Prologue

Prologue

My eyes snap up to Logan's white Audi halting in the parking lot. He is here! I anxiously rub my hand up and down the length of my arm in an attempt to get rid of my tension.

I listen to the engine fall into a temporary slumber and feel the summer breeze blow past my naked legs.

Standing here is a bad idea—every nerve, every goddamn brain cell, tells me to turn around and run back home. But I can't back down. I finally mustered up enough courage to call Logan, and tonight, I intend on telling him how I feel about him.

Logan steps out of the car and looks around in confusion. I'm standing a few feet away with heels so high that I can barely stand. A black dress is hugging my skin, and I can see my eyelashes flutter in the wind; Logan probably won't recognize me.

I'm lucky that I was born short and frail; it makes every dress fit me to a tee without the hems breaking. And after seeing my reflection, I must have to admit that I look rather cute.

I wonder if Logan will think I'm cute?

Silently, I watch him pick up his phone while raking his left hand through his curly, blonde hair. His jeans are hugging his arse, and his skin seems to glisten under the streetlights—he must be sweaty from the gym. Logan likes to work out and seems to have made it his life's mission to play every sport our school offers.

He is gorgeous—there is no wonder the girls are throwing off their panties when he makes eye contact with them. The guy is tanned like a surfer, broad-shouldered, muscular, and his face looks like it's been taken from a picture site! Sometimes I suspect god picked a face from a catalog and glued the perfect one to his body.

But Logan is not entirely flawless; there are some angry pimples on his face. He is highly self-conscious about them. Even though I told him nobody cares, the guy spends a significant amount on acne products every month.

"Come to the parking lot..." Logan is repeating the words I told him earlier while glaring down at his phone. "Pick up your phone..."

My heart pounds when I feel my phone vibrate in my bag. I'm too scared to pick it up, but I need to see more of Logan, so I walk forward like a newborn calf with my super-duper heels while trying to act nonchalant, so he won't suspect that I'm someone he knows.

Easier said than done.

I stumble forward like a klutz, almost falling headfirst into the pavement before regaining my balance. "Shit!"

Suddenly, Logan lifts his chin and seems to stifle a laugh as he notices me awkwardly holding on to the roof of his car.

"Wow, those are some serious killer heels you got on!"

I'm almost too afraid to answer him, terrified my identity might be revealed when he hears my voice. Yet I take a deep breath and push myself to speak—it's now or never.

"I'm not used to walking in high heels yet," I tell him.

After speaking, I'm met with awkward silence. The atmosphere feels tense, thick enough that you could slice through it with a knife and serve it on a silver platter.

Not good. Not good at all.

Did Logan figure me out already?

I lift my head, suddenly feeling faint. Logan is blinking at me with disapproval written over his entire face. Those blue eyes belonging to my best friend are suddenly filled with resentment. I watch a wide range of emotions flash through those baby blues: anger, confusion, disgust, hatred, and then it settles with distaste.

"So you're one of them?" Logan asks.

Hearing him say those words hurt more than I could ever have imagined. I thought my rusty heart was already too broken to shatter, but then again, it was Logan that made me smile and feel whole again. And when I was busy feeling self-hatred, he was there to pull me out of the darkness, but I guess it's easy cheering someone up when you don't know why they hate themselves.

Logan didn't know about the war going on inside of me. He brightened my days at school, never once suspecting I liked to wear dresses at home. Never once thinking that maybe his friend Ethan wishes they had been born as the other gender.

"Excuse me?" I ask, even if I'm perfectly aware of what Logan means. I'm just too weak to accept the malice written on his face.

"You heard me..." Logan is gawking at me. "Ethan, fuck, why are you wearing that dress? And you have makeup on. Where the hell did you even find that wig? Shit..." He laughs then, smiling cruelly under the streetlight while shaking his head. I stare at him, hating how my heart speeds up in response to seeing his face. Those blue eyes should be illegal. "Is this a prank or something?"

I'm almost too afraid to answer him. "This is not a prank..."

His eyes darken, and I hold my breath; this isn't boding well for me.

"Don't joke around with me, Ethan; you're not a transvestite!"

Despite his harsh tone, I somehow believe that maybe he will accept me and come to his senses if I talk, convince him that this isn't a prank, but how I dress at home. Maybe Logan will accept me, the real me, if I open up to him a little.

There is still hope left within me.

"I... I've never felt comfortable in my skin. I might be on the swimming team with you and the boys, but I would much rather be braiding someone's hair and gossiping with the girls. Because while I might look like a guy, I wish I had been born as a woman instead,"

"That's so messed up..." Logan's voice seems to echo within me, pound down the walls around my heart, and summon a flood. I'm already crying, and Logan isn't finished talking yet. "Is there a therapist we could call for you, Ethan? Did you smack your head against a pole? Is that why you called me here? Do you need my help to call someone?"

I glare at him, shattered by his words. "No... I called you out here because I thought you would understand," I shake my head. Wet tears are making me feel pathetic. They are tasting salt. "You're my best friend, Logan, and yet you act like this when I tell you something this big?"

Logan seems to recoil hearing those words. He shuts his eyes as if immediately regretting the harshness of his words. But it's way too late. He already broke my heart—the damage is done. Even though I know it might be a lot for Logan to take in, I suspect that his first reaction mirrored what he thinks. And I'm not going to stand around like a fool in a dress and take this tonight.

"Call me disgusting all you want, but I think I was born in the wrong body. I've hated myself for as long as I can remember," I watch pure guilt streak along with Logan's features, but I don't care because the next thing I say will chase him away forever. "There was a time when I was considering committing suicide, but do you know who stopped me?"

The pained expression on Logan's face is enough evidence that he is feeling this conversation in his heart and that he already knows what I'm about to say next.

Yet, I also know that what I'm about to say won't be enough to wipe off that hint of disgust from his eyes. Logan would never date or hang out with someone like me, and after tonight, he probably won't ever speak to me again.

But my mother taught me to speak my mind and stay true to my feelings, even if I might get rejected.

So here we go, stand tall, and let the heartbreak commence.

"You stopped me; you made me want to live by becoming my best friend and making me laugh. You took my hand and led me into the light. Your laughter chased my tears away," I'm fighting my tears, refusing to show vulnerability when I'm about to say something so essential and pour out my heart. I'm bleeding, but I have to my feeling for Logan out of my system. "And I fell in love with you. I love you, Logan, even if I know you won't ever love me back."

His eyes turn a few shades darker, and his chest expands. Disgust, shock, hatred show over his features—he looks like he might throw up.

"You disgust me." His voice echoes throughout my chest. And the icing on the cake is the sneer forming on his lips. "Do you seriously think you look good wearing that? Please, you will never be a real woman! You're a freak," He laughs to himself. "It's embarrassing that you're in love with me; just wait until the guys get to hear about this."

And there it is, his emotions. The destruction of my heart is here. I can feel more tears building in my eyes, but I fight them. I refuse to let Logan see how upset his words made me. Him insulting me is not acceptable, but I don't want to show myself vulnerable. So I simply stand there, continuing to maintain my tears as he walks back to his car.