Pink Ranger Problems

Summer sneaks out at seven. She woke me up last night worried. She's right as always. I need to talk to him. I just wish I could morph to do it, but that would make this exercise pointless. He needs to see me without being morphed. It’s the only way he’ll react honestly. We need to talk like we did before our movie last night. Man to man. Or man skinsuit to man. Summer of course doesn't think so. She thinks I'm being ridiculous. Again she's probably right.

It's eight. An hour before when I said I’d be there. My stomach feels like it's doing backflips. He's going to hate me, and that's fine. I shouldn't have lied to him. I shouldn't have seduced him. It doesn't matter how accidentally it was, I did it. I brush my hair and throw on my favourite blue hoodie. 

I just hope he can forgive me. Summer says he will. And even as every part of my brain says she's wrong, I want to believe her.

"Are you ready to go, sport?" I told him I was sorting things out and he insisted on driving me. 

"Yeah. I'm ready." 

It's eight thirty. We are heading for the youth centre. Scott is probably going to be waiting there, hopefully, if he saw my message. He hasn't replied. I wouldn't if I just got rejected by someone. I suggested to Summer that I should wait a week and she called me a dumbass. Which is fair. It still feels rude to text him the day after running out on him.

"Call me if you need anything!" Dad shouts from the car.

"I will. Love you, Dad."

"I love you too!"

I sit on a bench outside of Ernie's courtyard. Eight forty-five. My feet tap against the ground. My skin crawls as people walk past and look at me. Hours ago I was a super heroine saving the city, but now I look like a generic sad boy. I can feel people looking at me. They can see this mismatched, disproportionate mess I call a body even under all these layers. Five foot eleven of monstrosity. That's all they see. That's what Scott is going to see. It's getting harder to breathe. I need the courtyard to open so I can hide. 

This was a mistake. He's probably not even going to show.  He shouldn't, he doesn't owe me anything. He'd be better off without me. 

Part of me wishes that Astrus could make everyone forget about this version of me.  That his hypothetical scenario was something he could do. That Ryan could just disappear leaving only me behind. It's impossible, but it would be nice. A normal highschool girl superhero.

Nine. Unless his phone is completely off he's probably seen my message. This is a late wake up by his standards. It's more likely he's mad and I can't blame him. If I was less pathetic, I'd leave and tell him to call me or text me when he's up to it, but I have nothing better to do for the next couple of hours. Some sun might do me some good, even if I'm completely covered.

Ernie walks by but doesn't notice me. A blessing. I slip into the courtyard and sit on one of the benches.

Nine twenty. This is probably the least horrible outcome, if he just ignores me I’ll be fine right? I’ll transition, and he can pretend I don’t exist. He can hate me and I will just live with no closure.  My phone vibrates and my heart races. It’s from Scott.

I’m on my way. 

What does he have to say to me? Well, I’ll probably have to lead the conversation. I should probably start with an apology for lying to him. Then apologise for running out last night, and then if he hasn’t left maybe talk about what we are going to function going forward. How much can I tell him? The gender stuff is a must. I'm trans. I came to terms with that last night, but could I say I like him? Probably not.

It’s nine thirty and I see him jog through the gates to the courtyard. His eyes light up as our eyes meet, and then that excitement seems to dampen the longer he looks at me.

"Are you okay, Fi?" He's standing over me. Is he still worried about me, after everything I've put him through? 

“Why did you call me that?” My voice comes out flat. His brain probably just slipped.

“That’s your name isn’t it?” He’s fidgeting. He looks completely harmless. Sweet and caring like he always does. He should be mad at me. He should want nothing to do with me. 

“It’s Ryan when I’m like this.” He sits down on the bench next to me.

“At least try to sound okay with it,” he says. “You sound like my mother when she has to call me Scott.”

“Is she still being bad about that?” 

“She’s getting better.”

“That’s good to hear.”

"It is but that's not why we are here.” he takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry for asking you out." 

The way he's fidgeting with his hands and avoiding my gaze worries me. I don’t know how to respond. Why is he apologising? This is my fault. I’m the one that led him on. I’m the one who lied about who I was. I was the one who developed feelings despite knowing it wouldn’t work and didn’t make sense. 

“What?”

“I didn’t know and I guess I got lost thinking about the cute girl in front of me and didn’t notice the obvious signs that she was actually–”

“Scott, stop.” He obeys. This would be way easier if this was just a misunderstanding. If I wasn’t actually crushing stupidly hard on him. If being a girl was the only issue here. “I was trying to make sure you didn’t find out. This is my fault.”

“Yeah, but if I’d just paid more attention, I could have avoided this.”

“And I could have avoided this by being honest with you. This is my fault.” My leg hurts from my grip.

“But–”

“I lied to you while you were still figuring stuff out. I pretended to be a girl, and acted in a way that you would like." He sits there quietly. The anger I was expecting doesn't seem to show on his face. "I'm sorry. I should have told you who I was." I sound heartless right now. My voice doesn't shake or quiver. Everything I say sounds rehearsed and monotone.

He's quiet. Maybe he thinks my apology is bullshit. He's looking me up and down. Examining me. 

"Should we talk about this back at the, you know…"

“What? Why?"

“We're in public, right now." He pulls me to my feet and whispers in my ear. "There are civilians."

His grip on my arm is gentle. It shouldn't be. I'm not a girl right now. He probably wants me to explain myself and to do that, we can't be in public. Maybe once we leave he'll finally get mad. 

"There's an alley around the block." I say

"Let's go." My heart pounds as he holds on to my hand. It's so ill fitting now. Nothing like it would be if I was Filia. I shouldn't let myself lose myself to that idea.

A brilliant pink light rips me from the alley. The familiar lights and budget sci-fi aesthetic appears around me. Everything feels tingly. I'm still holding Scott's hand from where he pulled me along. My hand is gloved, while his isn't. Scott looks at me, blushing.

"Damn it." I yell. Filia's voice sounds thoroughly not intimidating, even when yelling.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"I morphed in transit." It's infuriatingly relaxing being in this body and having my hand held. I want to snap. I want to yell at the power for feminizing me again, but I feel comfortable. I can only fault myself. He let go of my hand and pathetically I want it back.

"And?" He doesn't see the problem. Wasn't he dragging me here to explain myself.

"What do you mean 'and?'"

"What's the problem with morphing?"

"I'm Ryan. I need you to remember that. Everything I did as a girl was me. It was Ryan." I blurt everything out. He'll get it now. He's probably substituting every memory of Filia with Ryan and being disgusted by it. 

"And?" I want to throttle him. I'm in no position to be angry at him, but he seems so intent on not caring about the horrible things I did.

"I'm trying to apologise for lying to you!" I shout. We reach the meeting room.

"You already did that." He has to be playing dumb. Or fucking with me. He was so worried about this when he was apologising.

I sit down on a nearby sofa and he sits down next to me. I am going to make him understand.

"Scott, look at me. Why are you not taking it seriously?" He looks me in the eyes. He is still infuriatingly handsome. His brown eyes are equal parts amused and worried and once again I wish we were just a normal boy and a normal girl. 

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"What do you mean 'what do you mean'? You stopped listening as soon as I told you to not apologise."

"I'm listening. I'm just not worried about you being mad at me anymore." I can't tell if he's being deliberately obtuse or if he genuinely can't see what I did wrong. 

"I lied to you, manipulated you into liking me," I shouldn't have said that. "and then ran out on you. I don't have the right to be mad at you."

"Manipulated me?" He laughs.

"Yes!" I shout.

"So how did you do it? How did you 'manipulate' me?"

I shrink in my chair. He's not going to make me lay this out is he?

"I pretended to be a woman for starters.

"And? What do you take me for? A playboy? I don't just fall for any girl I meet." 

"You picked me up when we first met."

"I wanted the cute girl I'd met to see me as a guy. Even if I didn't look like one. Plus she called me handsome. Is that what you mean by manipulating me?"

"No. You really were handsome. And you still are."

"So compliments aren't what you were talking about?"

"I wouldn't say something like that if I didn't mean it." I don't like where this is going

"So was the manipulation in the flustered reactions?"

"I am not used to compliments." He's interrogating me and I concede. Not everything was a lie. "I still didn't tell you who I was." This isn't something he can deny.

"Is Filia who you are?" It's an odd question. But I think I get it.

"Not yet."

"So you're a girl."

"I want to be."

"Then I forgive you." All the frustration and anxiety I felt melts into relief. My face warms up and my eyes start to water. 

"But I'm–" I aimlessly throw out some worthless objection. He knows almost everything now. He knows what I think of him. He knows that I want to be Filia. My hands shake and he puts an arm around my shoulder. I can't convince him to hate me.

"I wish you'd told me sooner so I could get to know this kickass version of my best friend, but I know now and I'm going to be here for you."

I try to hold back my tears, but it's not worth it. Is it? Besides, they're tears of relief. Of all the thing he could judge me for it's not going to be this.

"Can I hug you?" he asks. I nod and he wraps his other arm around me. He's comfortable. I like this. I like this a lot.

I like him a lot.

"Thank you."  I manage to squeak. He starts to let go and I'm tempted to move in closer. I don't want him to let go. I don't really want him to see my crying face either. He finally separates from me. 

"You're welcome."