened the door a crack and peeked outside at him.

"You okay?" he asked.

"She said she loved me no matter what."

Sam stepped outside and pulled him out of the chair into a hug. He buried his face into Sam's t-shirt, and they stood like that for a while, neither saying a word.

He left Sam's early Sunday morning, with a final hug from all the members of the Evans clan. Sam's parents had no idea what was going on with him, but still told him that if he ever needed a place to stay, he could always come back.

Sam walked him to his car and gave him a bone crushing embrace, telling him to call or text when he got home. Before he got on the road, he called the house phone, knowing his mother was much less likely to pick it up than her cell. He left a message, and began the trip back to Lima. Despite his best intentions to drag out the drive, traffic was non-existent, and he kept anxiously speeding without even realizing it. He made it back in record time, just over three and half hours.

Judy's car was in the driveway when he got in, meaning she either went to the early service at church, or just didn't attend at all. He sat in his car for a while, trying to work up the courage to actually go inside and face his mother. After almost a half-hour, he finally grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and slowly walked to the door, taking a long, deep breath before opening it.

His mother was sitting at the dining room table, coffee cup in her hands, and staring out the back door to the backyard. She turned her head once she heard him shut the door, but she didn't get up to greet him. He dropped his bag by the stairs and went to the kitchen to get his own cup of coffee, she had left just enough for him in the pot.

He went to the dining room and sat across from his mother. She made a slight face at him, one that she didn't want him to notice, probably because of his new haircut. They didn't say anything for what felt like hours. Eventually, she reached across the table and grabbed his free hand, holding it lightly.

"I love you, Quinn. I'm sorry about what your father and I did to you, and I'm sorry you felt I would do that to you again."

He nodded slightly. "You can't blame me."

"I can't," she said, looking at him with a sadness he had never seen before. She put her coffee down to wipe at her eyes. "Did I-did we do this to you? Is it something we did, when you were younger or with the baby? Honey, I'm so sorry. I-"

"You guys didn't do anything. This is just something I am. I think I was like this long before dad decided he could fix me to make me happier, y'know, because I asked him to. I just didn't have a word, or a concept for what it was. I just thought something was wrong, and that it made me wrong."

"I just don't understand it. You've always been my lovely little girl. Always."

"Maybe a long time ago, mom. But I haven't been your little girl for a long time. I just didn't know it yet," he said, trying not to cry along with her.

"Was it those girls you've been hanging around with this year? Did they give you this idea that you're not, that you're not-?"

"A girl? No. No one gave me this idea. I've felt this way before I knew what it was. I knew it while I was pregnant. I knew it when I got pregnant. I got pregnant because I knew. I knew that something was wrong, but I didn't know what. It's been like that for a long time. No one made me this way. We all tried to fix it, and it didn't work."

His mother let go of his hand to wipe at both of her eyes again. "You're my daughter, Quinn. I don't know if I can ever see you as anything else."

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. He didn't expect her to get it at all, maybe even ever, but he didn't think actually hearing it would hurt so much.

"I know. Doesn't mean I don't wish you could. But I needed to start being honest with you. This is who I am now, regardless of how you see me." He took a deep breath. "I've got some stuff figured out if you don't want to pay for my college anymore, or whatever. Just please let me know now, so I can still go in the fall."

That got Judy to move. She went to his side of the table, pulling him out of the chair and into a hug.

"Oh, honey. I'm not going to do that. I may not understand this, but I would never put your education at risk because of it. I promise I will never do that."

He awkwardly hugged her back. "Okay, mom. Thank you."

"You said Sam knew? He's it?"

"Yeah, just him." He pulled out of the hug and put a couple of feet between them. "He's more than okay with it. He's been amazing. I'm really lucky."

"He was fine with it?"

"I mean, yeah. He was surprised, and really confused. But I was too. He helped me through it a lot."

She gave him a concerned look. "I'm glad you have such a good friend."

"Me too."

She picked up their cups from the table and went to the kitchen to wash them out.

"I'm going to go to the afternoon service. Do you want to come with me?" she asked shakily.

"Not really, mom. No."

"Okay." She slumped her shoulders slightly. "I'm going to make dinner tonight. Are you going to be around?"

"Yeah, I'll be here."

"Alright. Good. I'm just-I'm going to get ready for church."

She moved from the sink to hug him again.

"Okay," he said as she loosened her grip and headed upstairs.

He leaned forward against the island and held his head in his hands for a long while, grateful he was still in the house, and fighting back tears because he would probably never be her son.

That night, after an awkward, silent, dinner, and after his mother had long since gone to bed, he laid awake, unable to fall asleep. He was still astounded he was in his room at all, and trying not to feel like absolute shit because his mother had still essentially rejected him. To her, he'd always be Quinn. Or Lucy. Or someone else that she had constructed in her mind that might've never existed in the first place.

Giving up on sleep, he went over to his desk and opened his laptop. He checked his e-mail and Facebook, but there was nothing to distract him. He clicked over to Youtube and signed into the account he used to subscribe to trans guys' channels. There were a couple weeks worth of unwatched videos. One of the collaborative channels he watched had done a week on how they chose their names.

He had been thinking about it all summer. He wasn't Quinn anymore, and hadn't been for at least a year, but he didn't know if he was really anyone else yet either. The guys in the videos either knew right away, or took forever to pick a name, but they all seemed to agree that it was something that just felt right in the end. All he knew was that Quinn wasn't right.

He googled "baby names," and it took him to , which he had looked at once, a long time ago, when he thought for a split second that he might keep Beth. It was overwhelming, though, and he had no idea where to start. He went back to google and look through some of the other sites. One of them had a random name generator.

Jefferson. Edrian. Brian. Sackville (which made him laugh). Orson. Geoffrey. Aiden. Cole. Landon. Finn (which also made him laugh). Ira. Anthony. Simon. Dean. Sean.

Simon.

He went back a couple of pages to Simon. It said that it meant "to hear," or "to be heard." He remembered from Bible study that one of the Apostles was named Simon. And ironically he didn't say anything and was barely mentioned. Wikipedia said it meant "He who has heard the word of God," but backed up the first site.

Simon. To be heard.

He needed desperately to not be Quinn anymore. And not that he really looked hard, but Simon immediately felt right. "To be heard" felt right. It sat well in his chest and in his gut. It fit with what he felt, and flicking on his desk lamp and looking at himself in the mirror that he recently put back up, he looked like a Simon. He was pretty sure he was Simon Fabray. Actually, he hadn't ever been so sure of anything.

Even though it was two o'clock in the morning, he grabbed his phone and texted Sam.

Simon. I think it's Simon now.

A/N: So, this wraps up part one of this story. Part two I've already started working on, and it's probably going to be shorter than part one, but I'm going to try and finish it all before I start posting it. I'm moving to Iowa Feb. 8th to do Americorps for 10 months, and won't always have reliable Internet access, so I'd rather finish it all up and post it as regularly as possible, than put it up as I write it.

But in the meantime, thanks to everyone that has been reading this. I really appreciate it