Page 9 of Noah

"We had a break-in last night. All the computers were stolen."

I jammed my hand into my hair.

Shit.

"Did they catch who did it?"

"They did. Not all the computers were recovered, though. The ones we got back … most of them are damaged. The thieves weren't very gentle with them."

"The kids need those computers to do their homework."

"We'll have to adapt until we can figure something out."

I wish I had the money. I'd pull it out of my pocket and buy a load of computers for these kids. They deserved a chance to do well at school.

"We'll have to raise the funds somehow," I said, stating the obvious.

"I've already started putting some ideas together. This is going to have to be bigger than a car wash or raffle. We're going to need at least $10,000."

"If you need a venue, you can use my pub."

"That's very generous. Thank you. Let me come up with some solid ideas based on that."

I patted Jamal's shoulder. He had this. He really cared about these kids. Five years ago, when I'd first started coming to volunteer, the centre had been in disarray. The volunteers who were running the programs weren't trained in managing a facility like this. An anonymous donor had stepped forward and offered to pay the salary yearly for a full-time professional coordinator.

It had changed everything for the kids.

"Is Kyle here?" I asked Jamal.

"Yup. He's in the library."

I smiled. The library was Kyle's favourite place. He found solitude there, whereas the other kids liked to be in the thick of the chaos. If I had to guess, I'd say Kyle was twelve or so. He told his mom that he wasn't a girl—that he was a boy when he was six. Thank God, she'd been supportive and sought out the resources to make her child's transition as smooth as possible.

I found Kyle in a back corner of the library, his back pressed against the wall, knees up, with a thick book in his hands.

"That book looks ominous," I said as I sat down next to him. Close but not touching. Kyle was funny about being touched. He'd jump up and away from you and start pacing.

I looked at the book cover. "A history of Stonewall. Nice."

I didn't expect Kyle to talk. Sometimes he did, though.

"Have you got to the bit about Marsha P. Johnson yet?"

Kyle nodded. "She fought back."

I straightened up. This was going to be one of those days when unicorns might appear. Kyle had decided to speak to me. "She was very brave, don't you think?"

"She died too soon."

I crossed my legs and leaned my elbows on my knees. Pretty heavy subject for a twelve-year-old to be reading. Maybe he was older than I thought he was. He was a slim kid. Delicate. It was difficult to tell how old he actually was. The Power Rangers t-shirt didn't lend much of a clue.

"Was she like me?" Kyle asked and leaned against me; his bony shoulder pressed against my bicep. Tears welled up in my eyes. I'd never gotten to physical contact with Kyle before.

"No, she wasn't. She was a gay man who liked to dress in women's clothing. But she wasn't transgender. She didn't identify as a woman."

"Why she?"

"She was also a drag queen and that's what you do, use she and her."

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