Covet Thy Neighbor

Sure.” I followed him further into the church.
    “There isn’t really much to it. The classrooms behind the sanctuary have been converted into dorms. The pastor and his wife live in the apartment over there”—he nodded toward the left side of the sanctuary—“and volunteers stay here in shifts so there’s also at least two people over eighteen in the building. And in about—” he checked his watch “—thirty minutes, the other volunteers will be here to start getting dinner put together for the kids. After they’ve eaten, it can be anything from helping them study or apply for colleges to playing dodge ball in the sanctuary.”
    “Dodge ball?” I blinked. “In the sanctuary?”
    “What? You’re not afraid to play against a bunch of kids, are you?”
    “Pfft. I’ll wipe the floor with them.”
    Darren flashed me a grin. “I’ll remember that when I’m helping you ice a black eye at the end of the night.”
    I laughed. “Yeah. We’ll see about that.”
    Chuckling, he gestured for me to follow him. “All right, let’s put you to work before you get into trouble.”
    “It’s almost frightening how well you seem to know me.”
    He just grinned. And I shoved all my thoughts about how well I wanted to know him to the back of my mind.
    He took me back and introduced me to some of the kids who were staying in the church’s makeshift dorm. That was eerie and more than a little disturbing, seeing all these kids—mostly sixteen or seventeen, one who couldn’t have been more than thirteen—essentially homeless and turned out on their own. There had been many times over the last several years when I was thankful I’d dodged that bullet, that when my family had disowned me, I’d been an adult with the capability of getting on my feet, even if it took some struggling. This was one of those times.
    As everyone started migrating from the dorms toward the kitchens, I noticed one kid sitting off to the side in the sanctuary, refusing to acknowledge anyone else and making no move to join everyone. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her blouse sat on shoulders that—
    Wait.
    The shape of the shoulders. The lack of shape in the hips. Makeup covering a jawline that was coarser than I’d have expected. My heart sank. At this age, most boys pined for that time when they could justify shaving more than once or twice a week. This poor girl was well ahead of that curve.
    I turned to Darren, and gestured at the girl. “Hey, is she okay?”
    He sighed. “Sometimes it takes a while for kids to feel like they’re part of the group. She’s the only trans girl here right now, and I think she’s self-conscious about her voice.”
    “Her voice?”
    “You think it sucked when we were teenagers and our voices kept cracking?” He nodded toward her. “Think how that must be for her.”
    I grimaced. “Poor kid.”
    “No kidding.”
    I looked over at the kids heading into the kitchen. Then at the girl sitting by herself. “Listen, um, can you do without me for a few minutes?”
    Darren turned to me and shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Why?”
    “I’m going to see if I can talk to her.”
    “Good luck,” Darren said without a trace of sarcasm. “I’ve tried, but . . .”
    “Couldn’t hurt to try.”
    He followed the other kids, and I walked back to where the girl sat alone. As I approached her, I said, “Hi,” silently cursing my own awkwardness.
    No response.
    I sat beside her, but kept a comfortable foot or so between us. “You all right? You’re awfully quiet.”
    She turned away, and I cringed on her behalf when her Adam’s apple jumped.
    “What’s your name?” I asked.
    She glared at me, and pointed at the name tag on her blouse.
    “Josephine.” I extended my hand. “I’m Seth.”
    She didn’t take my hand, and instead turned her head away again.
    I chewed my lip. “You know, there’s—”
    “I don’t want to talk to anyone, all right?” she snapped, her cheeks immediately reddening under her makeup. Darren was right: her voice was caught in that limbo between a boy’s and a woman’s, not quite out of the higher register of the former but trying really hard to dip into a register that was too low for the latter. Nothing sabotaged an attempt to master a female speaking voice like that bitch called puberty.
    Josephine clenched her jaw.
    “Listen, um . . .” I cleared my throat. “I might be able to help you with your voice.”
    She didn’t speak.
    “There’s a vocal