Becoming Ellie
Nobody sees Ellie. They see Mason, this awkward, lanky kid who barely speaks. The one who hides under hoodies, head down, trying to blend into walls. They don’t see the girl trapped underneath, the one who’s been screaming into pillows and mirrors for years, begging to be real.
Then comes Zoe. Bright, loud, unapologetically queer Zoe—someone who doesn’t give a damn about fitting in. She’s everything Ellie isn’t allowed to be. And in a wild, reckless moment, Ellie tells her truth: "I'm not Mason. I'm Ellie." It’s terrifying and electric—like ripping off a mask that’s melted into your skin.
For the first time, someone sees her. Her best friend Jamie doesn’t flinch. Her little sister almost says, “I knew it.” And in stolen moments, Ellie starts to live—tiny rebellions like growing her hair, whispering her name to the mirror, running a secret Instagram where she can just be. Every step is a victory, but every victory has a price.
Her father’s rage is a thunderstorm—loud, blinding, impossible to reason with. Her mother’s tears are quieter but sharper, like glass splinters under her skin. Teachers shrug her off; classmates whisper. Even some friends scatter. When home finally breaks her, Ellie runs. Nowhere to go, but anywhere is better than a house that feels like a prison.
Coming out isn't a happy ending; it's a battle. Therapy, support groups, filling out name-change forms while strangers look at her like she’s a freak. Every small victory—being called her real name, the first hormones kicking in, a prom dress that fits—feels like a stolen breath. But it's enough. Enough to keep fighting.
Because Ellie isn't just surviving. She's becoming. And that’s something no one—not her father, not her school, not the world—can take from her.
