Author's Note: There is a plot, it starts to take off in this chapter, but there will still be chapters that focus more on Whit and Lucy's relationship and trauma. Something I haven't made clear that I will need to in future edits is that the story is taking place in a rural town In Illinois called Mud Creek. It's the kind of place that has very powerful gravity. My three main characters, Lucy, Whit, and Grace are all stuck in Mud Creek. Thank you reading and I so appreciate the comments!

Chapter 5 Dead Battery September 11, 2025

Whit walked into the classroom. Troy and Angie Phelps already at their table with their easels and paintings set up. The older retired couple were his most consistent students and sadly neither of them could paint their way out of a paper bag. But they loved it and that’s all that mattered.

“Hey teach,” the older Mr. Phelps said with a big grin.

“So what have you got for me tonight?” Whit asked.

The old gentleman held up a printed photo of a small country church, “We’re going to paint the old Harvest Chapel. This is where it all started.” Mr. Phelps said with a grin.

Whit checked out the photo of the church, it was small, out of focus and taken in the middle of the day. Colors were washed out, values were crushed, the composition lacked any semblance of balance. He knew it would make a horrible painting.

“Great photo Troy, it’ll make an awesome painting. It’s amazing that Harvest Chapel went from that to, what, 500 people?”

“607 last week,” Angie said. Whit smiled. He did not like Harvest Chapel, the fastest growing church in the whole region, but then again he didn’t really like any church, but it was best not to mention that in these parts.

“We’re saving you and Lucy pew, we hope you can make it Sunday,” Troy said.

“Thanks Troy, I’ll talk to Lucy about it.”

Over the next ten minutes a few more couples and solo students came in while Whit opened up cabinets getting out bottles of acrylic paint, brushes, and canvases. Finally he made his way over to the ancient little CD player in the corner and dropped in “Yanni Live at the Acropolis,” a crowd favorite. He turned to see Lucy walk in.

She took a few cautious steps in and scanned the room until her eyes locked with Whit. She was wearing a long black dress and hiking boots. Whit waved and she smiled. As she walked towards him she saw the Phelpses and her shoulders tightened.

“Grace, I’m so glad you could make it!” he said.

The girl held her sketchbook to her chest like a shield, but smiled. “Yeah, I thought I’d come lower the average age of class a few years,” she said quietly.

Whit laughed, and turned back to the class, “Hey everyone we have a new student joining us tonight, this is Grace, I deliver her mail, and her painting supplies, so I invited her to join us.

The assembled adults all offered polite greetings to which Grace nodded and took a seat. Whit addressed the class, telling them about a few events the college had coming up and announced that everyone would need a painting finished before Thanksgiving for the Fall art exhibition.

Then he turned to Grace, “So what do you want to paint?”

She frowned and opened up her sketchbook showing Whit a pencil drawing of a deer near a cliff. It had a whimsical style, very two dimensional, reminding him of a cave painting. While it was simple it seemed intentionally so. The deer, rocks, and trees were rendered with grace and the composition was grounded in asymmetrical balance.

Whit’s smile grew from ear to ear, “Oh Wow, this is amazing!”

“I didn’t copy it, it came from this,” Grace opened up her phone and showed Whit the photo she had taken the night before.

“Did your Dad take that?” Whit said remembering she said her Dad did photography.

Grace shook her head, “No I did. I got lucky last night.”

Whit felt like he’d won the art student lottery, this girl was an amazing photographer, and she could draw. “If you send that to me I’ll print it out for you,” Whit said. A few minutes later Grace had a 16x20 Canvas, and a full page print of the deer photograph.

Whit grabbed a book from a nearby shelf and flicked through to images of cave paintings, “This might be helpful for reference, but really I think your sketch should be your primary guide. You’ll need to figure out how you want to approach color. There are some color pencils in the drawer over there if you want to experiment in your sketchbook.” He spent a few minutes contemplating her line style, and the sense of balance and unity her sketch showed.

Grace blinked at him, surprised at how easily he moved through art principles, like someone who did this a living.

“Sounds great, I wish you were my high school art teacher, I might have not dropped out,” Grace said with a laugh.

White smiled and nodded, then began moving around the room to help other students.

As the students filed out for break, Troy and Angie hung back, hovering near Whit’s paint cart. When the door finally shut behind the last person, Angie leaned in.

“I’m real glad you invited Grace,” she said. “This will be really good for them.

“Yeah… They’ve had a tough time, I’m sure this is good for them,” Troy said.

Whit tilted his head confused by the sudden they/them pronouns. He leaned in close, realizing that he was about to receive some good ol fashioned gossip, “I’ve been trying to figure out why she’s living in that dump out in the boonies, seems like she’s the only one living there.”

“You don’t know about them?” Angie asked.

“Know what?” Whit asked.

Angie lowered her voice. “Her name wasn’t always Grace. It used to be Grayson. She’s… one of those transgender kids.”

Whit looked back at the empty door, “Grace, that girl?” he asked.

Troy nodded, happy to keep the story going now that the seal was broken.
“Family lived over in Rado. They used to go to Harvest with us. Good folks. But the dad left a couple years back. And then, on the kid’s junior year, they caught him, or well, her, I guess, sneakin’ girl clothes to school. Changing in the bathroom and all that.”

Angie made a noise in her throat, something between pity and disapproval.

Troy continued, “Parents tried to put a stop to it. Didn’t work. She ran off for a bit. Came back. Now she’s livin’ out at her dad’s old huntin’ cabin. People say he’s lettin’ her stay there, but nobody really knows.”

Whit felt his stomach drop, “Wow, that’s crazy. I hope she’s OK.”

“We’re praying that he comes to his senses, and whatever devil got in him to turn him like that, gets out.” Angie said.

Whit had no words to form a reply, he just nodded.

“The worlds a sick place Whit, poor kids these days are being raised by sickos on the internet, turning em into fruit cakes.” Tory said.

Whit faked a smile, “I’ve got to go to the restroom.” He made a beeline for men’s room and sat down on the toilet. This couldn’t be a coincidence could it? The universe was trying to tell him something. He knew he had to talk to her, but how could he without coming off like a creep.

Whit stood up and flushed the empty toilet and went to wash his hands. “This too shall pass,” he told his reflection in the mirror and went back to class.

Whit nodded goodbye to the janitor and walked out to the parking lot, there parked a few spots back from his Jeep was Grace’s truck under the yellow halo of the lights. She was standing beside it looking at her phone.

Grace looked up from her phone, “Won’t start,” she said.

Whit looked over the 30 year old truck, taking in it’s rust holes and mismatched tires. He took a deep breath, “OK, let me check it out.”

Whit was no automotive expert, but his Dad believed in getting his money’s worth which often meant crawling around under the hood trying to fix things. Grace thanked him profusely as he slid in the cab and turned the key. The truck made a clicking sound.

“Dead battery, did you leave your lights on?” he asked. Grace was sure she hadn’t. Whit pulled his car around and pulled out some jumper cables. Without thinking about it he began giving Grace a lesson in how to jump a battery. Soon the old Ford truck fired up.

Whit dropped the hood with a bang and turned to Grace. “I’ve got bad news for you, your batteries 6 years old. You’ve got to get another one,” he explained.

“Shit, well thank you so much. I’ll see if I can figure it out. Thanks for inviting me to the class,” she said.

Whit rolled up the jumper cables and started to get in his car, but stopped. “A battery is like 100 bucks, can you afford one?”

“No, at least not for a week,” Grace said as she stepped in.

“OK, look, it probably won’t start tomorrow. I’ll buy you one and you can pay me back next week, OK?” he asked.

Grace shook her head, “I really can’t do that, thank you though.”

“Grace if your truck can’t start, what are you going to do out there in the middle of nowhere?”

The girl looked at her rear view mirror then turned around and shrugged.

“It’s no big deal, just follow me to the Rural King, alright?”

Grace nodded.

An hour later Whit dropped the hood of the truck again and wiped dark grease onto his old paint stained jeans. Grace was beaming, “Mr. Whitlock, you must be the nicest person in Mud Creek.”

Whit smiled, “Just keep coming to class, you’re too good an artist not to.” he said.

“I will, and now I owe you one.” Whit reached out for a handshake and Grace took it then squeezed in for a hug.

Whit smiled and started walking back to his car but he felt the weight hit him. The pressure of countless sleepless nights. This couldn’t be a coincidence could it? The universe was trying to tell him something/

Whit quickly turned around as Grace shut the door. “Wait!” like from a scene from a cheesy Romantic Comedy that he pretended to hate.

Grace rolled the window down, “Yes Mr. Whitlock?”

“How did you know?”

She scrunched up her brow. ‘How did I know what?”

Whit looked around and stepped up close to the window, “How did you know you were a girl?” he asked.

Grace’s smile evaporated and she shook her head. “Great, this is why you’re being nice.”

“No.. No I…”

Grace cut him off, “Well look, how do you know you are a boy?”

“I don’t know. Or erm, I’m not sure that I am a… Boy.”

Grace blinked.
“Oh. Oh.”
She let out a shaky breath. “That’s not where I thought this was going.”

Whit winced, already stepping back.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I should go.”

“No.” Grace put a hand out, not touching him,. “You asked an honest thing. I can answer it.”

Whit froze halfway out

Grace stared out the windshield, her voice soft but steady.
“I was six. Sitting in church with my mom and dad. And these girls came out to perform a song… all in matching dresses. Big, floofy monstrosities. Petticoats everywhere.” She laughed under her breath. “They looked ridiculous. But I wanted one. I wanted one so bad it hurt.”

Whit felt like he could melt.

Grace turned and looked at him. “I didn’t have a word for it. I didn’t know what it meant. But I knew.”

She tapped her chest lightly. “In here, I knew that I was a girl.”

Whit was silent for a long moment. Above him the Rural King parking lot lights buzzed thick with the late summer insects and trying to get closer to the light. Whit was crying.

“I’ve got to go, I’m sorry,” he said.

“OK, thanks for helping me again, and you’ve got my number if you want to talk or something,” Grace said. Whit nodded, wiped his eyes and drove home lighter then he’d felt in years.