Kaylie wanted to give school another shot.

Within the last year, the 15-year-old trans student and her family, whose names are being withheld for privacy reasons, picked up and moved from one end of her school district to another, in effort to better her educational experience.

In March, the state’s Republican Gov. Ron Desantis signed H.B. 1557, prohibiting the instruction of gender identity or sexual orientation in kindergarten through grade 3, or what the legislation deems is not age-appropriate or developmentally appropriate for students. H.B. 1557 has been dubbed the “Don’t Say Gay” bill.

Then, in May, Desantis doubled down on the law, signing H.B. 1069, which restricts the teaching from pre-kindergarten until grade 8 and forbids educators from inquiring about their student’s preferred pronouns.

On the same day, Desantis approved H.B. 1521, prohibiting trans students from using bathrooms and changing facilities corresponding with their gender identity in schools, leaving students like Kaylie wondering what their teachers will call them or where they’ll go to the bathroom.

How schools respond to the new laws is largely left up to their own discretion due to a lack of guidance from the state’s Department of Education, which did not respond to a request for comment.

Thinking a new school might be more welcoming, Kaylie’s family moved, going into debt in the process.

But days before the start of her junior year, her school district, Orange County Public Schools, sent out a memo alerting officials that it would be adding new policies that require teachers to call students by either their first or last names to avoid breaking the law.

Pupils may be called by a different name, the district outlined, if their parents signed a consent form.

Teachers could not inquire about their students’ preferred pronouns and trans students can only use single stall bathrooms and private changing rooms for physical activities.

Violating the new rules could result in sanctions, including the revocation of a teacher’s certificate.

The new policies made Kaylie feel excluded, she said. Some parents even called her mom and dad to tell them that she should “convert back to being a boy” to avoid any issues during the school year.

“We moved over here thinking we were maybe helping the issues a little bit,” Kaylie’s dad, Kevin, said. “Instead… maybe we made them worse.”

Kaylie started getting bullied within the first hour of her first day, she said. After one student called her a transphobic slur, she asked her father to pick her up. Upon arriving at the school, her father spoke to officials about what happened, but said his concerns were brushed aside.

Sixteen-year-old Shannon Taylor, a trans student in Tampa, has also faced her fair share of bullying. She said last year peers left her rude comments on sticky notes and super glued her locker shut. The harassment made her depressed and left her struggling to survive everyday.

The harassment followed both students outside of school, turning into cyberbullying. Kevin, Kaylie’s dad, said he’s had to change her number at least five times.

The new school year didn’t start off any easier for Taylor. Her school, which chose to restrict trans students from using group bathrooms, didn’t really seem to have an alternate plan to address trans and gender-nonconforming students’ needs.

“It was already going to be a mess,” she said. “And my parents just felt like it was not going to work.”

Now, neither Kaylie nor Taylor want to go back to school. Taylor has decided to do virtual learning, while Kaylie continues to weigh out her options with her parents.

Stories like this are not uncommon to Kristen Johnson, crisis team leader at Rainbow Youth Project USA, a nonprofit that helps LGBTQIA+ youth in distress. Over the last three months, the organization has received more calls about bullying than anything else.

Prior to that, the number one reason people called was fear of familial rejection or coming out. The teens primarily blamed their ostracizations on conservative political rhetoric, stemming from groups like Moms For Liberty, which implements against the teachings of LGBTQIA+ rights in public schools.

“My government doesn’t want me to live” and “My school doesn’t want me to live” are comments Johnson hears frequently, she said.

Calls from students wanting to quit school are so frequent that the team has started looking into building resources for alternative schooling or virtual learning. In extreme situations, parents have even inquired about the age of consent to drop out.

Rainbow Youth Project USA has heard from about 200 families seeking alternative educational pathways, with a large percentage of them residing in Florida.

Seventeen-year-old Greg Cooper has figured out a way to cope with high school. He’s setting his sights on moving to Chicago or another city more welcoming toward LGBTQIA+ youth.

Already, attacks against him forced him to quit his school’s soccer team.

The sentiment is widely shared by LGBTQIA+ students his age, Johnson explained, though it’s compounded by a fear of uncertainty.

“A lot of these kids are trying to plan for college,” she said. “They’re trying to plan to leave and they don’t know where to go because they’re afraid that if they sign up for something, get tied into it and it goes south, they’re screwed.”

Cooper said he’s lost most of his friends. One parent, he explained, even called his mom to say that if he was caught hanging out with her son again she’d press charges against him for trying to sexualize her kids.

When at school, he keeps his head down and stays to himself. It’s become difficult for him to connect with other LGBTQIA+ youth, though.

“I don’t think people realize that you can’t even have a personality,” he said. “You can’t be who you are. You can’t even talk, because if you say the wrong thing, you’re going to end up in trouble.”

Cooper’s mom has also suffered from harassment and has had to change jobs at least twice since last year.

At one recent point, both his parents ended up on the news because their pride flag was stolen by some neighborhood kids, he said.

Like Kaylie, Cooper also likes to stay home to shield himself from harassment. He plays video games to escape reality.

In college, he wants to study engineering or law. If he picks the latter, he said he’d like to venture into politics to “fight the people that hate me.”

Meanwhile, Kaylie has turned to journaling.

“I like to write about what I want my life to be,” she said. “I wouldn’t call it fantasy but it’s kind of my dream.”

Despite the financial toll, Kaylie’s father said he’s willing to move the family again if it means protecting his daughter. He’s even considered relocating as far as Dublin, Ireland.

Taylor said she’s focused on getting through high school virtually. She isn’t sure about what her college experience might look like. She misses having friends and doing simple things, like going out to eat and to the movies — something she said she no longer does out of fear of being accosted in public.

She’s debated leaving the state, but remains uncertain about her future.

“It just seems like all over the country they’re doing the same thing,” she said. “Where would I even go?”