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“I lost them.” “Again?” my mom said, exasperated. I knew it would be frustrating for her, replacing my gym clothes for the third time that year as a single mom. I hadn’t really lost my gym clothes, though. I knew exactly where they were wedged behind the tall bush at the back of the school property, where I’d lobbed them right before PE class. The last two sets had been “lost” in similar fashion tucked under a stairwell, secreted behind a tree each time so I wouldn’t have to go to PE that day. Advertisement The reason I dreaded going to PE was that, although I didn’t realize it at the time, I was a transgender boy. All I knew was I hated the changes that were happening to my body during puberty. I hated that we had to change in the locker rooms. I hated having to wear the gym clothes because they were more revealing than the bulky clothes I wore to school every day. And I hated the gender-segregated teams and activities, where I was forced to play “girls” s

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