Spy Stuff

Chapter 3-2

Anton totally couldn’t do this.

Because fourth period was PE. And Anton had always hated PE. Not for the doing of sports or anything—he liked football, and athletics wasn’t too bad—but for the whole…getting changed, wearing shorts and tight tops, everyone staring at everybody else thing. He had a note from his mother, and another one from the head, but…what if the PE teacher didn’t give two shits about transgender kids? What if he didn’t understand why Anton couldn’t change with the other boys? Worst of all, what if he made Anton change with the girls?

Finding him was the first step though, so as the class milled into the sports hall, Anton caught Emma’s sleeve before she could disappear into the girls’ changing rooms.

“I need to speak to the PE teacher,” he said.

“Mrs. Salter? Oh, sure, it’s that little office at the end of the corridor, see? Just before the gym doors. Knock and wait for her to tell you to come in, she hates people barging in, you get extra laps for that.”

Somehow, Anton hadn’t imagined the PE teacher would be a woman. He’d always had male PE teachers before, and suddenly his imagination provided him with some enormous female weightlifting champion type. Brilliant. The least sympathetic type of person ever, probably.

So he knocked, but his stomach was already in his shoes.

“Come in!”

He cracked the door open and slipped inside.

The office was a messy collection of files, random tennis balls, and trophies in a dusty cabinet by a tiny window. The desk was groaning under the weight of a million bits of paper, and the woman behind it looked up sharply when he shut the door behind him.

Anton blinked, thrown.

“Who’re you, then?”

Mrs. Salter was…petite. And pretty. She was probably only Anton’s height herself, a slender black woman with very long braided hair swept up in a high ponytail. She was wiry, whipcord muscle showing on her bared arms, and all limbs. She could have been a gymnast or a ballet dancer, and yet there was a sharp, calculating look on her face that made Anton think maybe he hadn’t been too far off the mark after all.

“Uh. Anton Williams. Miss.”

“Don’t know you. What do you want.” Her voice was sharp and perfunctory, the words flat and unquestioning. She wasn’t asking; she was demanding an answer immediately, and Anton held out the notes from Mum and the head on nervous reflex.

“I’m in your next class, 10B. I’m new.”

“So?” She didn’t take the notes.

“I…the head’s agreed…some different stuff for PE.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she took the notes. “Sit.”

He slid gingerly into the rickety chair in front of her desk, and fidgeted with the button on his blazer. She scanned the notes with a disinterested expression, then dropped them almost carelessly on the desk.

“Yes,” she said. “I remember Mr. Martins mentioning something about you.”

Anton felt his face heat up.

“You’ve been given permission to wear a T-shirt instead of the vest the other students wear.”

“Yes. Miss,” he added hastily.

“Have you brought one?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“In future, it will be black, and it must not be longer than the waistband of your shorts. Boys wear black vests, girls wear light blue ones. If you do not bring a black T-shirt next week, you will be given a detention and a vest from the spare kit box. I will not reserve a T-shirt in that box for you, Williams, so if you forget your own, it’s on your head.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Which changing rooms would you prefer?”

“I can’t change with the others,” Anton blurted out. “They’ll figure me out.”

“You can’t change in the corridor either,” she said bluntly, then pursed her lips and pointed a pen at the closed door. “Next to the gym doors is a staff toilet. It’s a single bathroom, no stalls, but it’s lockable. I will inform the rest of the staff that it is for your use for changing on Tuesday afternoons until you feel comfortable changing with the other boys.”

Somehow, her use of the word ‘other’ made a rush of relief sweep up Anton’s spine.

“Inform me if you join any sports clubs and I will amend that to include those dates. The sooner you can change with the other boys, the better, but you may use that for the time being if you wish.”

“T-thanks, Miss.”

“Other pupils will notice, though, Williams. You won’t be able to keep it quiet forever.”

“No, Miss.”

Her sharp face softened ever so slightly. “10B is a fairly easy-going group. They’re a pack of feral idiots on the playing fields, and I know they’re a peril to the more sensitive members of staff, but they’re a nice enough bunch underneath the act. I wouldn’t imagine you’ll have any real problems with them.”

“They’ve…they’re nice so far. Miss,” Anton told his knees. Mrs. Salter, he was rapidly deciding, was crazy intimidating.

“Understand, Williams, that I will not treat you any differently from any of the other boys. You will work to their standards. You do not have to be good at sport, but I demand of all my classes that they try. Laziness is not tolerated in my lessons, nor will I accept any excuses. If you try hard, then I will recognise that, but none of my pupils—whatever their gender identity—are permitted to use excuses and idleness to get out of PE.”

“No, Miss.”

“However, I also recognise you will have some challenges with PE,” she added, more quietly. “The others may find out, Williams. If they do, and if they are in any way abusive about it, then I want you to inform me or another member of staff immediately. Bullying and discrimination is also not tolerated in my lessons, whatever the source of it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss. Thanks, Miss,” he added quietly. He wasn’t stupid; he was going to take support wherever he could get it.

“Anything else?”

“I…I wear a binder, Miss. A looser one for PE ‘cause they make it hard to breathe sometimes, but, um, if one of the other kids sees it…” She raised her eyebrows, and Anton took a deep breath before ploughing on. “My aunt always calls it a back support if people see it.”

“I see.”

“That’s…that’s what I’ll say.”

“You may call it whatever you want, Williams. I will not, however, have you playing up a back injury. You may tell the others it is one, but it’s not an excuse to slack off.”

“No, Miss. I won’t.”

“Good. Go and get changed—you need to be outside the sports hall in five minutes. Do you have football boots?”

“Trainers, Miss. I own some, though.”

“It’s football boots until half term. Make sure you bring them in future.”

“Yes, Miss.”

He’d never been so glad to escape a teacher’s office—and yet, as he slipped into the indicated staff toilet and locked the door to change into his looser binder and PE kit—he also felt oddly positive about PE. Which was a first in…

Well, ever.