The sky over the small town of Millbrook was the color of bruised plums, the kind of deep twilight that made Sam’s chest ache with a feeling they couldn’t yet name. For eighteen years, Sam had lived inside a room with no mirrors. Or rather, there were mirrors—in the bathroom, in the hallway, on the back of Mom’s closet door—but every time Sam looked, the person staring back felt like a stranger wearing the wrong costume.
“You’ll find your people,” Ash said without looking up. “Not all of them will look like you. Some will be drag queens. Some will be soccer moms with short hair. Some will be your worst enemy’s uncle who finally came around. The point isn’t sameness. The point is survival.”
“You look lost,” Rio said.
Below, a group of teenagers walked past, laughing. One of them wore a pin that said “Protect Trans Kids.” Another had a patch on their jacket: “We contain multitudes.”