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In the low hum of a late-night diner, where the coffee was stale and the jukebox only played songs from a decade no one missed, Jordan found a kind of peace. They were a trans barista at a place called The Switch, a name that was either a cruel joke or a prophecy, depending on who you asked.

Marisol, who had come in quietly and sat in the back, added, “When I came out as a lesbian, my abuela asked me if I was going to start wearing men’s shoes. I said, ‘No, Abuela, I’m just going to love women in these very cute sandals.’ It took her five years to laugh at that joke. Five years. But she got there.”

The meeting. The biweekly gathering of the “Rainbow Resilience” group at the community center two blocks away. Jordan usually found an excuse. Too tired. Too busy. Too something . But tonight, a restlessness had settled into their bones, a familiar itch to be seen.