He caught himself, glanced over at me.

“Puppies,” he continued.

Case piped up again. “But where is she going to sleep?”

“Where’s she going to crap?” Tiny said. “We don’t even have a ladies’ room.”

“Where is she going to put her lady products?” DeStasio demanded, and the whole room moaned in disgust like there was nothing on earth that could be grosser than that. As if these guys hadn’t seen every unspeakably nasty thing in the world. As if they hadn’t literally walked over slimy dead bodies and charred human remains. As if any of them could be shocked by a tampon.

But I was actually wondering those same questions myself. In Austin, our firehouse had been pretty close to brand-new—out in a newer suburb, with plenty of natural light and gender-neutral accommodations, and even flexible sleeping areas for different groupings of men and women on different shifts. This firehouse, in contrast, was at least a hundred years old and had not, shall we say, been built with a progressive eye toward gender politics.

“There’s only one shitter,” Tiny called out, “and it’s mine-all-mine.”

“No ladies in the poop zone!” Case chimed in.

“Where is she going to sleep?” DeStasio asked.

The captain had a ready answer. “I asked the chief the same question. The guys up top said to put her in the supply closet.”

I squinted at him. Was he kidding?

“I’m not kidding,” he said. “When you take the shelving out, there’s room there for a bed.” He gave me a wink. “We’ll paint it pink for you, sweetheart, so you’ll feel right at home.”

I gave him a look.

“Unless,” he went on, “you want to sleep with all the guys.”

“You can sleep with me, baby,” Six-Pack called out, and they all laughed.

In truth, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t love the idea of the supply closet, away from the group, but whether sleeping in a big room with these guys would help or hinder our sense of camaraderie was going to depend very much on the guys.

“What’s it going to be?” the captain asked.

I shrugged. “Whichever room has the least number of farts,” I said.

A burst of laughter.

“Don’t sleep near Tiny, then!” somebody shouted.

“If she takes the supply closet,” Case asked, “where will we keep the supplies?”

“Are you talking about a certain stack of supplies that we keep on the bottom shelf?” the captain asked.

“A certain stack of supplies that’s been handed down from crew to crew for decades?” Six-Pack added.

“I’m talking about the supplies that”—Case glanced at me now, wanting to make his meaning clear to the others but not to me—“some of the guys in the house spend time with when they are feeling—” He looked at me again. Words seemed to fail him.

“Restless?” Tiny offered.

Captain Murphy tried to take the high road. “We will find new storage spots for all supplies. Don’t worry, Case. Your porn is safe.”

Six-Pack burst out with a laugh. “’Cause that’s the only exercise Case gets.”

A couple of guys reached out to pat Case on the shoulder.

“Okay, rookies,” the captain said, turning to the rookie and me.

I raised my hand. “I’m not a rookie.”

“Noted,” the captain said, and then began again. “Okay, rookie and newbie, let me tell you a little bit about Station Two. We play hard, but we work harder. I’ll joke around like anybody else, but when I give an order, you don’t think about it, you don’t question it—you follow it. Lives depend on our chain of command, and the one thing I will not tolerate is insubordination.”

The rookie and I nodded in unison.

“I expect everybody on our crew to pull their weight and do their share. There’s no complaining here. You do your job, and you’re grateful for the opportunity. And you stay in shape. How you do that is up to you, but twice a year, we run the obstacle course out back in a crew competition. Even Case,” he said, with a glance at the fat guy.

“We’re going to tease you and prank you and bust your balls,” the captain went on. “Don’t worry about it. Worry if we don’t prank you. Otherwise, no matter how mean we are, just know we’re glad you’re here.” He looked at me. “Even the lady.”

Captain Harris had been right. Not much of a filter.

Next, the captain turned to the crew.

“I know what you’re all probably thinking,” he said. “You’re thinking having a girl here is going to kill all the fun. We won’t be able to play the way we like to, or relax the way we like to, or joke the way we like to. You’re thinking she’s going to have no sense of humor and get offended at everything. She won’t let us curse. She’ll be weak and terrible. It’ll feel like having your mom around all the time, nagging you to pick up your underwear. I get it. In a hundred and twenty years, our station’s never needed a woman for anything. Not to do with the job, anyway. But things change, boys.” He jabbed his thumb in my direction. “This one’s supposed to be very good, for a girl. Her chief said she was a rising star down there in Texas, and not just because promoting a female looked good on paper.”

“Her captain said she was actually good?” DeStasio asked, like it was impossible.

Murphy shrugged like he was just as baffled as the next guy. “That’s what she said.”

“She?” Tiny called out.

“Her captain was also a woman?” Case demanded, like, What next?

The whole room broke out in speculation and questioning. Was a woman captain even qualified to judge a woman firefighter? Was it possible she’d lied about me to help me get this job? Could we ever take her assessment as anything other than affirmative action for females?

Unanswerable questions, all.

But I had an answer for them.

Looking back, maybe it wasn’t the best idea. My plan had been to lay low at the beginning and get my bearings—to be strategic about how I presented myself. Maybe if the outrage over my non-maleness had dissipated in some reasonable amount of time, I would have let it go.

But it didn’t. If anything, it fed on itself, like a runaway structure fire.

And I didn’t have the patience to let it burn itself out.

I guess you can only watch people willfully underestimate you for so long.

Finally, I shouted, loud enough to halt all conversation, “How many pull-ups do you think I can do?”

They all turned to stare at me.

“Three,” Tiny guessed, after a minute.

“Two,” Captain Murphy said.

“Women can’t do pull-ups,” Case announced, like I’d tried to pull a fast one.

“Fifty bucks,” I said then, “says I can do at least seven.”

Wallets started hitting the table.

I should note: The only one who didn’t bet against me was the rookie.

They walked me out back to “the course,” which turned out to be a military-sized obstacle course, complete with poles, hurdles, monkey bars, ropes, and a ten-foot climbing wall.

We stopped under a pull-up bar, and the guys gathered around.