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Tang Jiale couldn’t remember the last time he had had such an enjoyable day. Well, he probably could if he tried hard enough, and it certainly would have been a day spent with Dayong like this one was, but he liked the thought of today being the best day ever and so it was. They had met up for lunch, played a bit of tennis at the street courts -- Dayong had beaten him, just barely -- gotten ice cream to cool down, and were now sitting together on a bench in the park, enjoying the beautiful weather.
Sighing happily, Jiale leaned backwards and stretched his feet out as far as they would go. He lifted his arms up high, stretching them as well, before letting them fall over the back of the bench, the arm next to his partner easily slipping around the other’s shoulders.
“Comfortable?” Dayong asked, and Jiale could hear the laughter in his voice.
“Mhm!” Jiale replied with a nod. He dropped his head onto Dayong’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “So comfortable that I think I’ll take a nap,” he teased. “You don’t mind not moving for the next two hours or so, right Dachi?”
He had expected a mild complaint or a gentle scolding at his laziness. After all, that’s what his best friend usually did when he tried to turn him into furniture for Jiale’s benefit. So when he felt the muscles in Dayong’s back and shoulders stiffen, the unusual reaction had him lifting his head in concern.
“Actually,” Dayong was saying before Jiale could question him, “I’d prefer if you didn’t. I … There’s something …” He wrung his hands between his knees, floundering. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and forced out, “I need to talk to you about something.”
Instantly awake and alert, Jiale sat up and turned to his partner. The last time Dayong said he needed to talk to him with that expression on his face, he had told Jiale about his parents’ death and his subsequent move to live with his grandparents instead. Jiale had never cried harder in his life.
“Ah, here?” he asked, chuckling nervously. If the waterworks were about to be turned back on, he didn’t particularly want to be in public.
As usual, Dayong read his mind, and he curbed whatever nerves were devouring him to give Jiale a reassuring smile. “It’s not like that,” he said gently. “I promise. Here is better, actually. In case you get …” He trailed off again, and his eyes fled as the words continued to fall from his lips. “I mean, if you want to … . It’s just easier this way.”
“Um, okay?” Jiale cocked his head and watched as Dayong dove for his tennis bag and pulled it into his lap. “What did you want to talk about?”
His partner didn’t answer at first, too engrossed in zipping open his bag and digging around inside. A moment later, however, he paused, arm still hidden up to the elbow and eyes fixed firmly on a spot by his feet. “You said,” he began slowly, “back at training camp, that we shouldn’t have any secrets between us anymore. Remember?” When Jiale nodded, he continued, almost as if to himself, “We’re the Golden Partners. When we’re on the court, we’re not two people but one. We rely on each other. We trust each other implicitly.”
“Dachi?” Jiale breathed. A tension hung in the air, not necessarily between them but surrounding them on all sides, holding them in together. At this moment, he couldn’t decide if he was worried for his best friend or in awe of him. Patiently, he waited and watched.
Carefully, Dayong pulled his hand from his tennis bag, revealing a square photo album which he cradled to his chest as he let the bag fall to the ground. His eyes glazed over a little as he said, “I found this when I was going through my parents’ things. I think my mother put it together. She was probably going to give it to me when I graduated high school or college or got married. Some significant milestone in my life.” He pulled it a little tighter to himself, tears beading in his eyes. Almost without thinking, Jiale rested a hand on his shoulder in silent comfort.
At his touch, Dayong turned to face him, their eyes meeting and holding with comfortable familiarity. “I trust you, Jiale,” he said sincerely. “I know when you said we should have no secrets, you were talking about the extra training I was doing and the fact that I tend to keep my worries to myself and not share them with anyone. But you were right. We shouldn’t have any secrets between us. I…” He faltered again, and Jiale was surprised to see that he was trembling slightly. “I don’t have many,” he continued, “but I trust you enough to show you the biggest one I have.
He held out the album. Jiale, in a daze, took it.
For several heartbeats, neither one moved. Jiale could feel the anxiety rolling off the other young man in waves, but they held each other’s eyes steadily. Both waiting. Just breathing. Then, Jiale twisted his hips so he was sitting with his back to the bench again, grabbed Dayong’s hand to haul his arm across his shoulders, and leaned gently into Dayong’s side with the album in his lap. Carefully, he opened the cover to the first page.
A small white card sat in the middle of the page with the words “Our Dayong” hand-written in large letters in the center. Underneath sat a date and a dash as if his mother had intended to fill in the second date when she had finished filling out the album. Based on the date, the album started when Dayong was eight years old.
Jiale turned the page. There were four pictures here, two on each side. The top picture on the left was of two small girls, both in sports tops and skirts, each holding a tennis racket. One girl was Caucasian with long brown hair in pigtails, and she was smiling brightly at the camera. The other girl was Chinese, her long hair up in a ponytail, and she looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. The second picture on the page was of the same Chinese girl, tucked up in a chair with her feet beneath her legs, reading a book. She was wearing a nightgown and her hair was down reaching just past her shoulders.
The same girl was in the top picture on the right, dressed up this time in a fancy velvet dress and tights. She stood next to a smiling woman in a similarly fancy dress who was holding a Christmas present in her hands. The girl also had a present, but she was not smiling. The final picture was of the first two girls in sundresses, drawing chalk pictures on the sidewalk.
Jiale frowned, confused. He looked up at Dayong, but his best friend simply gazed down at the album, his expression unreadable. Shrugging, Jiale turned the page.
Four more pictures, and again, the Chinese girl was in each of them although she looked a little older. She had also cut her hair much shorter so that it now barely reached below her ears. And instead of dresses and skirts, she had switched for shorts and pants. There were two more tennis shots, one with the Caucasian girl and one without. Another picture had the girl looking down from a tree, and in the final one she was reading again. In these pictures, she had at least attempted to smile although the expression never really reached her eyes.
“Dachi,” Jiale said, looking up again, “why is your name on the front if there are no pictures of you? Who is this? A cousin?”
Dayong slowly shook his head. When he finally lifted his eyes to meet Jiale’s, the depth and pull of his gaze momentarily stilled Jiale’s breath. “No, Jiale,” he said quietly. “That’s me.” He reached down and turned the page back to the first set of pictures. “That’s me when I was eight -- ” He turned the page forward again. “-- and nine.”
Jiale’s mouth fell open, and his mind went blank. That … that just wasn’t possible. His eyes shot to the pictures again, and yes, he could see the resemblance. He had thought at first that it was just because the girl was part of Dayong’s family, but as he looked closer, he could see the hints of the face that would grow in time. He could see the eyes he loved so much very clearly.
“Chi Dayong,” he said, his voice catching with a squeak, “you’re a girl?"
“No,” Dayong answered him immediately. “I’m not. I never was.” He paused, looking down at the pictures. “And that’s why I was never happy.”
Jiale couldn’t speak. He just kept looking from picture to picture. Looking at that young face that never truly smiled.
“Jiale, do you know what transgender means?”
“Isn’t that when boys dress up as girls and vice versa?”
Dayong flinched, hard, and Jiale had never before wished so much that he could take something back. But Dayong, gentle and caring as always, recovered quickly and just kept talking in that soft voice of his. “No, that’s not it. You see, when we think of the concept of gender, it really ends up being in two places: the body and the mind. Gender in the body is easy: your DNA, your hormones, and the specific body parts. Gender in the mind is something more complicated, but most people gravitate towards one or the other.” He paused, checking to see if Jiale was paying attention; he was. “Being transgender means that the gender of your body and the gender of your mind don’t match.”
“Oh,” Jiale replied. He really couldn’t say any more than that. His mind was still reeling from the revelation that his best friend had been born a girl. Was still a girl … but not? He was definitely confused.
At some point, Dayong had removed his arm from Jiale’s shoulder. He pointed to the Christmas picture and said, “The day after this was taken, I stole a pair of scissors and cut my hair. My mother was horrified, but when I went on a rant about how much I hated dresses and long hair, she listened. I was allowed to get rid of all my dresses and keep my hair short.” He turned the page to the nine-year-old versions of himself. “I was happier, but I still felt wrong all the time. I would look at myself in the mirror and think, ‘This isn’t me.’”
“Wrong?” Jiale echoed, still not understanding.
Dayong gave him an apologetic half-smile. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but there isn’t really a better way to describe it.” He turned to the next page, although his other hand quickly covered the picture in the bottom right corner so Jiale couldn’t see it. “I eventually talked to my teacher who talked to the guidance counselor who brought my parents in for a conference. That was the first time anyone suggested that I might be transgender and should talk to both my doctor and a therapist about it.”
As his partner’s words continued to filter into his ears, Jiale was busy looking at the new pictures. In these, little Dayong looked far more androgynous than in the previous pictures. She … no, no, no, he had a close-to-the-head haircut and had switched out his wardrobe to clothes that were obviously for boys rather than ones that were clearly for girls even if they were shirts and pants. The Caucasian girl was there again, and this time an African boy was with them. There was one with the three of them at a roller rink and one with them all playing on a swing set. The remaining picture that he could see was of Dayong by himself, sitting next to a pile of presents under a Christmas tree. The smile on his face was far more honest than in any of the other pictures, but there was a sadness to it that made Jiale’s heart ache.
“Who’s this girl?” he finally asked, pointing to the roller skating picture. “She’s in at least half of these.”
“That’s Marianne,” Dayong said with a bright smile. “We’ve been friends since kindergarten.” A hint of sadness entered his voice as he said, “I miss her a lot. We email, of course, and even video chat every so often, but it’s not the same.”
Determinedly, Jiale pushed down the little bit of jealousy that was flaring inside him. Of course Dayong would miss the friends he had grown up with before he moved. There was nothing wrong with that. Even if this friend was pretty and apparently knew more about Dayong than he, his doubles partner and best friend, had. Wanting to change the subject, he tapped on Dayong’s hand which was still covering the final picture and asked, “Why are you hiding this one? Let me see!”
“Ah,” Dayong replied, and his face softened even though he did not yet remove his hand. “This one is special. The others on this page are from when I was ten. This one is from my eleventh birthday.” He paused for a breath, and Jiale took the opportunity to cast his eyes over his partner’s face and the quiet happiness that rested there. He still felt a little off balance, a little like he had been thrown into a whirlwind without warning, but Dayong’s face with his gentle eyes and soft smile were reassuringly grounding even as the strange new things continued to be revealed.
“A few days before,” Dayong said, continuing to explain the hidden picture, “I had gotten permission from my doctor to start puberty blockers.”
“Puberty blockers?” Jiale echoed, not knowing such things existed.
“Yes,” Dayong answered, “so I wouldn’t need surgery later and so I wouldn’t continue to get more depressed as my body got more and more … well, wrong.” He shook his head briefly before continuing with a small smile. “The other reason this one is special is because that morning my mother had taken me down to the courthouse to legally change my name.”
“Oh.” That made sense, he supposed. No parents would have named their baby girl Dayong. “What did it used to be?” he asked, curious.
Dayong froze, and once again, Jiale realized he had said something wrong. That wonderful smile had gone tight at the corners like it did when Dayong really didn’t want to say something but was trying to force it out anyway.
“Never mind, never mind!” Jiale said quickly, waving a hand. He didn’t understand why it was a painful topic, but his curiosity was never enough reason to cause his partner such distress. Playfully, he poked a finger multiple times into Dayong’s side and distracted him with a well-rehearsed whine. “Show me already!”
His antics dispelled the tension immediately, and Dayong laughed as he finally withdrew his hand to reveal the final picture. There were half a dozen kids in this one: Marianne and the boy from the roller rink, plus an Indian girl and two more boys, one Caucasian and one Chinese. They were all crowded around a table laden with food, a cake, and brightly-colored plates and cups. A homemade banner with “Congratulations, Dayong!” written in rainbow markers hung on the wall behind them.
Jiale noticed none of these details at first, however, because the moment Dayong moved his hand, his eyes were drawn to the eleven-year-old version of his best friend because there. There it was. Finally. That smile that could reignite his courage and drive no matter how many points had been scored against them. The smile that would instantly brighten the gloomiest and rainiest of days. Finally it was there, on that young face that was not quite male and not quite female. That smile that was better than omelette rice and strawberry ice cream combined.
“You look so happy!”
Dayong chuckled softly. “That’s because I was.”
There were four pages of pictures left, and Jiale took his time absorbing each one. There were more tennis shots, with Dayong on the boys’ team now. Shots with varying combinations of his friends, although Marianne was in most of them. A very rare picture of Dayong with his father -- “Dad preferred taking pictures to being in them.” The final page showed a Dayong who had shot up several inches. Jiale laughed outright at one showing him propping an elbow against Marianne’s head while the girl glared at him, obviously unhappy at the height difference. In all of these photos, Dayong smiled brightly or otherwise showed a face that was happy and comfortable. The difference from the beginning of the album was striking.
When turning the page produced no more pictures, Jiale paused, then closed the album and held it to his chest, resting his chin against the top. Now that he had nothing left to look at, his mind was trying to sort through what it had learned and seen. Unfortunately, there was still a lot he didn’t understand. Not to mention that he didn’t have a clue what he was supposed to do now. He felt overwhelmed.
Beside him, Dayong slowly went stiff at his continued silence. “Jiale?” he asked after a minute had passed. “Are you okay? You know, with …” He stopped himself briefly before finishing, “ … this?”
He didn’t say it, but Jiale heard it. Are you okay with me?
“It’s a lot to process,” he answered honestly. He wanted to say that yes, he was fine with everything, but he also didn’t want to give Dayong a knee-jerk response that he might have to take back later. His partner deserved better than that. “I think I need to think for a bit.”
“Oh,” Dayong replied, his face shutting down in that way that made Jiale want to whine and jump on him until he smiled again. “Okay.” He looked away and added, “I’m sorry.”
Instantly annoyed, Jiale puffed out his cheeks and turned on the other young man, slamming the album back in his lap. “Are you serious?” he demanded. “You’re apologizing for my slow brain? Do you want me to hit you?”
“I …” Dayong started, turning to him in surprise, but Jiale cut him off before he could say anything else. Knowing him, he would just apologize for apologizing.
“Here,” he said, shoving the album back into Dayong’s hands. He stood up and grabbed his own bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “I think better when I’m moving,” he announced, then ordered, “Walk me home.”
“O-Okay,” his partner replied, scrambling to put the album away and catch up to Jiale who had already begun to move.
By the time Dayong had caught up and was walking in stride with him, Jiale’s brain had figured out some more questions to ask.
“How have you managed to keep this a secret for so long? Wouldn’t your doctor know? Does the school know?”
Dayong laughed, a pained, hollow sound. “Of course the school doesn’t know,” he answered the last question. “Do you think they’d let me play on the men’s tennis team if they did?” Jiale snapped his head to him, his expression stricken, but Dayong ignored it and continued, “By the time I moved here, all my documents had been changed. On paper, I’m male and always have been. As long as I get my physicals on time, they have no reason to suspect any differently.”
“Your doctor knows then?” Jiale asked gently.
“Yes,” Dayong replied. He stared at something on the horizon as he explained, “He was a friend of my father’s, and he considers taking care of me as the best way to honor his memory. As for why I haven’t been caught yet …” He paused, lowering his eyes. “I guess I’m just really lucky. Although it helps that the only people who know are my grandparents, my doctor, and now you.”
Jiale swallowed thickly and rubbed at the back of his head with one hand. “Wow,” he laughed, “way to put the pressure on me.”
“I’m --”
“Chi Dayong, I swear I will hit you!”
Dayong shot him a little half-smile, and the sight of it calmed Jiale’s anger instantly. He nodded once, satisfied at stopping another stupid apology, and went back to trying to sort out the thoughts in his head.
The main thing that was worrying him now was the possibility of Dayong getting kicked off the tennis team. That simply could not happen! They were partners! Jiale simply couldn’t play without Dayong. Well, he could actually and had and had won, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that if Dayong got kicked off the team, Jiale would die, and if the reason he got kicked off was somehow Jiale’s fault, he would die twice. So he would just have to keep the secret closely guarded which was something he was certain he could do. He wasn’t Qiao Chen, after all.
That just left the question of how Jiale felt about all this. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around someone’s gender in their mind not matching their body. After all, he knew he was a boy because he had been born a boy. That’s how it worked, right? Apparently not for Dayong. Dayong had known he was a boy but had been born a girl, and Jiale just couldn’t imagine what that felt like. And how could he know how he felt about the situation as a whole if he couldn’t understand Dayong’s feelings?
And then there was the fact that Dayong apparently had a girl’s body, which didn’t make any sense to Jiale at all. Carefully, he snuck a glance at his best friend beside him as they walked. Dayong didn’t look anything like a girl. He had those broad shoulders, those muscular arms. He was strong, strong enough to support Jiale from the backcourt. He had a deep voice and a strong chin and … a nasty crease between his eyebrows.
Frowning, Jiale stopped walking. Dayong went about three paces before he realized and backtracked. Once he got within arm’s reach, Jiale lifted a hand and flicked him hard in the head.
“You’re overthinking,” he declared. “Stop it. And don’t apologize,” he added quickly when Dayong opened his mouth to do just that. Chastised, his partner looked away, and Jiale quickly took pity on him. “What were you thinking about?” he asked.
Dayong didn’t wring his hands, but it was only because he had one hand in his pocket and the other wrapped around the strap of his tennis bag. “I shouldn’t have told you,” he said quietly. Jiale squawked and began to protest, but Dayong bulldozed right over him. “You’re right, it’s a lot of pressure, but more than that, it’s going to change our relationship. I should have waited until after Nationals at least, because if it affects our relationship, if it affects our teamwork, then people are going to want to know why. And that’s just going to put more pressure on you, and Jiale, I’m so sorry. I should have thought this through more.”
The mention of Nationals briefly made his anger flare again -- because their relationship meant so much more than tennis, dammit! -- but it quickly calmed again when he realized how right Dayong was. At least, he was right about how people would want to know the reason if the Golden Partners fell out again, but Jiale didn’t understand why Dayong would think that would even be a possibility.
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “This isn’t going to affect our relationship.”
Jiale had said the words with as much conviction as he could muster, but Dayong just smiled sadly at him. “Jiale,” he said, “it already has.”
“What? How?”
Dayong pulled his hand out of his pocket and used it to gesture between them. For a moment, Jiale just blinked at him, but then understanding hit him. There was at least two feet between their bodies, and there had been the entire time they had been walking. Usually, Jiale had one arm slung around Dayong’s neck, or at the very least, they walked close enough that their elbows banged into each other every other step. This time, though, without even thinking about it, Jiale had put distance between them as if his subconscious wanted to make sure they didn’t accidentally touch. And when he thought about walking up to Dayong and draping himself over him, something in his mind stopped him before he could move. Because Jiale wasn’t supposed to just casually drape himself over girls.
Distraught, Jiale lifted his eyes and found Dayong looking at him. His best friend’s gaze was so gentle, so understanding, and Jiale wanted to scream because Dayong was always so patient, so kind, even when he was in pain. Even when Jiale was the one causing him pain.
“You aren’t a girl,” he stated, willing the words to carve themselves into his brain.
“No,” Dayong answered, his face calm.
“But … but you’re not a boy either,” Jiale couldn’t stop himself from adding. “Not really.”
His partner didn’t break eye contact, but Jiale could see the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes flickered in pain.
“What … ?” Jiale breathed, but then stopped with a half-sob as Dayong wrenched his eyes away, the anguish flooding his face now. A wave of self-hate swept over Jiale in an instant. How had he even allowed such a terrible question to cross his mind much less start to give it voice? But he was so confused by everything. He didn’t want their relationship to change, but how could he stop it now that he knew what he knew?
Tears beginning to sting his eyes, Jiale wished they could just go back in time. A week, a few days, even just a few hours. Back to when they were just best friends and doubles partners, enjoying each other’s company on their day off. Back when Jiale was Jiale and Dachi was …
He inhaled sharply, holding the air in his lungs.
Back when Dachi was Dachi.
He was such an idiot.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Dayong snapped his head back to him, eyes wide with surprise. Jiale met his eyes confidently, and when he tried to step forward, his body moved without hesitation.
“Jiale, what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated, and it didn’t. Because Dachi was still Dachi. Nothing had changed.
Almost eagerly, Jiale grabbed Dayong’s hands in his own and pulled them up to hold them between their chests. “I don’t understand this at all,” he said, meeting Dayong’s gaze and not letting go. “It will probably take me a lot of time, and I’m sure I’ll mess up more than once. But none of that matters because you’re still you. You’re the same person I met two years ago, the same person I formed a doubles pair with, and the same person who has encouraged and supported me all this time. Nothing has changed.”
“Jiale …” Dayong tried, but Jiale wasn’t finished.
“I promised you that you could rely on me, and I intend to keep that promise. I want to support you, Dachi. I want to support you and be there for you and be the one you lean on when you’re stressed or scared or just want a break. Because you’re my partner. You’re my best friend. You’re my Dachi.” Jiale smiled brightly, his eyes shining with happiness. “And you always will be.”
Dayong looked like he was going to start crying, and Jiale knew that if Dayong cried, he would cry, too, and then everything would be a big sloppy mess, so he quickly slung his arm over his best friend’s shoulders and started walking again. He needed a distraction, fast. Luckily, he already had one.
“Can you introduce me to Marianne next time you talk to her?”
“You … you want to meet Marianne?” Dayong sounded a little breathless which wasn’t surprising considering just seconds ago they were on the cusp of what could have been another breakup.
“Yup!” Jiale replied happily. “I still have so many questions, and I’m going to need help. Normally, I’d just bother Zhou Zhi, but since I can’t do that this time, I thought she would be good instead. Plus, I want to know what it was like to grow up with you and watch all this stuff happening. I want to know how she felt watching you change.”
“It’s called transitioning,” Dayong said, giving him a little smile.
“See?” Jiale cried, getting right in the other young man’s face. “I don’t even know the right words for things! How am I supposed to understand this without help?” Dayong’s answering laughter brought a contented smile to his face. As long as he could make Dayong laugh like that, everything would be all right. Turning back to the path in front of them, he continued, “I also need to get to know her better so I can find out if she has any weaknesses.”
“Weaknesses? What?”
Jiale nodded sharply. “Yes. Weaknesses. Because she was your best friend growing up, right? Which means she’s my primary competition for the top place in your heart.”
Dayong was looking at him now with an expression of fond amusement and mild exasperation. “It’s not a competition, Jiale,” he tried.
But Jiale ignored him, too fired up by the idea to care. He lifted his free hand into the air, pointed at the sky, and declared, “I won’t lose!”
He grinned broadly at his partner who only shook his head and laughed as they continued to make their way home together.