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The drama studio is filled with noise as 120 new students congregate on the first day of term. We are the new intake of the Brahms High School. Only year nine is present today, Tuesday, the rest of the school doesn’t start back until tomorrow. This is to allow us time to get ourselves familiar with the building before everyone else crams in. For the moment, I am just another face in the crowd.

There is a basic school uniform here. The school is split into four houses, named after planets. Each house has a colour. Mars is red, Jupiter is blue, Saturn is yellow and Venus is green. You wear the colour shirt of your house. Everybody has short-sleeved polo shirts. Mine is green, as I have been assigned to Venus.

The boys have to dress in blue or black trousers. The girls can put on trousers, or alternatively wear skirts in either blue or black. Skirts must be knee-length, or you will be banned from wearing them.

You can have either blue or black jumpers or cardigans, or buy the school sweater with our logo on the front.

I have opted for the school sweater and a matching blue skirt.

At the front of the room are tables laid out with folders, one for each student. The pack contains general information about the school, including a map, as well as specific details tailored for each individual. The main piece of information is who your form teacher will be, as well as the basic timetable for the day. I look down the list of names, already knowing that I won’t be listed.

I approach the teacher staffing the table for surnames from U to Z. I stand and look at the remaining folders. I am one of the last to come and collect mine. Mrs Appleby sees me looking on and asks, “What’s your name, dear?”

“Simone Whittaker,” I reply sweetly, “I can’t see my folder here. The only one I can see is for a Simon. Has he picked up mine by accident? Either that or somebody has left the ‘E’ off the end of my name again.”

Mrs Appleby picks up a clipboard and starts to scan down the names. A worried look appears on her face. She asks me for my date of birth, which I supply.

“It appears we have a problem, Simone,” she states. “We have you listed as a boy named Simon.”

“Oh crap,” I respond, putting my hands on my hips, “don’t tell me somebody has seen the boy equivalent of my name and instead of correcting it has made things worse by changing my gender. I assure you I am definitely a girl, and I can soon prove that if required.”

What I have just told Mrs Appleby isn’t entirely correct. My name really is Simon Whittaker and I am attempting to pull off the maddest stunt of my entire life. Although I am dressed as a girl, and consider myself one, strictly speaking I’m male.

I’m wearing a padded training bra, but really, my chest is flat. My hair is quite long. In fact, I’m cheating. I’m wearing a wig to extend my hair down my back. It is amazing what you can find on eBay. I was able to find a girl’s wig in my size. My actual hair is almost black and the hairpiece is a dark brown. It’s not far off so doesn’t look too weird against my eyebrows, but far enough away to be a noticeably different colour to my normal appearance.

In reality, my hair is trimmed in a buzz cut and is no longer than an eighth of an inch, about three millimetres, depending on your choice of measurement. While Sinead O’Connor might be able to get away with such a style and look feminine, I don’t have that luxury.

“Oh dear, you’d best accompany me to the office so that we can sort this mess out,” Mrs Appleby instructs. We head towards the door. She stops when she gets to the head teacher, Mr Henry, and whispers something in his ear. He tells one of the other staff to delay things for a few minutes and that he will be back shortly. All the staff are wearing name badges, so that the new students can identify who is who.

We proceed to the main office where Mrs Appleby explains the problem to Mr Henry.

“I’m sorry, young lady; we seem to have you listed as a boy named Simon. We will call your parents and try to sort this mess out,” Mr Henry declares.

“That might be tricky as they are farmers and are likely to be out working most of the day. This is embarrassing enough as it is without involving anybody else,” I reply. My parents don’t know I am here as a girl and will literally kill me when they find out.

I say ‘when’ rather than ‘if’ as I am certain that this plan will eventually fail. It’s just a case of how long before I’m found out. The one thing I have learned from history documentaries is that the most audacious and ridiculous plans often work simply because of the element of total surprise.

I’m not exaggerating or speaking metaphorically when I say my parents will kill me. My father has only just gotten out of prison after being sentenced to six weeks for beating up my elder brother. Michael came out as gay and my father went ballistic. Mike is now living with his boyfriend and has a restraining order against both my mother and father, preventing them from seeing him. I can safely say their reaction to me will be even more severe.

I rummage around in my bag and hand over three fake photo ID cards. One is an altered replica of the card provided by my previous school, the second is a fake library card, and the third is a genuine membership card I got from the local council-run sports centre. They actually think I’m a girl after I fooled them.

“Here, these should verify my identity. Can’t you just correct the record based on these?” I beg. “I can bring my birth certificate in tomorrow if that will help. It’s only a minor typo on my name. Whoever entered it must have misread my name as Simon, and automatically put in an M instead of F without looking at the details. Look, if you want me to prove I’m a girl then I will,” I say as a tear runs down my cheek.

Mr Henry hesitates a few seconds then types something on the computer. He takes my cards over to the photocopier and makes a copy. Handing the originals back to me, he proceeds to a filing cabinet where he pulls out a folder with my name on it. Adding an ‘E’ onto the label, he files the copies and leaves the office.

“Okay, all sorted. I do apologise for this,” Mr Henry replies, “We upgraded our systems over the summer and we have been having a lot of teething troubles, which wasn’t helped by falling foul of a computer virus as well. You’re not the only student for whom we have wrong information, although you have the honour of being the only student so far to have changed sex.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I say, “I don’t fancy having to pretend to be a boy. I would have a serious problem in the showers, and using a urinal could get very messy indeed.”

Mr Henry laughs and leads us back to the drama studio where everybody is waiting. I am told to take a seat with the other students. Mr Henry goes and whispers something into my form teacher’s ear. I see Mr Francis go to a table and write something in his register. I assume that he’s updating my details.

I sit and watch, slightly in shock. The first part of my plan appears to have actually worked, and I didn’t even have to undergo a physical. The school now believes I am a girl called Simone. Now for the second hurdle, not being outed by my fellow classmates.

I quietly take a seat in the corner of the room, avoiding the glances of my fellow students. Luckily, there are only about twenty pupils from my previous school attending this one. There are three high schools in the town, and we get to choose which one to attend. Most opted for Lakeside, as it has a higher exam success rate, but this is actually the closest to my home. The fewer people who can potentially recognise me, the better as far as I am concerned.

The room is called to order and the headmaster makes a speech and introduces all the form teachers to the assembled students. After confirming that everybody has picked up their packs, each teacher calls for their class to come together and follow them through the school to the various homerooms.

Mr Francis calls for his class to assemble and I gather with my fellow students and follow him to the classroom in which we will be based. I am the last to enter the room. I notice Julie is sat by herself so I make my way across and sit down beside her.

Julie is the closest thing I have to a friend. She is one of only two people in this class that know me from my previous school. She looks at me, wondering who I am. Mr Francis starts to call the register. He is calling the names slowly so that everybody has chance to see who is who. He is also noting down any preferences in how we are addressed, for example if we prefer Eddy instead of Edward.

As we get close to my name, I scribble a note saying, ‘Don’t say anything, I will explain later’, and hand it to Julie, who reads it and is puzzled by its contents. She looks at me, not yet recognising who I am. I’m sure that will change when I speak.

“Simone Whittaker,” Mr Francis calls, making sure to use the female pronunciation of ‘sim—own’ rather than the male ‘si-mon’.

A sudden look of surprise comes on Julie’s face as she realises my identity.

“Here, Sir,” I say sweetly, a relieved grin across my face. I am sitting with my skirt smoothed under me, legs together crossed at my ankles and my hands folded neatly in my lap. I am projecting the most sweet, demure girl I can, in the hope that nobody challenges me. “However, most of my friends call me Jasmine. I prefer going by my middle name.”

I don’t like using Simone as my name, but it’s a necessary step. I hope that I can get everybody calling me Jasmine instead to distance my identity from Simon. My full name is Simon J Whittaker. My parents liked the idea of me having a middle initial, but couldn’t be bothered to come up with a middle name. I was therefore registered with a single letter, although I sometimes spell it as ‘Jay’ if it causes problems.

Although I find a single letter as a middle name ridiculous, it does have the advantage that I can pretend it stands for something else, hence why I have chosen Jasmine as my feminine identity.

Julie shrugs and shakes her head before turning to face the teacher, who is now calling, “Josh Wilkinson.”

Josh is the other name that I recognise. Looking round the room, I lock eyes with him. Josh was never more than an acquaintance as we only ever shared P.E. lessons before. He never bullied me, unlike a number of boys I can name. There is a puzzled look on his face as he tries to figure out if I’m Simon. I fix my eyes and stare at him until he looks away. Most people find direct eye contact uncomfortable. I use this to my advantage to force him to look elsewhere.

I will deal with Josh later. For now, he doesn’t seem keen to challenge me. If Mr Francis had called Simon instead of Simone then I would probably have a problem. For the moment, Josh isn’t certain that I am the same person, and doesn’t look keen to argue with an official document. Julie is going to be harder to deal with.

We spend the next hour learning about our schedule. Many of the lessons are split by ability level, therefore only about half of the lessons will be with this set of students. Mr Francis goes over who is in each lesson and makes sure we all know where we need to go during each teaching period. There is a lot to get used to as the timetable spans two weeks. Some lessons only happen once a fortnight, so not only do we have to pay attention to the day, we also have to know if it’s week one or week two.

I am thankful that the first P.E. lesson is going to be Thursday. This will be my final hurdle. Persuading everybody I’m female while fully clothed is one thing. To convince them while stood naked in a communal shower is going to be the ultimate test of my disguise.

It seems that I will be spending many of my lessons with Julie. We don’t have much opportunity to speak. However, we provisionally agree to sit with each other during classes and decide that we need to talk at break time.

As soon as class is dismissed, we head outside and find a quiet corner to sit in, away from other students.

“Simon, what the hell is going on?” Julie asks me angrily.

“I thought that was fairly obvious. I have decided to change sex,” I reply calmly. “I have considered myself a girl for years. I finally achieved the goal of matching my gender presentation with my internal image of myself. Don’t act so surprised, you have commented loads of times on how girly I am. You’ve even called me Simone occasionally. I’m sorry I never explicitly told you before, but I thought you had probably worked out I’m transgendered. I may have been born a boy, but in my heart and soul I am a woman.”

“I was only joking. I never thought you were a girl,” she replies. This is not going as well as I hoped, her words stabbing through my heart. “I never really thought hard about it before, but I can see that you have always been girly. I just never considered you thought yourself as female.”

I take a deep breath, ready at least to partially confess. “It’s not something I like to shout about, changing gender isn’t usually socially acceptable. I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, the fewer people who know about my duality, the better. It’s only a matter of time before my charade falls to pieces. When it does, things are going to get very bad very quickly. I will become the freak of the week, and persecuted.”

Julie considers this for a moment before continuing, “The teachers aren’t going to let that happen, they must have your back otherwise they wouldn’t have agreed to your attendance.”

“My status is on a need to know basis, and most of them don’t need to know. Therefore, please don’t mention it to any of them, I don’t know how they will react,” I state, although I suspect their reaction will be to expel me and then have me arrested.

“All right, I will keep quiet,” says Julie, sighing, “but what about all the people who know you? It’s only a matter of time before they figure it out.”

“I have been careful to stay away from anybody who knows me. There are only twenty students here from Porterhouse Middle. There are plenty of new faces so I hope that I will go unnoticed for a while. The only other person I need to worry about is Josh, and I don’t think he’s likely to say anything.”

“You are right about that, Jasmine,” Josh states, causing us both to jump as he appears from around the corner. “Sorry for sneaking up on you, but I couldn’t help notice the similarities between Simon and Simone, and thought I’d better investigate before I say something and stick my foot firmly in my mouth. I know we never really talked much in our previous school, but I hope we can become friends now.”

“I can use all the friends I can get,” I reply smiling, “I’m making myself a target, so any support is welcome.”

“You can count on me, although I doubt I would be any good in a fight,” Josh exclaims with laughter. “What you may not know is that your brother’s boyfriend is my cousin. When your parents kicked Mike out for being gay, he and Matt came and stayed with us for a couple of weeks while they sorted out a place to live.”

When my brother Mike came out to my parents on his eighteenth birthday, they went ballistic. They immediately disowned him and chucked him out. It all turned very nasty and ended up with my father spending time in jail.

“That’s something I don’t understand,” Josh comments, “if your parents are so homophobic, how are they coping with you being transsexual?”

This is the one question that I have been dreading. Taking a deep breath, I reply, “They don’t know.”

Seeing the look of shock on Josh and Julie’s faces, I confess my scheme. “My parents think I am attending as Simon. I tricked the school into thinking they made a mistake on their records. I was surprised it actually worked, but they now think I am a girl named Simone. I intend to be myself during the day, and pretend to be a boy at night.”

“Are you mad?” Julie asks alarmed.

“Certifiably insane,” I reply grinning manically. “If I can get myself committed then I will at least be safe. I can’t go on living as a boy. It’s either this or suicide, and I am not keen on dying. The longer I can pull this off, the greater the likelihood that my needs will be taken seriously.”

We stand in silence for several minutes, each weighing up our thoughts.

“If anybody asks, I will tell them you are your cousin,” Josh states, “That will be the easiest way to explain away the similar name and family resemblance. I will quash any rumours to the contrary. You can count on me.”

“Okay, I will keep quiet for now,” Julie reluctantly answers as Josh and I look at her, “but I am not entirely comfortable about this. You are putting yourself in serious danger. I just hope that when the shit hits the fan you manage to keep it from flying in my direction.”

We don’t have any more time to discuss things as the bell rings for our next class. We head inside to meet another of our new teachers.

At lunchtime, I decide to avoid any more questions from Josh and Julie by keeping with a crowd of girls I met during the morning lessons. None of them knew the previous me, so I am able to relax around their company and simply be myself.

As a boy, I have always been shy and self-conscious, especially as I know my actions and mannerisms are feminine. I always had trouble relating to other boys, so therefore didn’t make friends easily.

Now that I am presenting as the true me, I feel more relaxed and don’t have to worry so much about my mannerisms and behaviour. I can let my body language be as flamboyant as I want without fear that I will be accused of being gay or girly. I figure it’s acceptable for a girl to be slightly tomboyish, so I’m not worried that I may come across too masculine.

I sit and talk with Shelly, Alison, Mary and Anne through most of the lunch break. Julie has gone off with some of her other friends. They are sitting at the other end of the canteen from us. I can see Julie keeping an eye on me from a distance. I do hope that she won’t cause me any problems.

The final bell of the day rings and we file out of the classroom. I stop by my newly assigned locker, in the hall outside of the science lab that acts as our homeroom, and put my books away. As today was mainly about introductions and handing out textbooks, I don’t have much homework. I have already done half of it in the lunch break, and the rest isn’t due until later in the week, so I can finish it off tomorrow before school. I plan to arrive as early as possible in the morning and sit in the library.

I walk to the bike sheds and unlock my bike. It’s a girls’ road bicycle with slim wheels and racing tyres. It is white, and therefore I could potentially get away with riding it in boy mode, but I have a mountain bike that I use, which is more suited to the farm tracks where I normally end up riding. The low crossbar of the road bike allows me to ride it wearing a skirt, something I can’t do on the mountain bike. This is by far the most expensive item in my charade, however I decided it would be a good investment. It makes getting to and from school a lot easier. Being light and with thin tyres there is a lot less rolling resistance than my other bike.

The farm is about four miles from school, but the route I take is not direct, adding about another mile onto the journey. I have a secret hideout where I can change my gender presentation.

My great grandfather was the leader of an Auxiliary Unit during the Second World War. These units would have become the British Resistance had Germany invaded the country. Hidden in a small strip of woodland in amongst our fields, there is a secret bunker that would have housed the four-man team.

The bunker is made from a corrugated metal semicircle buried underground. It is about ten feet wide by twenty feet long. The entrance is at one end, via a ladder concealed under a camouflaged manhole cover. At the other end, there is an escape tunnel. A concrete pipe can be crawled through, emerging 50 feet away.

The structure is built into the side of a large hole in the ground. The pit is thought to be a medieval open top clay mine. The sides are too steep to farm, so the area is left as woodland, acting as a small nature reserve. It’s also strictly off limits to family members due to the secret it hides.

Mike and I found it a few years back and decided to restore it as our own secret hideaway. The metal roof had corroded away and partially collapsed. We dug the soil out, repaired the hole in the roof, and reinforced the remaining section with wood, being careful not to cause the rest of it to cave in. In the process, we dug out a third entrance, a slope down which we could bring our bikes. We fitted a lockable door that we’ve camouflaged so that it’s hard to spot. It might not be as well hidden as the original entrance, but it’s bigger and allows us to bring in larger items without having to negotiate the rusty metal ladder.

Since Mike left, I’m the only person who uses it, therefore I have claimed it as my own space, a place to where I can escape. Although my parents must know of the existence of the bunker, they don’t know that it is usable.

Cycling down the country lane, I stop at a dirt track leading to the woodland. I wait for a car to go past, then once I am certain nobody is looking I cycle towards my hideout. I dismount once I reach the edge of the woods. I can cycle there on my mountain bike, but not on this one. I wheel the bike to the entrance to the bunker. It is a small wooden door, two feet wide by five feet high, built into the side of a steep slope. It is covered in ivy, so is hard to spot unless you are looking for it.

I take the key out of my bag and unlock the door. As the tunnel is only five feet high, I have to bend my head when I enter. It is a tight squeeze to get my bike and myself through the gap, but once inside there’s enough room to stand up.

I park my bike against the end wall. My other bike is waiting for me and I will use that to ride home after I have changed.

I use the light off my bike to see with until I can ignite the paraffin lamp and candles that provide the main illumination. In the middle of the room are an old desk and some collapsible canvas chairs, the type designed for anglers. On the desk, I have set up a large mirror that I use for styling my hair and makeup.

At the end of the room are a number of airtight clear plastic storage boxes that contain my girl clothes. I keep all my clothes in these containers as the bunker is damp and I don’t want them to absorb the smell. I have a number of chemical dehumidifiers to keep the air dry, small pots containing crystals that absorb moisture. When they change colour, they are saturated and you bake them in an oven to get rid of the water so they can be reused.

I carefully wash my face with bottled water to remove any trace of the small amount of makeup I have been wearing. I only use a small amount of mascara and lipstick in order to enhance my feminine appearance. Full makeup is frowned upon in school. I remove my hairpiece and place it on a polystyrene head for storage. I strip naked and place my uniform into a plastic box ready for tomorrow. I have put a spare uniform in my locker at school in case of an emergency if I can’t come here to change.

I dress myself in the equivalent boys’ uniform for my school, and after one final check in the mirror, I extinguish the lamp and candles, wheel my mountain bike outside, and start the ride home. This time instead of taking the roads, I cut across the fields and down the farm tracks back towards the farmhouse.

I change out of my school clothes and go to do chores. I am responsible for cleaning the house while my parents tend to the animals. Today is ironing day and I spend the next hour doing laundry duty. My mother comes in and cooks us dinner, and I swap over to assisting by peeling some vegetables.

After we have eaten, it’s time to do the final milking of the day. We own about one hundred cows, fifty goats and some sheep. We also have a number of fields that we use for growing cattle feed. The price of milk is low and it’s not economical to sell to large dairies. Instead, we have gotten together with a number of local farms and set up a dairy of our own that makes specialist cheeses. We also supply a number of local butchers with meat.

It is hard work, especially this year now that Mike has left and with Dad spending time in jail. We had to hire extra help, which meant we were only just breaking even. We own a number of labourers’ cottages, which we rent out during the holiday season. These earn five hundred pounds a week each in peak season and help to boost our profit levels. I usually assist with the cleaning ready for the next set of guests.

After the animals have been seen to, I have an hour to myself before its time to go to bed at ten pm. I have to be up early the next morning to help get the cattle out into the fields. I get up and dress in my work clothes at six am. After eating some breakfast, I spend an hour and a half working before grabbing a shower and changing into my school clothes. By eight in the morning, I am in my hideout preparing myself for my transformation. Being so short, my hair has dried and I place the wig on my head. It is a tight fit and elasticated, so shouldn’t come off. However, to make sure I apply some glue to the edges. I once again have long wavy hair that tickles my ears and hangs down my back, ending just below my shoulder blades.

Once I am satisfied with my appearance, I set off for school. I am one of the first students to arrive, just as the doors are unlocked. I head to the library to complete my homework.

As I get more practiced in my transformation, I can potentially cut down on the amount of time I set aside for getting to school, but at the moment I am leaving myself plenty of time to transform myself as I am still self-conscious that I could easily be discovered. Yesterday went according to plan, much to my surprise, and I hope that by the end of today there will be no doubt left as to my gender.

My first stop on arriving at school is the main office. I have brought a copy of my birth certificate for their records. I printed out a fake one on my computer, having scanned the original and Photoshopped it. The certificate looks authentic enough and the school secretary accepts it and makes a photocopy for the school file, handing me back my original.

The morning lessons start well, and although I am still getting funny looks from students, nobody has yet challenged my identity. I think the added confusion over using my fake middle name has thrown a few people off.

It appears Julie is keen to avoid me. She seems very uncomfortable with my presence. Through her Karate club, she already knows a number of classmates who previously attended a different middle school. Julie has therefore hooked up with them and is keeping her distance from me. I suspect she wants to disassociate herself from me when my charade eventually fails.

I instead hook up with Alison and Mary. The two of them have been friends for years, and seeing how Julie is treating me, they have decided I need friends and have brought me under their wing. We hit it off immediately and are rapidly becoming friends. They are both townies so are interested in my life on the farm. I on the other hand can use my isolation in the back of beyond as an excuse for my tomboyishness and lack of feminine knowledge.

One thing that scares me is that Mary swears she has seen me before. We try to work out where we might have met. I consider where I have been in girl mode, and hope that she has seen me before as a girl and not a boy. When I mention that I go swimming, we both click. She was one of the girls I met at the swimming pool when I was testing my appearance.

The one thing guaranteed to give me problems attending school as a girl is the use of the changing room, and in particular communal showers, during P.E. lessons. I had to either find a way of excluding myself, which could raise suspicion, or make myself appear to be female when naked. I chose the second option.

I have been travelling over to the next town to use their swimming pool. There is a pool in our town, but I avoided it so that I wouldn’t run into anybody I know. At least that was the plan. It seems Alison and Mary like that pool better than the closer one.

I always went wearing the one-piece swimming costume under my clothes, so that I would only have to change once. I would quickly dive into the changing room and undress before anybody accused me of being a boy. Once in the pool I could relax and swim around without fear of being discovered.

I dressed in a pink one-piece costume with swimming cap and goggles. I wasn’t showing any bulge at the crotch so I don’t think there was any doubt that I was a girl. At the end of the sessions, I would return to the changing room, shower and leave.

The first few times I went I went back into the changing rooms when I thought they would be relatively empty, and I made sure to keep myself as covered as possible. After slowly building up confidence, I would show a bit more of myself each time. The last time I went, the changing room was crowded, and I stood naked in full view for several minutes without anybody making a comment. I was exceedingly happy as I rode the bus home that day.

Mary recognised my face from the pool. This is both a relief and a concern. It is good that she has only seen my girl form, but it means she’s observant, and would recognise me as a boy.

When I was at the pool, I couldn’t go swimming in my wig. The chlorine could damage it. I therefore got round this by wearing a swimming cap to hide my head. I would put it on before I arrived so my head was covered when I went in. I would leave it on when showering and dressing, then discretely swap it for a headscarf.

Mary and Alison are both keen swimmers and were using the pool in the next town as it was less busy than the one they normally use. They belong to a swimming club at the local holiday camp. During the summer, the pool is crowded with holidaymakers, but outside the holiday season, the pool doesn’t get as much use and is available for local residents. They both live near the camp and get discounted rates on admission.

They invite me to join them after school on Friday. It will be risky for me to go, but I so long to have real friends that I don’t want to miss the opportunity. I provisionally say yes on the understanding I need to ask permission from my parents. I make sure to get all the necessary details about where, when and how we are getting there and back.

I am on a high by the end of the day. I was always tense in school when I had to present as male. Today I was able to relax and enjoy my lessons. I have always buried myself in my schoolwork, something that gave Simon a reputation as a swot and teachers’ pet. I am now continuing that trend, but with added gusto.

I was always shy putting my hand up to answer questions, but presenting as a girl is making me more outgoing so I participate a lot more. In addition, it seems more acceptable for a girl to be a swot than it does for a boy.

I don’t mind becoming a teachers’ pet. I will need all the support I can get when my secret is revealed. I could spend all day worrying about when it will emerge. I have decided to just ignore it and get on with my life. If I don’t then I wouldn’t be able to function for fear and guilt.

I have a girly giggle and I have always tried my hardest not to laugh. However, in today’s science class I didn’t hold back and laughed my head off with the rest of the students. Our teacher, Mr Court, was trying to teach us about capacitors. He had wired a capacitor up to a battery with an additional two wires coming from the capacitor terminals and was trying to persuade Josh to take hold of the wires, to confirm that there was no current flowing through them.

Josh, already knowing that the capacitor would discharge when the battery was unhooked, was refusing to participate when Mr Swan, one of the other science teachers decided to cut through the room on the way to the prep area. Seeing that Josh was refusing to take hold of the wires and that Mr Court was still gripping them, Mr Swan strolled up behind our teacher and unhooked the battery.

The resulting scream and swearing emitted by Mr Court as he was electrocuted had the whole class in fits of laughter, me included. Mr Swan beat a hasty retreat out of the room as Mr Court accused him of being born out of wedlock.

I decide that today has been a good day at school.

As I cycle home, I get a fright when I recognise my father driving the other direction. I am still in girl mode and I duck my head and look down at my front wheel so that he can’t see my face. I just hope he didn’t get a good look at me and only saw the top of my wig-covered head. With my different hair colour, different bike, and skirt instead of trousers, I don’t look much like me.

Luckily, he doesn’t stop and carries on driving the other way. After he has passed, I stop at the side of the road and take some deep breaths to prevent myself passing out. After my heart rate has dropped back from what feels like quadruple figures, I continue as quickly as possible to the bunker to change.

After removing all traces of wig glue and makeup, I swap bikes and head back to the farmhouse. My father is out when I return. Mother is in the yard hosing it down to remove the mess the cows leave behind as they pass through to the milking shed.

I head upstairs to my bedroom and change into jeans and a t-shirt before joining my mother with a broom.

“Do you mind if I’m late home on Friday?” I ask. “Only I’ve been invited to go swimming after school.”

“Who with and where?” my mother enquires.

“Al has asked me to go as a guest to the swimming pool at the holiday park. It’s within cycling distance. I should be back by quarter past six,” I say, being extremely careful not to use gender pronouns. My mother might find it weird that I am going with Alison, so by using a male sounding derivative and no gender specific language I can make her assume I am going with a boy without actually lying.

“Do I know this, Al?” my mother asks.

“No, we have only formally met at school this week, although we recognise each other from swimming at the same pool over the holidays,” I explain, “I would really like to go. You know I don’t make friends easy and this is a rare opportunity for me to socialise outside of school.”

“Okay, but you must be back in time for dinner at seven,” Mum decrees.