I spent a lot of time with my best friend Janey. I was nearly always at her house or she was round mine. We spent most of our spare time together and being in the same class at school meant we were pretty much inseparable. It was strange, at my school at least, for a boy of my age to have a girl as a best friend; but I did. Janey was such good fun. What ten year old wouldn’t want to be friends with her? The fact that the boys didn’t have much to do with me or, in fact, that I didn’t really mix with the boys made it quite important that someone wanted to be my friend. And that someone was Janey!

So, there we were laying around in her bedroom, flicking through magazines and playing with her dolls when I noticed her staring at me.

“Jem, your mum wanted a girl, didn’t she?”
I looked at her. “Why do you say that?”
“Well… you wear a lot of girls’ clothes,” she replied.
“I do not!” I screeched. I was aware that I sounded quite girly as soon as I said it. Also, I had clapped my hands to my face in expression of amazement. I had caught that from Janey; she did it all the time to show mock indignation. I slowly dropped my hands and tried to look more masculine. I uncrossed my legs.

“I don’t wear girls’ clothes,” I said, more quietly this time.
“You do, Jem,” Janey said. She kneeled up and looked at me with her face serious and concerned. I knew that face. It meant she was determined to tell me a home truth, like the time she told me I needed to brush my hair regularly if I was going to keep it long.
“You’re wearing girls’ clothes now!” She used her quiet voice, breaking it to me gently.

I laughed. It was obvious she was joking. I was wearing red jeans with a blue and white striped long sleeve top. What was girly about that? She continued staring and the smile fell away from my face.
“You’re wrong,” I told her.
“Have you looked at the labels?” she asked.
“You’re wrong,” I insisted.
“Jem, you are always wearing bright clothes or colourful clothes…”
“So what! My mum is just into fashion, that’s all!”
“Yes, girls’ fashions,” she laughed.
I glared at her. She was being mean. She could tell I was hurt.
“Oh don’t look so moody,” she said trying to cheer me up. “Nothing wrong with being a girl!”
“Stop, Janey!” I said, my voice quite loud. Actually, she was really annoying me by this stage because she looked so sure of herself and, frankly, I had had enough. I slipped off the bed and picked up my blue espadrilles. I slipped them on.
“Oh, don’t go, Jem,” Janey said. “I didn’t mean to annoy you.”

I left. She needed to know that she couldn’t say such things and get away with it. I lived two streets away and all the way home I kept replaying her comments through my mind. By the time I got home I was really worked up. What was she talking about? Labels?

Mum called a greeting to me as I came in but I was so eager to check out my clothes I only shouted back as I climbed the stairs. Once in my room, I took off my top and looked at the label. ‘Dominique’ it said. That’s okay, I thought. Dominique is a French name; a French boy’s name. I was a bit relieved to tell the truth.

Maybe I should have stopped there but Janey’s concerned look came to mind and I really, really wanted to put her right. I dropped my trousers. ‘Diamond Wear’. Nothing wrong with that. I checked my other tops and shirts. ‘Harmony Fashions’ appeared on a few labels. That seemed okay, didn’t it? Trouble was, I was now suspicious. I looked at my tops and there was something about the neckline or the way the sleeves ballooned slightly at the top that made me wonder if Janey was right.

Over the next few days I found myself looking at what girls were wearing when I was out and about with Janey. At school we all wore the same uniform sweatshirt with school emblem so there was no doubt that was okay… and I definitely wore boys’ trousers… but I still had nagging doubts about my other ‘out of school’ clothes.

I had forgiven Janey right away; I couldn’t be upset with her for long and, in any case, I had started to think she knew what she was talking about. We were hanging around the shops doing nothing much and certainly not shopping because we had no money when I spotted a red and white striped long sleeve T shirt like one of my own. As soon as I saw it, I realised Janey was right. It was being worn by one of the shop models that look so unrealistic with arms at odd angles and an expression that is supposed to be joy but actually looks like permanent surprise.

The sign said something about special offers on Dominique clothes. Janey followed my stare, saw the T shirt and knew what I was thinking.
“Come on,” she said, taking me by the arm. “We might as well find out.”
I hung back but she dragged me through the door anyway.
“Find out what?” I asked.
She didn’t reply but led me right up to the counter. “Do you have any Dominique T shirts for boys?” she asked, right out loud.
“For boys?” the assistant asked casting a glance at me. I went deep red and looked down. Why was Janey doing this? I was sure the woman knew this was about me.
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “They mostly do girls’ clothes.”
“Mostly?” Janey asked. I glared at the back of her head. I sent ‘Stop now!’ thoughts to her but she carried on taking no notice of my embarrassment. It wasn’t lost on the shop assistant who gave me very knowing glances.
“Let me check,” she said looking at me again. She went away and came back with a catalogue full of Dominique fashions. “They are all girls in here. We do have different labels for boys wear. What is it you need, exactly? Maybe, I can help.”

I was ready to run out of the shop, I was so embarrassed, but Janey was as cool as anything. “I have a top like the one in the window but somebody told me I was wearing a boy’s top. I wanted to check.”
“Oh, I think they were just being horrible. If it says ‘Dominique’ on the label you can be sure it is designed for girls. Dominique is a girl’s name after all! The red and white top is our most popular item at the moment and anyway, look at the collar style; it is so obviously for girls.” She flicked the catalogue to find the page and then passed it to Janey. A young model was wearing the top, the same one I had! She also had a short jeans skirt and some navy blue tights. I realised I had leaned over to look intently at the page so stepped back to make it look as if I didn’t really care. From the way the shop assistant looked at me I could tell she wasn’t fooled.
“Keep the catalogue,” she said. “It might give you other ideas.”

“She winked at me!” I told Janey when we left the shop. “She thought I wanted to wear those clothes.” I was indignant.
“You do wear them…” Janey replied. “…well, the top anyway. I think that much is clear. Your mum does buy you girls’ clothes.”
“Can you hush up?” I hissed at her. I didn’t want the whole street to know.
“Maybe my mum was confused,” I said.

Janey stopped and turned to face me. I looked from side to side but couldn’t look directly at her.
“Jem, you do not believe that!” I didn’t answer.
“How many other Dominique clothes do you have?” I looked around her pursing my mouth. “I bet you’ve checked,” she said.
I knew I was going red and her voice took on that ‘told you so’ tone she had. “Any others you want to tell me about?” she asked.
I finally met her eyes. “Harmony Fashions.” It was more a question than a statement. I could feel my shoulders sag. I think Janey started to feel sorry for me at this point.
“I think Dominique is a boy’s name in France,” I said lamely.
“Not in this country, though,” she replied. She had a thought. “Did she buy it in France?”
I didn’t have to answer. “And Diamond Wear,” I went on. “I seem to have a lot of that.”
“Me too,” she mumbled. “Got any Tommy Girl?”
“No!” I shouted, drawing attention to us. Then I whispered, “It isn’t my fault.”

Janey led me to a bench. She was on a mission, I could tell. This information had exited her at the same time as depressing me.
“Of course it isn’t your fault, Jem, but there has to be a reason. Should we ask your mum?”
“No!” My voice rose again. “I think she must…” I stopped, confused. I couldn’t think of a very good reason. “Maybe, they are cheaper,” I said. Once again my voice rose at the end making it sound more of a question…or maybe a plea.
“You have very good quality clothes,” Janey said slowly. “Very good quality, girls’ clothes!” She looked directly at me again. Then a thought hit her. “Do you have any boys’ clothes?”
I looked directly back at her. “School trousers, pants, most socks, I think, pyjamas and a tie I wore to a wedding once.”
“Wow!” She paused. “Is that it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Wow!”
“I went home and checked. I hoped you were wrong.” I paused. “You weren’t.”
Janey turned to me again. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

My mum noticed that something was up when we were eating that evening. I wanted to ask her directly but I couldn’t, not any more than I could answer Janey’s question about what I was going to do.
“You’re very quiet this evening,” Mum said. “Did you fall out with Janey again?”
“No!” I mumbled into my plate.
“Honestly, you two!”
“We didn’t fall out!”
“Well, something is up.”
I looked at her. “Can I have a new…” I searched for something to ask for. “sweatshirt?”
Mum looked at me, puzzled. “Do you need a new school sweatshirt?”
“No, just a sweatshirt… for playing in”
“Don’t you have enough?” she asked.
“Yes… but…” I played with my food some more.
“If a new sweatshirt is what it takes to get you out of this strange mood you are in, then I will buy you one. Okay?”
“Can I come too?”
“It is easier if I buy it during my lunch hour from work. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“But I want to choose it.”
Mum looked at me. “Don’t you like your clothes,” she asked me. She had the same way of fixing me with a look that Janey did. “Is that what this is about?”
This would have been the perfect moment to ask her a direct question. The right moment but I wasn’t up to it.
“I want a soccer top,” I said at last.
“You HATE soccer! Or so you have always said and hey did you make a fuss when that boy tried to get you to join their team.”
That boy was a new boy in our class. He didn’t have many friends and tried to convince me to go with him to football practice after school. He was mad about football. We weren’t really friends even though I tried to include him in the games with Janey and me. He soon drifted away. He didn’t really want to have anything to do with girls. It seems that having no friends is better than being friends with a girl.
“I just want a football top. They are… cool!” I didn’t even convince myself so when Mum laughed I ended up smiling too and the subject moved on.

I forgot that I had even asked for a shirt so I was surprised when mum handed me a shopping bag when I got home from school the next day. I looked inside and pulled out a pastel green and white striped hooded top. There was a wide white elasticated ribbing section at the bottom and a zip from top to bottom. The label screamed at me: ‘Harmony Fashions’. I even recognised it from the catalogue. Worse, I even admired it in the catalogue.
“What shop did you go to?” I asked.
“Thank you, Mummy, for buying me a top and all because I just asked for one. I just ask for one and I get one. What a lucky person I am!”
I stared at her. She does this pantomime act every so often.
“Thank you for the top,” I said slowly. “What shop did you go to?”
“One in town.”
“Which one?”
“One close to work. That makes it slightly easier for me when I am running around trying to grant your every wish.” She was gearing up for another over the top act.
“Was it in the boys’ department?” I tried not to overdo the emphasis on the word ‘boys’ but it rang out anyway.
“Let me think! No, it was the gardening department!”
“Thanks”
“If I’d known you were going to be so ungrateful, I would never have bothered.” The pantomime act disappeared but I didn’t want to have an upset mum.
“I did say ‘thanks’ and I do like it,” I said moving over to her to give her a hug. It worked. She calmed down but I was still left wondering what was going on.

Janey had a theory. We were sitting on a park bench watching the world go by. We sometimes did this on the way home from school. Sometimes, this was the best bit of the day. “Maybe your mum wanted a girl all along and you… well, you..” She trailed off.
“I what?”
“Disappointed her! Sorry! I know that sounds a bit harsh.”
“A bit?” I stared in the opposite direction to where some young children were playing over by the pond.
“Some parents do… want a boy or a girl. They can’t help it.”
I carried on staring at the young kids by the pond. An older sister came along and I sat up.
“Look!” I said. “See that girl over there…” Janey followed my gaze. “See that top she’s wearing…”
“..the green and white one?”
“I’ve got that. Mum bought it for me yesterday.”
Janey twisted her mouth. It was her thinking look. She didn’t have to say anything.
“I know,” I said. “I know.”

We sat for a while longer, not talking much, each of us thinking about things. Janey was planning, I could tell from her body language. She liked to sort things, did Janey. I sat and wondered how long Mum had been secretly dressing me as a girl. My dad lives in the USA. It can’t have been before then. I remember him trying to get me involved in sport and I remember some arguments between him and mum about forcing me to do things I didn’t want to. My mum defended my lack of sporting ability by saying I was too little but dad believed every boy should be able to kick and throw a ball. I even heard him say I threw like a girl, once, under his breath. When he left, I don’t remember any big fights or anger, just ‘Daddy is going to live in America, isn’t that fun! You can visit every summer- which I did… and it was fine… and fun.

I was close to my mum. I hated seeing her upset and I would do anything to keep her happy. I never got into trouble at school for instance as she would be so angry. The few times I did silly things in class the teacher only had to threaten me with telling my mum and I was a crying, jabbering heap. I stayed away from the boys who got into trouble a lot and I spent most of my time with Janey. Janey was popular with the girls so it just happened that I spent most playtimes and lunchtimes with girls and avoided boys altogether. It was just the way it was. That didn’t mean I wanted to be a girl. I didn’t think of myself as ‘girly’ at all. I knew I was different from most boys but that was okay. In my school the headteacher was always going on about diversity. In any case, I wasn’t even like a girl!

“I’m not even like a girl!” I said out loud. I looked at Janey. Her mouth was still twisting. She looked at me.
“I’m not,” I insisted. She didn’t reply. “How am I like a girl?” I asked, eventually.
“Your hair,” Janey replied, quietly.
My hand went instinctively to my ponytail.
“Lots of boys have long hair,” I mumbled.
“How many in our school?”
“You know I’m the only one, but that doesn’t make me a girl.”
I remembered the supply teacher who thought I was a girl. It was so embarrassing, for her as well as me. I was eager to answer a question and because she didn’t know my name she just said something like ‘yes, you, the little girl at the back!’ I turned around and then realised. The class roared and I went deep red. I hoped Janey hadn’t remembered that as well.
“Your name?” she tried.
“Jeremy!” I shot back.
“But your mum calls you Jem! And you play with my dolls!” she continued. “Every opportunity!”
“Only because that’s what you do. What sort of friend would I be if I didn’t?” I tried.
Janey wasn’t having that. “Do you ever suggest we play any boy games?”
I folded my arms and huffed.
“The way you sit,” she went on. I uncrossed my legs and let my arms drop.
“You don’t know much about any boy stuff…” She had a point there. What boys found interesting about football, fighting, soldiers and any of the other things was beyond me. I was happier playing the things Janey wanted to, reading her magazines and chilling out at her house. That didn’t make me a girl. I needed to go home and forget about everything; that or ask my mum directly what was going on. I was confused.

Janey stood up and faced me. She had a determined look on her face.
“Are you coming around mine?” she asked me. I shrugged. The truth was it would be a terrible evening without Janey to play with. Everyday I either went round to hers after school or she came to my house.
“What time?” she insisted.
“I might be busy,” I said huffily.
“Tell you what, when you come round, bring your purple top; the one with the stars across the shoulder.”
I didn’t bother trying to resist. “Why?”
“Just do it, and cheer up,” she said pulling me up from the bench. “I’ve got a plan!”
I groaned. Janey’s plans often worried me.

At home, mum greeted me with her usual sunny smile. I hugged her and answered all the usual questions as I bounded up the stairs to get changed. Yes it was a good day, yes, I had worked hard and yes, I had been good. I pulled the purple top from the drawer and looked at it. I didn’t really like it. The colour was okay but the stars ruined it as far as I was concerned. They spread from the right shoulder all the way down the right sleeve. I always thought it odd that they only spread over one side. The stars were also purple but shiny so that they were picking up the light whichever way I turned. I didn’t know what her plan was but it was strange that she picked this top. When I checked my clothes recently, this was the only one without a label. Whatever Janey’s plan was I put it on and pulled on some old jeans. I untied my ponytail and let my hair hang loose. I brushed it in front of the mirror. Truth was, I loved my hair and was glad that mum didn’t want me to cut it.

I hugged mum before leaving for Janey’s. Mum smiled. “You’ve got the starry top on!” she said, beaming. “I love that top on you!”
I looked at her. I should have asked her then what was going on. Instead, I promised to be back in time for dinner and sped off to Janey’s.

“Hello Jem,” Janey’s mum greeted me. She held the door open and pointed up the stairs. She promised to bring up some juice so I shouted hello and thanks as I rushed past her and up to Janey’s room.
“Good,” she said when she saw me eyeing the purple top. Good? It sounded like I had followed instructions and she was about to put the next stage of her plan into operation. Well, I suppose I had and she was. I sat on the edge of her bed and instinctively picked up one of her dolls. She had several but I usually played with the same one; it was my favourite. I called her Gemma. I was brushing Gemma’s hair when Janey’s mum came in with juice and biscuits.
“Having fun?” she asked and we nodded. It was always fun at Janey’s. She had so much in her bedroom that I liked. Her posters had all the coolest boy bands and her duvet cover was of dolphins diving. There were dolphins on her curtains too and she had soft toys all around. My room by contrast was bare. Mum tried to encourage me to put things on the walls and she offered to help me choose wall-paper but I was uninspired. I much preferred Janey’s room. Her mum left us to it and I thought, once again, how alike her mum and my mum were. Janey’s dad was a little scarey. I didn’t see him much as he worked long hours but, when he came home, I usually made myself scarce. He had never been horrible to me but I just liked to keep out of his way. I don’t think he was used to dealing with boys.

“Look!” Janey said handing me something blue. I put Gemma down and unfolded the navy blue top. It was exactly the same design as my purple one, stars all over the right shoulder and arm. I held it up, not sure what I was to make of it.
“Look at the label!” Janey continued. I looked inside. ‘Miss Selfridge’ it said.
“Mine doesn’t say that!” I said, getting defensive.
Janey stood in front of me with her arms crossed. “What does it say?”
“Stop doing that!” I exclaimed. “Standing there like you’ve got it all worked out.”
Janey sat next to me. Her voice softened. “I’m not being horrible. I wanted to help. What does the label say?”
“There isn’t one,” I replied. “At least, there used to be but mum must have cut it out.”
I felt odd. I wasn’t near to tears or anything but I just felt odd. “What is she up to?” I asked.
“Maybe your mum just wants to help…” Janey said. “…be on your side.”

Maybe. There were times when I knew my mum was on my side. My dad was always keen to know whether I had taken up sport and several times I heard my mum on the phone telling him not to put pressure on me. When I started to grow my hair I wondered if she would make me get it cut but she didn’t, even though it was the first thing my father mentioned when he met me off the plane each summer, and I know my mum made him promise he was not going to take me to some American hair dresser while I was away. She never tried to get me to be tougher or asked why I didn’t have any boys as friends. On the other hand, I never thought she was trying to turn me into a girl. I explained all this to Janey.
“Maybe she isn’t turning you into a girl, Jem” she said eventually.
“You said she was!”
“Maybe she just wants you to be who you are,” she continued. “You know you’re not like other boys. Maybe she is trying to help you fit in.”
I looked at her. It was true. I wasn’t like other boys. I didn’t fit in. In fact, I didn’t want to fit in. I was happy at school, happy being friends with Janey, happy when Janey and the other girls included me. I was relieved that I rarely had to spend much time with boys. Getting changed for PE was about the only time boys and girls had to separate off but I always went to a corner by myself, anyway; not with the boys or with the girls.

Janey nudged me. “You’ve gone all serious. Cheer up.”
I tried a half smile.
“I’m getting changed,” she said, jumping up from the bed. She took her navy top and a couple of things from the drawers and left the room. “Be back soon!”
I flopped backwards and lay on her bed. What a strange few days it had been. I stared at my socks. They were multi coloured stripes; surely not girly at all. I had seen lots of boys wearing socks like that. Possibly, I was getting too old for this sort of thing. I thought I should mention that to my mum when I got the chance. Socks with just one colour would be best but nothing too boring, maybe red or orange.

Janey returned and did a twirl before me. The stars on her blue top sparkled as she came to a halt and stood, hands on hips and one shoulder pointing upwards. I laughed. She looked good in navy tights and a denim skirt. She did another twist around and slapped me playfully on my knees. She always cheered me up.
“It looks good on you,” I said.
“And on you,” she replied. “Same top, different colour!”
“True,” I said moving my arm to see the stars react to the light. She dropped some clothes onto my lap. I felt them before I saw them. On my lap Janey had thrown a pair of purple tights and a denim skirt, just like hers.
“Your turn!”
I started to laugh, as if it were a joke, but then stopped. Janey’s face was deadly serious and, to be honest, I thought, ‘why not?’, everything was so up in the air odd and extraordinary at the moment.

I went to the bathroom and took off my jeans and socks. I had to sit down to put the tights on and I struggled at first to get them all the way up my legs; a combination of hopping, standing and sitting down again did it! Straight away I liked the encased feeling on my legs. I had never worn tights before and hadn’t even wondered how they would feel. Why would I? I picked up the skirt and hesitated. Was I proving other people right about me? I didn’t wait long. I pulled it up and did the zip at the side. I then went back to face Janey.

To be honest, I expected her to laugh or make a joke or something and then, I suppose, I would have laughed and it would have been yet another of those fun things we did, a new experience but nothing more. It could all have been over before tea time.

Instead, Janey stared at me and looked lost for words. I stood waiting for her to speak and feeling more foolish the longer it went on.
“Jem,” she said, eventually. “Jem…”
She turned me to face her wardrobe mirror and I saw myself for the first time. A chill started somewhere near my feet and travelled up through my body and out the top of my head. Nothing before had given me the jitters like this, I was buzzing in my stomach.
“Jem…” she said again. “You are a girl!”
I looked at her and then back at my reflection. “I know,” I said. “I am!”
If this were a film or on TV or something, at this point Janey’s mum would have burst in and found me and there would have been some great drama; either because I would be shocked at being discovered doing something wrong or because Janey’s mum would be scandalised. But it was nothing like that. I sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at my legs in the tights. I loved the way they looked. I even loved the top now as, for the first time, the shiny stars made sense.

I felt different, couldn’t stop looking at the ten year old girl in the mirror; either at my tights encased legs or in the mirror for the full effect. I had worn fancy dress costumes in the past (never as a girl, though) and I had dressed up for weddings but this was completely different. I didn’t feel ‘dressed up’, I just felt as if this was right. I looked right. I looked proper or complete.

Thing was, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to change back but I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I picked up a doll but then put it down again. Janey suggested we play something but I wanted to just ‘be’. I couldn’t stay away from a mirror for long and each time I was fascinated by what I saw. I think Janey thought I was vain but it was different for her. She was always dressed like a girl. For me, this was a discovery. I was still staring in the mirror when Janey’ mum called up to us.
“Jem, your mum just ‘phoned to say your dinner will be ready in ten minutes!”
I looked at Janey.
“You’d better get changed,” she said.
I shook my head, slowly. I knew what I wanted to do. “I’ll go like this,” I said and then added, in case she thought I was being rude, “I promise to get your tights and skirt back to you.”
“Keep them…” she said. “…If you want them.”
Want them! I didn’t think I’d ever wear anything else ever again.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Janey asked, her concerned face returning.
I nodded. “I have to,” I said. “I know that now.”
“Wait,” said Janey jumping into action. “Your shoes!” I was about to step back in to my red crocs. “You cannot wear those with purple tights.” She went to her wardrobe and threw her black converse low tops at me. “These will be better,” she said. I put them on and could see she was right. I stood in front of her and she nodded.
“Now, you’re all set, I’m coming with you,” she said.

Janey’s mum didn’t say a thing as I thanked her for having me and Janey explained that she was just walking home with me. I wasn’t brave enough to look at her mum directly but, as soon as I stepped out the front door, the jitters returned to my stomach. Although it was only two streets to my house it felt like a long walk. More than once I wondered if I should have got changed but I also knew that I liked wearing this outfit, that it suited me and, most important of all, it felt right.

Janey was encouraging me the whole way with phrases and expressions better suited to the sports lessons but, to be honest, her voice was too much. I actually needed silence.
I didn’t say anything to her, though. It would have been unkind and I was concentrating too much on putting one foot in front of the other and trying to find the right words to say to my mum. There were loads of kids from school who lived on these two streets but, fortunately, most were indoors eating. As I turned into my street, Janey at my side, we almost bumped into Joe from my class. He stopped and looked at us.
“Hi Janey, Hi Jem,” he said. He was a nice, gentle boy, not one of the boys who thought he was big and tough but you could see he was trying hard to think of something to say having spotted me in a skirt.
“You off home?” he asked eventually.
“Mum said it was time to eat,” I replied. “See you.”
“Yeah, see you Jem… Janey…” he said and we continued on up the street.
“I don’t think he’ll tell anyone,” Janey said to make me feel better.
“He will,” I said. “Anyway, I want him to.” It must have been the real me coming out because I would never have been that brave before. I hated being the centre of attention and I avoided all fuss if I could. Yet I was glad that Joe had seen me as a girl.
“At least he didn’t laugh at me,” he said. I didn’t even think he would laugh behind my back but I knew others would. What was surprising me was that even knowing there might be trouble ahead did not deter me. I seemed to have uncovered a new inner determination along with my new gender.

At my front door I said goodbye to Janey. I knew she was bursting to come inside too but I wanted to face my mum alone. I thanked her and said I hoped she understood.
“I do, but you phone me later or else…” she said turning to go. “Good luck, Jem,” she shouted. I went in alone.