This is not the life I was meant to live.

[o]

"Such a beautiful young girl."

A compliment I often received. My parents, of course, soaked it up. They loved their young daughter, their first daughter. I was just what the always wanted, right? No, wrong. Very wrong. At a young age, of only seven, I realized as I sat alone in my bedroom after a timeout for playing in the mud with the neighborhood boys, that I hated myself. I wasn't right. Everything about my life, my body, my face, was wrong.

I didn't want the long blonde hair I had. I didn't want the curvy body I had. I wanted to be a boy. No, I felt like a boy. In my heart I knew this was not the life I was meant to live. I was suppose to be a boy, right? Marrying a beautiful girl, with the long, silky blonde hair and curvy body I hated on myself so much.

Eight grade, right before the first day of school. In my bathroom, I stood, staring at the face I didn't like. The hair that went everywhere. My mother was yelling from downstairs it was time to eat dinner, but I wasn't hungry. I never really ate before the first day of school. I was too nervous to face all those people that I hated so much. They hated gay people, and I knew that's what I technically was. A lesbian. But I didn't feel like one. I was straight. Just in the wrong body with the wrong life.

"Violet! Get down here, now!" My older brother Gregory shouted. My mother always figured I'd listen to him more. I heard him walking up the steps, and without thinking, on my dresser I grabbed scissors I had used the past years for my art projects, and cut. The blonde hair fell onto the floor, as Gregory walked into the bathroom.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Gregory shouted.

My mother ran up the stairs, and screamed. "Violet! Your hair...! Henry! Get in here!"

[o]

Luckily for me, the damage had already been done. There was nothing my parents could do to get back the long blonde hair that laid on the floor. Though for some reason, I suppose they felt better yelling at me. Telling me how it was a terrible mistake.

"Why would you do such a thing to your hair!?" My father yelled, my mother stood behind him, staring in utter horror at me, and my hair on the floor. They didn't understand what was going on with me, and I damn well knew it. Instead of trying to explain to them that this hair doesn't belong on a boy like me, I just threw out the first thing that came to my mind. I can't say it was a good excuse, however.

"I was getting sick of my long hair. It was getting in the way."

"What! We could've taken you to a salon! Now you look... You look like a boy!" My father shouted at me. I tried my best not smile.

After a few more minutes of them basically calling me stupid, they left the room. They stormed down the stairs, and to the living room. I sat on my bed, looking at my reflection in the window. I looked horrid. Everything was uneven. I stood up, and slowly walked out of my room, and into Gregory's. He didn't seem as mad.

"Can you fix my hair?" I asked him, quietly.

Gregory nodded, and smiled at me. He took me into the bathroom, and took mom's hair cutting bag with him. He fixed up my hair with a razor so it looked a lot better. It was just a bit longer than a buzz cut. I smiled at my reflection, and ran my fingers through my hair. I felt so much better like this. I felt like... this was how it was suppose to be.

"So tell me, why did you actually do it?" Gregory asked me, standing next to me. He watched me on the mirror. I watched him back. In silence we stood, for a few minutes. I wasn't sure if I was able to tell him or not.

"I want to be a boy."

[o]

We stood there some more in silence. He seemed like he was dying to tell me something, but in his eyes I knew he was scared. I wanted him to tell me though, badly. I hated knowing there was something on his mind bothering him. Though he hadn't said anything to me yet, so I stayed silent.

"I had... no idea." Gregory said. I knew there wasn't really another response he could've thought of, considering I just told him my biggest secret.

"It's okay..." I let out a sigh, and watched myself in the mirror. My face, and my short hair. I looked like a boy. With the baggy sweatshirt over that (that was Gregory's), I looked like just another guy. I liked it, a lot. Though people would know it was me, considering I've been with all of them since preschool.

I let out a sigh. These last four years were going to suck. People didn't understand stuff like I was going through. I mean, hell, some still think gay people choose to be gay. There's no way everyone would be cool with this.

"I have to tell you something." Gregory said to me, his voice quivering.

I looked over at him quickly. He looked terrified. "What is it? Are you sick, Greg?"

"No.. No... I'm fine. Er. I like you like this. You look good." He said, and quickly disappeared from the room. I knew that's not what he wanted to tell me, but I decided to let me go. If he brought it up, he could tell me later. I didn't want to bug him about it if he made him that scared.

I left the bathroom, and went back into my room. I jumped into bed, and downstairs I heard my parents arguing. Probably about me. I didn't know why, though. What was there to argue about? My hair was short now, oops. Not like arguing and going to bed angry with each other would change that. I let out a sigh. Tomorrow was going to suck.

[o]

The next morning, I didn't wake up to an alarm clock. I didn't need to. I was a light sleeper, and Gregory getting up in the room next to me was enough to wake me up. Gregory was 16. This year he was a junior.

He walked into my room a half hour later, ready for school. He gave me an odd look. "You know, people might start hating you, right? People here hate anyone who's different." Gregory warned me, as he sat on his bed.

I already had put on a baggy black shirt, and some blue skinny jeans. I slipped on some of my converse, and nodded my head. I was completely aware, and ready for all the hate coming my way. I knew now that I looked like a boy, the jocks probably would feel less bad about following me home and jumping me. I let out a sigh, and sat down next to Gregory. I leaned on his shoulder.

"You okay?" He asked quietly. I shook my head. I really didn't feel alright. I didn't want to go to highschool, number one, and number two, people were going to hate me. But, for some reason, it felt worth it. I felt like me, and not someone else.

"I don't want to go." I told him, sitting back up again.

"I do." Gregory said, smiling at me.

"Why? For the girls?" I teased him. He smiled weakly at me, and studied his face curiously. Something was really going on with him, and I had no idea what it was. Though it was probably a girl, by the way he reacted to that.

Soon after that, we headed out the door and onto the bus. We were the last stop, and as I got on, kids stared at me. Some gave me dirty looks, others just didn't know what to make of me. Probably trying to figure out how a boy could have girl boobs. I sat down next to Gregory in the middle of the bus, and in silence we sat.

Half way to school, I felt something hit my head, and fall into my lap. A wad of paper. I let out a sigh, and brushed it off. Another one hit my head. I turned around, and there was a guy two seats behind me staring at me.

"Yo, dude, you new in town?"

I nodded slightly, and he grinned.

"The name's Benedict. You?" He asked. He seemed pretty cool.

I thought for a moment, before saying, "Vincent."

Gregory eyed me, but said nothing. He looked back at Benedict and gave him a smile. After that, Benedict moved to the seat right behind us, and the entire time he talked with Gregory. It turned out they were pretty close friends.

"So, can I come over after school?" Benedict asked Gregory. I watched him nod.

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