The Good Hair Family Sitcom

S2 E2.1: The Gender Divide

Hazel's POV

"I really hope we're not still doing track and field," Aimée says. "I can never jump high enough, so it's just embarrassing."

To that, Darius steps closer and replies, "You could say it presents you with a...hurdle."

"Good Lord, Darius," Aimée groans.

Three of my friends are in my P.E. class with me: Aimée, Darius, and Fatima. Their presence makes it a lot easier to be here, although I have to give most of that credit to my teacher, who, thankfully, isn't completely ignorant about my situation. He doesn't divide us by gender. Rather, he uses set standards to grade everyone, and the beauty of it is, as long as you show up to class and do what is asked, you're guaranteed to pass. I was terrified my first day of gym class at Grant, but Mr. Stichler made it a lot easier than I had expected. So walking into the gym now and not seeing him zaps fear into my pulse.

"Where's Mr. Stichler?" Fatima wonders.

After a few seconds of confused faces from the entire class, a woman with a whistle pushes through the doors and steps in, her lips grim and eyes cold, like a ghost who was just murdered and wants to repay the deed.

"Oh my God. I know that teacher," I tell my friends. "She used to substitute at my elementary school. She refused to use my real name and only ever called me by my deadname."

"I know her too," Fatima says, folding her arms over her chest. "She subbed for my math class last year at Jefferson. She compared my hijab to a towel."

"Okay, come in, class!" the teacher, Ms. Chernin calls. I couldn't forget her name even if I wanted to. "I'll be teaching your class for the rest of the semester."

Immediately, one of my classmates shoots their hand up, not waiting to be picked before asking, "What happened to Mr. Stichler?"

"Mr. Stichler's wife went into labour, and now he's getting paid paternity leave..." In a mumble, she adds "...because apparently if you have a baby, you get money for doing nothing."

I take in a shaky breath and let it out loudly. "Okay, I'm officially scared."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Fatima tells me. "It's only three and a half-ish months."

"I hope," I respond, "because ninth-grade P.E. is mandatory, so I can't exactly drop it."

"Today we're starting the volleyball unit," Ms. Chernin announces, "so let's split. Girls on this side. Boys on that side."

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Um... To save me from my mental disaster, Fatima and Aimée link their arms through mine and gesture for me to come with them. It's a question, an offer, and I accept, following them over to the rest of the girls while trying to keep my whole body from turning inside out and imploding. I'm much more comfortable once standing with the other girls, and I feel my heart starting to slow again.

"Either of you good at volleyball?" I ask, attempting to focus my mind somewhere else.

"I've seen it played in movies," Aimée answers, "so, like, no."

The three of us laugh, and I'm starting to think this will be okay. But then I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I see the teacher behind me.

"Kippen-Mack, other side."

For a pure minute, I can't move. I'm completely paralyzed. And nobody else in the class is seeing this. They're just talking, some getting the volleyballs out from the equipment room, others just waiting to be given one. My friends don't do anything. After all, what would they do? What would I do? Well, I walk to the other side.