Scorch Read online

  Try to – Thirteen. Lipgloss. Quite excited. Free with a magazine about. Ponies or something. Try to – try to drop ‘boyfy’ into conversation.

  ‘Boyfy.’

  Do people say ‘boyfy’? Or is it like when I tried to say ‘oke’ but it turns out it’s ‘O’–‘K’ as in the same as O –K–A–Y and you don’t say it ‘oke’ it’s not like a cool way of saying it, it just looks that way before anyone tells you it’s not.

  ‘Boyfy.’

  (Maybe KES tries the lipgloss, then tries saying ‘boyfy’.)

  ‘Boyfy.’

  Boyfy.

  Boyfy.

  Boyfy.

  Boyfy.

  Boyfy.

  Boyfuh.

  Boyfah.

  Boyf.

  Buh

  (Until there is an absurd amount of lipgloss.)

  (Until ‘boyfy’ sounds absurd.)

  Try it. But. Feel daft. Pretending. I’m pretending. Get bored.

  …

  Bioshock. Minecraft. Black Ops. The Last of Us Assassins Creed HaloGrandTheftAuto WatchDogs

  Gaming online. I am twelve, thirteen, fourteen.

  Always choose the coolest avatar, always dudes. If not,

  a mushroom. But usually dudes. Gaming stuff, made by dudes. All the characters are dudes. Never even think about it. Just, normal. You can be whatever you want.

  (Sings enthusiastically.) Whatever whatever whatever you waaaaant.

  BLEEP.

  Her name equals bleep.

  Never answer straight away, no one likes a keeno. Think you’re just waiting like some kind of nut, which we both are obviously. Bleep: ‘Hi yah.’ Jules calls it Player Ready Twitch haha. Jules is funny. She has a cool tattoo a line from Jurassic Park but it’s cool. She loves Leonard Cohen. And eyeliner. And gifs. We’re always laughing at stupid things. Little cry-y emoticon faces hahaha.

  Okay.

  Okay.

  Okay.

  (Full house lights. We are a support group.)

  I’m trying to say it from the top.

  Everything. Okay?

  Okay.

  Cool cool coooool. Just, channel someone cool. David Bowie or, Fiona Bruce.

  She is pretty bloody cool.

  Make eye contact with the circle.

  We sit in a circle.

  A circle is about trust.

  A square, well a square is for fascists, obviously. A circle is

  for trust.

  Laugh HAHAHA not like a maniac, but enough so you all know I know it’s funny, me and my waistcoats. Some people take themselves too seriously. Life’s too awesome not to laugh, you know?

  Look round the circle and you’re nodding.

  You get it.

  Feel another surge of. Of of – wonder if it’s cool to talk about how happy I am. Cos some of you guys are having a crappy time. You have to come here to talk about the crappy time you’re having. Wonder if I do belong here, cos I actually just want to share how happy I am.

  I have a girl. Yeah.

  And this circle needs a sprinkle of joy. And I want to be that sprinkler, said the bishop to the the thing.

  My girl. Jules.

  Er, I do wonder if liking girls means I am… un homo. But

  I don’t know any real ones yet… just convince myself I’ll probably get a boyfriend one day, like, when I have to. I am quite convincing.

  Oh, there’s this movie – watch it a zillion times – this guy dresses as a girl to get the girl. I love that movie. Flippin hilarious. Hi-lar-i-ous. This guy looks amazing. Scientific fact: men look AMAZING in make-up.

  I don’t get why, but I’m a bit obsessed with that movie.

  I think… I think I watch movies different.

  Like. I watch movies through the dude’s point of view.

  Thought everyone did.

  Like, everyone thinks I fancy Ryan Gosling. I want to be him. Duh. I want to be Ryan. And sometimes the girl. And sometimes Ryan. And sometimes – (Overwhelmed.) Wah stroke! Ryan is completely hot. He’d rock an elephant waistcoat.

  Me and Jules’ve been messaging for years. Up till crazy o’clock messaging. About Laser Eyes. Laser Eyes her fascist mum. About like, how Jules hopes she’ll be the first one to go to college and. And she thinks I’m a guy.

  And I don’t correct her. Don’t correct her cos I am Kes.

  Kes, like the kid on the front of that Ken Loach film. I love that picture. Haven’t seen the film, it’s old but. The kid smiling and the bird? Love it. Love my name. Kes. Everything’s – Think about a name like… ‘Jonny’. But that’s just, crap.

  (Maybe text appears.)

  ‘U R SUCH A SWEET GUY’

  (KES thinks. Not for too long. Then – )

  Smiley face.

  ‘WISH I COULD HANG OUT WIV U’

  Emoticon emoticon emoticon no exclamation marks.

  Exclamation marks are needy.

  ‘HOT’

  New Profile. MALE. FIFA. Snowboarding. JJ Abrams. People Like what I Like. Feeds totally different – different ads, different colours. Cool. I Like that they Like that I Like what they Like! Jake in school created an account where he was a Chair our teachers sit in and all his updates were like: ‘agh stop your bum is squashing me!!!’ Funniest thing EVER we all nearly died.

  Jake the Chair Ha.

  Jake was a Chair.

  Bleep.

  Jules wants to Skype.

  Oh

  my

  word.

  Oh my wordy word.

  We only ever texted.

  Bellytwist, flying over hills superfast in the car something dilating heart a balloon inflating head hanging out window blasting go faster ‘yes okay ten o’clock okay?’

  K, cool.

  Welded to seat. Anticipation-locked Z-shaped at laptop barricade bedroom no I DON’T want lasagne Mum I’m BUSY.

  You know –

  You know –

  all those funny movies where the guy goes to crazy lengths to prove how much he loves the girl, like pretend to be a priest or professional dancer or hypnotise her and eventually, even when he comes clean, the girl is just so moved and happy he loves her she’s just like: ‘alright!’ and they just kiss and the credits go up?

  (Maybe canned laughter.)

  Pinching things from Dad. From my brother.

  Shirt.

  Bart Simpson boxers – so much funner than girls’ stuff – stash them in my laundry box

  heart like dut-dut dut-dutDUT-DUT DUT-DUT

  model myself on cool guys. Not like, some crap guy in a fleece.

  (Maybe KES strikes a few poses.)

  Been collecting Topman models. Gangstas. Dandys. Normalcore. Metro-boys. Everyone thinks it’s a crush-book, but it’s actually my reference document.

  I’m testing out holding a wallet, like lads do.

  In my more modest dreams Bill Murray and Justin Bieber bop me on the shoulder in a dude way and I say something showbizzy like: ‘HEY, WATCH IT, BRO!’

  Take photos. Look at myself.

  Do I look flat in this?

  My body. Outline. I look.

  Cool.

  Perfect.

  Player One Ready.

  Practise how I stand. (Does so.)

  Sit. (Does so.)

  Voice. Read on a forum you shouldn’t overdo it. Sound like Aslan or something.

  (KES is emerging before our eyes.)

  Hang out on forums as Kes. Like. Tumblr. Cute Boys Who Are Girls. Photostream. Like like like search like like like bookmark like like.

  People like me. There’re people like me on there.

  Tonnes. In Portland. Milton Keynes. Belfast.*

  Heart burning like darkest Mordor – surely these are weirdos? I’m not like them, right? Right? I’m not weird. They’re the lost, the curious, the, the Great British Bake Off fans, everyone needs somewhere to go, somewhere to think in capitals

  Me too.

  Step through. Portals to the World the World for Kes nothing impossible NOT
HING you can’t stick a cat on and turn into a snazzy gif – no longer lumpish I’m a careless queen, a cad, lead in a crazy romcom, fingers shredding up the keyboard she’s LOLing till her sides split I’m WINning –

  Don’t tell anyone, obviously.

  Like the movie I watched over and over. Just know, I can’t. Yet.

  We only ever texted till now.

  We Skype.

  (Maybe we hear the call tone.)

  (It goes on for some time before KES has the courage to answer.)

  (A rush. Some moments here.)

  (Maybe we see the first step towards KES.)

  ‘Hi.’

  Wait for her to – …

  but. She doesn’t. We just. Hang out.

  Happiness. Aching, constant, consuming – on here it’s. More real than real life. I’m honest on here. I’m being honest. This is important. This is it.

  We Skype again.

  Lie next to her face on my iPad in bed. Just. Laughing. Hanging. Just. Never felt so…

  Friend.

  Like.

  Follow.

  Jake was a bloody Chair it doesn’t mean –

  Wow.

  Jules wants to meet up.

  (Swallows hard.)

  (Deep breath.)

  Two train rides. Think I might spontaneously human combust.

  I’m doing this I’m doing this don’t think just just just

  just

  Her arm’s in a sling. Barely speak. Terrified. She’s so sweet. Think I’m gonna throw up it’s amazing. We quote Terminator 2. I know all Edward Furlong’s lines because I AM him.

  (Edward Furlong’s actual voice.) ‘Mom, we need to be a little more constructive here, okay?’

  Bop her in the face with my genius.

  Hold hands.

  Skin so soft.

  I love her hand.

  This is happening.

  Her actual real hand in mine. Looks right in my actual real eyes. I look in hers.

  We are like Paul McKenna.

  In a mirror.

  Can see me in her eyes. Tiny Keses in her lovely magic eyes.

  She sees Kes.

  She sees me.

  …

  Next time, strap down them pesky boobs. Bit sore, switch to

  a sports bra. Urg. Just want to squash them away. But, there they are. Just – wear baggy clothes. Scared she won’t like me if I look too. Yuck. Feminine. Packing is when you put something down there, to feel, to feel like, comfy. You can get anything on the internet. (Thinks.) Baby lemurs in a bumbag, I don’t know. Work in Asda, forty quid for a chest-binder is okay.

  Don’t go to great lengths.

  But I’m passing.

  She says I’m cute. I’m cute. ARGH. Eat two Toffee Crisps in celebration. Cannot believe it. I’m like those cartoons where their brain is literally made up of mini birds and hearts and biscuits and things. I mean kissing is like WOW. Just lying around in each other’s arms: WOW. We just fit. Her – everything – just – WOW.

  I mean, there are so many moments I think SHIT she is going to SAY something. Or, think, I need to say something. Especially at the start.

  But.

  Moments come and go.

  Months come and go.

  Her sixteenth.

  We talk in… code. We argue in code. Want to talk about it but. Scared.

  Guess, she knows, or. Prefers not asking. An understanding. You know?

  Stay over sometimes.

  Talk about running away to New York together, where the hipsters are. Make so many plans. Cos she knows, like I do, something’s gonna have to give. But, not yet.

  Never asks why I only go in the disabled loo. (There’s so many men in men’s loos.)

  Why I never take my hat off.

  But I reckon, we’re both in Narnia together. That’s half the thing.

  Laser Eyes, her mother, does not like me. Laser Eyes is a blast of ice, always flick flick flicking through her Avon brochures.

  We. We uh. Sleep together. Amazing.

  I – She

  We are. We –

  Worry a bit. Hurt her a bit, I think. She says go easy, and I do. Neither of us totally know what we’re doing, but she you know, comes. I don’t, cos it’s for her. Want to be the perfect boyfriend. Tell her how gorgeous she is. Make her come. Make sure everything is ready. Pick the one that has the best reviews. Says it’s soft. Soft and realistic to touch, like a real ahm, cock, the website says. Or, more specifically, Joan from Kent: (Uptight.) ‘very pleasant.’

  Don’t know if we’d have gone this far only… we… we both are.

  In love. She says she loves me. So. It’s…

  you don’t use the. Thing. They’re not actually for that. The ones for packing, not… they’re not strap-ons, not to use. Reckon you graduate to that.

  Read somewhere it doesn’t matter how you um, do it – as long as you are respectful, right?

  Cringe, talk about getting married and stuff. Oh my goodness. Nuts.

  Soulmates.

  Circle’s nodding, listening. First time I’m saying any of this. Out loud. To you. Now. Voluntarily. My voice, my. Makes it real. Feel drunk, even though I don’t really drink. Tell the, the – what? The group. Whhoooosh. Feels AMAZING – to talk about it. Want to feel this free every day. Like being online but in a real room with mediocre instant coffee! Want to kiss kiss SNOG everyone in the circle, not in a sexy way, just. Drunk on freedom. I’m Kes. Birds spring from my heart feel I feel alive. Feel real. Thick with weight and confidence radiates from my centre I have shoulders

  I could cave a door in to help an old lady I’d be charming and helpful and I wanna walk with my pack between my legs my eyes squinting in the sun just like James flipping Franco and no one will ask ‘what are you?’ I’m just a dude.

  (Quickly.) Maybe not trans. Don’t know.

  Haven’t worked it out yet.

  Don’t know.

  But a cute boi. B-O-I. Boi. That’s queer slang for cute girls that look like boys.

  I’m trying to improve my queer slang. I mean it’s important actually, cos male-to-female trans people are the butt of a lot of lazy jokes. But transdudes are like, anti-comedy. This is crucial info. Transvestites: funny. Men who want to be women: funny. Women who are dudes:

  not funny, apparently.

  In the movies they get depressed or stalky or kill themselves in burning houses.

  Wonder why it is. People are weird.

  In the circle there’s a shy girl with a bad wig.

  (Aside to whoever is next to them.) This bad, blonde wig. She’ll never pass. She’ll never pass with that flippin wig. Mate. Want to tell him – tone it down. Looks shit. But – that’d be a mean. Don’t want to be mean. So I don’t. Say she looks sweet. And, she does, really. She’s all like: ‘Emmylou is da bomb, chicken.’

  (Emmylou’s the wig)

  Jules messages, says I lied to her,

  which,

  I don’t think I did,

  lie,

  but she won’t answer my calls.

  Not picking up.

  Sends the odd message, but.

  (Puzzled, hurt silence.)

  It’s cool.

  Hurts. Miss her. Miss us.

  But.

  Don’t know – kind of like being heartbroken. Once I stop crying. Least I get someone to be heartbroken about. Not everyone gets that. Still feel lucky. And just think: I’m not on the outside any more. I’m in life. I’m Ryan Gosling in Drive but minus the homicidal stampy scene that literally made me choke on a Malteser.

  Trying to get over Jules. It sucks but I feel. Feel –

  (Maybe now, an impossibly accomplished movement sequence: this is how it feels to be fully bodily present and realised.)

  Come to the meet-up group a second time. Read about T. Testosterone. But don’t know. I’m just curious. Maybe cos I feel more, more – confident. Know how perfect it can feel.

  If I transition maybe I can rock up on Jules’ doorstep and offer
her everything I can’t offer her now. I can be her boyfriend. And we could be together. AND GET A CAT.

  But but but it’s another level and, it kinda I dunno it kinda

  s-s-scares me.

  (Back in the group.)

  The group properly sits up. This is what they love. Who gives

  a toot about lezzers? Boooooring. This is way better. And I’m ready to talk now. I’ve come to this group. Crapping myself but I found this group, LGBTQABCDEFG and this is a group where we start by letting the group know if we are she, he, they

  BLOWS MY MIND.

  ‘They. Prefer not to define.’

  (KES’s head implodes.) Click.

  Universe falls into place. He, she, they. And loads of words

  I don’t even understand –

  I can never concentrate in school but I’m learning loads here –

  And we nod and use the right pronoun and I, I exist in the circle. Breathe, sit up in your seat, crack jokes, look people in the eyeballs.

  And you shouldn’t say tranny actually. Cos it’s hurtful.

  You can buy T online.

  (KES is coherent and technicolour, electric with discovery.)

  Max, this skinny dude in the circle next to a boy in completely gay loafers has been on hormones for months and you can totally see. He. Looks. Awesome. I’d never want to be one of those stacked dudes, but Max just looks solid. Great shoulders, and I don’t know if he binds or what, but he looks like he’s already had top surgery.

  Can’t stop looking at his body. His jaw.

  T makes your boobs shrink. Your face more angular. Your voice drops. You lose fat off your hips and get more muscley. First thing I’d do is buzz off my hair. Short back and sides. Slick into a smart side parting. Sharp. Phwoar!

  But shut up, shut up brain, getting carried away. Don’t really know if I would. Just tucked my hair into a hat with Jules. Miss Jules. Would I miss my hair?

  Like it long sometimes.

  Don’t tell anyone. Don’t tell anyone that before I go home, I stop in a public toilet. Stuff my hat in my bag. Change. Don’t feel trapped, just…

  not there yet. Or something. Growing into it. Carry it around like it’ll explode over some unsuspecting teacher when I’m in Normal Life Mode – buying shoes / eating McCoys / at Asda. Hide – go home someone else. Fraud. Some strange chick who wears a bridesmaid dress to her cousin’s wedding.