Today Will Be Different Read Online Free PDF

We’ve got a transgender!” Joe and I joked about it later that night. After we’d been accepted, and without telling us, the school had taken it upon themselves to switch all the boys’ and girls’ bathrooms to gender-neutral. “I hope you didn’t do this for Timby,” I said to the head of school, Gwen. “Oh no,” she said. “We did it for all our little genderqueers.”
    To that, there could be only one response: to laugh my ass off. But I had the good sense to wait until I got outside.
    Was I in denial? Had I become lulled into complacency as a reaction against Galer Street’s fervent embrace of everything? And just because the administrators were so tolerant of the occasional pink thumbnail, the same might not be said for the kids on the playground…
    “Have you told your mom about Piper?” asked Dr. Saba.
    “No,” Timby said.
    Dr. Saba didn’t have to shoot me a disappointed look. I could feel it beaming through the back of her skull.
    “Have you told your teachers?”
    “No.”
    “What kind of things is Piper doing to you?”
    “I don’t know,” Timby said.
    “Is she hurting your body?” Dr. Saba asked.
    “No,” Timby said, his mouth full of saliva.
    “What did Piper do?”
    I twisted in my chair and held my breath.
    “She told me I bought my shirt at H&M.”
    Oh.
    “You bought your shirt at H&M?” repeated the doctor.
    “When Piper was in Bangladesh she went on a tour of a factory with child slaves and they were making clothes for H&M.”
    “I see,” said Dr. Saba. “Timby, third grade is when things start to get complicated with your friends. Sometimes your feelings can get so big they cause a tummy ache.”
    Timby finally looked up and into Dr. Saba’s eyes.
    “Do you know the best medicine for that?” she asked.
    “What?”
    “Talk to your grown-up,” Dr. Saba said. “Your mom. But if it’s not your mom—”
    “It is his mom,” I said.
    “—talk to your dad, your grandma, your favorite teacher. Tell them how you’re feeling. They might not be able to fix it, but sometimes just talking is enough.”
    Timby smiled.
    “You look like you’re feeling better already.”
    “I am.”
    “That’s what I like to hear,” she said, standing.
    “Good,” I said. “We can go back to school.”
    Timby hopped off the table and pulled open the door.
    “Hey, where’s he going?” I asked.
    The door shut. It was just me, Dr. Saba, and the mural of zombie-eyed lemurs.
    “Do you have to go right back to work?” Dr. Saba asked. “Because what Timby really needs is mommy time.”
    “I’ll move some stuff around.”
    Dr. Saba stood there, calling my bluff. I dialed Sydney Madsen and got voice mail. “Sydney. I have to reschedule. Something came up with Timby.”
    Dr. Saba gave me a nod and headed out.
    Timby was at the nurses’ station, whistling as he ferreted through a cardboard box covered with wrapping paper.
    A nurse asked, “Do you want a Wash Your Hands pencil or a Good Job tattoo?”
    “Can I have both?” Timby said, still scrounging. “Ooh, is this gum?” He picked up a box but dropped it instantly when it turned out to be chalk.
    That was it. Timby was going back to school. And I was going to get this Sydney Madsen lunch behind me. The last thing I needed was a fresh round of passive-aggressive subject lines: “Remember Me?” “Hello, Stranger!” “Lunch with a Friend?”
    (So needy! As far as I’m concerned, the only thing sweeter than seeing a friend is that friend canceling on me.)
    I dialed Sydney’s number. “Hi! Forget my last message. I’ll see you at noon—”
    Somehow Dr. Saba was standing there.
    “—some other day. Just making sure you got the message.”
    “Am I going back to school or not?” Timby asked.
    The spotlight was on me.
    “We’re going to have some mommy time!” I said.
    “Mommy time?” he said, not unafraid.
    We left Dr. Saba’s office and stepped onto the streets of downtown, my mind a muddle. What I needed now was