I grimace as I feel the pressure increase on my back, and grip the armrests of my chair for support whilst my ‘friends’ all whoop and cheer. I force the corners of my lips to turn upwards into a smile, though that smile soon fades when the roar of the jet engine is drowned out by a loud squeak from my right hand side.

“Oh! My! God!” Georgie squeaks, shredding my nerves more and more with every word she says. “This is so awesome!”

“Yeah,” I reply, using all of the acting skills I’ve learned throughout my life to try to appear enthusiastic about our upcoming trip, when in fact, it’s all I can do not to open the plane’s emergency exit and jump out- without a parachute, if necessary. My stress levels only increase as Marley- Georgie’s boyfriend- flagrantly reaches his hand underneath Georgie’s top and starts tickling her back, even though I’m sat literally inches away from the giggling, airheaded girl.

As I look around the plane, I see plenty of excited, happy faces- young children with their parents, couples like Georgie and Marley, or Abbey-Gayle, Brooke or Ella and their boyfriends, all happy holiday goers… And then there’s me. I know I SHOULD be grateful- most people would give their right arm for a long holiday in Spain, after all, especially one paid for by their parents- but all I can think about is how I don’t belong in this plane, or in this friendship group of aspiring models and performers… Or how I don’t even belong in this skin.

After the plane lands and I disembark, I take a deep breath and try to relax. I am on holiday, after all- a time that exists solely to forget about the stresses of your everyday life- but as I stride through the airport, I feel all my stresses returning in force. Even though I’m surrounded by the other girls, all of whom are very good looking, the sight of a sixteen year old blonde wearing a tight tank top and a tiny pair of shorts will grab the attention of any straight guy, and there are plenty of eyes pointed straight at my chest, backside and legs. And I know, deep down, that the worst is yet to come.

Sure enough, after checking into our hotel, our group heads down to the beach, where eight pairs of eyes look expectantly in my direction.

“Oh come on, Kayleigh-Ann!” Ella pleads. “You’re not going to get a tan like THAT!”

“Yeah!” Abbey-Gayle giggles. “You’ve got a smoking hot body, show it off!” I force yet another smile on my face, before removing my shorts and my tank top to reveal my skimpy dark blue bikini… Which draws yet more male eyes to my body.

“I still can’t believe you haven’t got your navel pierced yet,” Brooke laughs as we head onto the sand.

“Yeah,” Ella laughs. “Like, if it wasn’t for your tits, you’d almost think you were a boy!”

“I wouldn’t go THAT far,” I retort, trying hard to not let Ella know that she’s just paid me one of the biggest compliments I’ve ever heard.

“Good,” Ella giggles. “Because I am making it my personal mission to ensure that at some point within the next three days, you are getting L-A-I-D!” Good luck with that, I think to myself. If the only man I’ve ever connected with in any way couldn’t get into my pants, then some random stranger on a Spanish beach CERTAINLY isn’t. And the only men’s pants I want to get into… Are my own.

After I split from Ollie, I didn’t get the opportunity to dress as ‘Ian’ for almost three weeks, despite my therapist’s insistence that I try to find time to express my ‘inner boy’. Mum- scared by my nearly breaking my own foot, which I supposed is understandable- began regularly barging into my room uninvited on the grounds of ‘checking I was okay’, which obviously meant that I had to stay in my girl clothes 24/7. Even worse, after ‘making sure I was okay’, mum would then decide to stick around, to help me rehearse for a play, to help me sew ribbons onto my new pointe shoes, to paint my nails… Over the last six months, mum has been more of a mother to be than she’d ever been in the preceding sixteen years. I even began to think that if mum had acted more like a mother and less like a coach for the rest of my life, I wouldn’t even need to be ‘Ian’- but then, inevitably, she’d do something to remind me that my name is NOT Kayleigh-Ann, and deep down, I truly am NOT a girl.

Dad, of course, remained as indifferent as ever, barely acknowledging my existence, and the only time he seemed to say my name was during his frequent arguments with mum- arguments that took place right on the other side of the wall from where my bed is placed, meaning my favourite stuffed giraffe gained a LOT of new teeth marks over the past six months, never more so than on the 24th of June- the night of my prom.

In all the ‘excitement’ about my exams, I’d almost forgotten that the school holds an annual formal dance for students leaving after their final year, but the second my final exam finished, my mum picked me up and whisked me straight to the nearest boutique to pick up a formal gown. And when I say ‘pick up a’ I of course mean ‘try on hundreds and hundreds before eventually settling on one’. I wore more dresses during the course of that week than I’d done during the previous three years, and each one just made me more and more stressed until I felt like my skin was about to literally catch fire.

On the day before my prom, mum- accompanied, of course, by Abbey-Gayle and her gang, who saw me as their own personal Barbie doll for the week leading up to the prom- took me to a tanning salon, where my entire body was covered in thick, dark spray tan. My nails were then sculpted into long, slender ovals and painted a dusky red colour, my make-up was professionally applied, my hair- which at that point, hadn’t been cut in five months- was treated with numerous conditioners, sculpted into a cute, feminine pixie cut and adorned with fashionable highlights. I pulled on a strapless bra and a skimpy thong, and slipped my feet into a pair of sparkly, high-heeled sandals. Last, but not least, came my dress- a floor-length, strapless gown in dark blue with a narrow, laced-in bodice and a voluminous skirt. I was BEAUTIFUL, and it wasn’t just my friends who thought so, my peers at school definitely thought so too- I was third in the vote for ‘prom queen’ (Maisie, as captain of the cheerleading team, obviously came out on top)- and my ‘date’ for the prom undoubtedly thought so.

Maisie set me up with Kyle, one of her boyfriend’s friends from the football team (Maisie, as head cheerleader, was dating the captain of the school’s football team proving that some stereotypes aren’t constrained to the other side of the Atlantic Ocean), who was one of the smaller (the same height as me when barefoot), shyer boys. Maisie was confident that he wouldn’t try anything with me unless he was given explicit permission, which obviously wasn’t going to happen. Nonetheless, at the end of the night, in our limo ride home, Kyle surprised me with a long, wet kiss, and his hands quickly found their way onto my waist before slowly creeping upward. If I hadn’t slapped them away, I honestly believe I would have been freed of my dress even earlier than I had planned. Fortunately, Kyle didn’t force the issue, but he had a very, very angry look on his face that made me tremble as he got out of the limo, which made me feel like I was an inch tall- especially as memories of Ollie and our Valentine’s ‘date’ came flooding back.

I cried myself to sleep that night and the following three nights, and nearly bit my stuffed giraffe’s leg clean off. If I’d worn earrings to my prom, the pins of them would have ended the night stuck in my wrists, not my ears.

A week after my prom, mum came back into my room to ‘check on me’… And to give me details of another boy she liked the look of. I swore to myself at that point that I would never, ever have anything sexually to do with any men.

“How about him?” Ella asks, pointing toward a tall, tanned man with dark brown hair and a bulging six pack (which, horrifyingly, isn’t the only part of him that’s bulging).

“Pass,” I say, making Ella laugh with frustration.

“Oh come on, Kayleigh-Ann!” The tall Australian girl pleads. “Don’t you feel, you know, left out? I mean, you’re the only girl on this holiday without a boyfriend, ever since you split from Ollie and Ian it’s like no man’s good enough for you!”

“No man is,” I shrug, smirking at my ‘technical truth’.

“But surely you miss sex, right?” Ella asks. “There’s only so much you can, you know, ‘get’ out of sitting on a washing machine…”

“I’m in no rush,” I say, laying back and trying to relax despite the attention that’s being paid to my bikini-clad body.

“I swear,” Ella says firmly. “I WILL find a guy you approve of before this holiday is over.” I snort derisively at Ella’s confidence, before turning my attention back to the other three girls, all of whom are frolicking in the sea with their boyfriends.

As a wave of water washes over them, a wave of envy washes over me- it would be so easy for me to simply give in to Ella’s demands. Whether I like it or not, I AM cute. A lifetime of gymnastics and dancing has left me with a body most women would die for, and most men would give their right arm to have. Even if I wanted a more sensitive boyfriend, like Brooke’s boyfriend Andrew, that wouldn’t be too much of a problem. But the mere thought of a man touching me in any way, especially the way Marley is mauling Georgie in her swimsuit with its barely-there thong back, just sends chills down my spine. Even if I wanted it to be true, the fact remains that my name is NOT Kayleigh-Ann, and I am NOT a girl.

By the end of the evening, my body is nice and tanned, though my efforts to cover it back up with my tank top and shorts are thwarted when Abbey-Gayle announces that all of us are going to a posh restaurant for dinner, meaning that when I emerge from my hotel room, I’m wearing a tiny, loose halter neck dress that shows off virtually all of my slender bronzed legs. The other girls are all similarly attired, of course, whilst the boys are all wearing smart trousers, not displaying any skin below their waists. The sheer injustice of it makes me clench my fists in frustration, though as always, I force a smile on my face as we take our seats at the restaurant.

As the meal wears on, my mind beings to wander. The conversation is dominated by the girls, of course, with the boys all looking on with almost convincing faked interest (it’s painfully obvious what they’re REALLY thinking about when they look at the girls). I’m not sure whether it’s better or worse when the girls all go outside to smoke, leaving me alone with the four boys, as the boys immediately take the opportunity to start talking about sport and videogames- both things I love- but make no effort to include me in the conversation.

By the time we all return to the hotel, I’ve barely said ten words, and the four couples are in so much of a hurry to get to ‘bed’ that I’m abandoned almost immediately as I walk into the hotel lobby. After returning to my hotel room, in the absence of my stuffed giraffe, I clench my pillow between my teeth and silently scream, trying desperately to relieve my frustration at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Kayleigh-Ann…” A familiar West Indian voice whispers in my ear, waking me from my slumber. “Kayleigh-Ann, wake up!”

“Mmph,” I moan as I wake up, feeling almost hungover from last night’s stress. “What is it?”

“Get up, get dressed, quick!” Abbey-Gayle giggles as she pulls the sheets off my body.

“Why, exactly?” I ask.

“Shower! Make-up! Clothes!” Brooke commands, all but shoving me into my en-suite. After showering, applying as little make-up as I think I can get away with and pulling on my most modest, comfortable bikini followed by a trusty pair of shorts, I head out of my en-suite and am immediately dragged along the corridor to Ella’s room.

“OMG Kayleigh-Ann,” Georgie- who, like yesterday, is barely wearing anything- snorts. “Why are you, like, wearing a- wearing so much clothes?”

“Oh, leave her alone,” Brooke says. “The shorts will come off once we get to the beach, right, Kayleigh-Ann?”

“Right,” I laugh, inwardly screaming that yet again, I’ll be forced to put my body on display for virtually the entire population of Spain.

“Keep quiet,” Abbey-Gayle whispers as she slowly opens Ella’s door.

“What are we doing here, anyway?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” Abbey-Gayle giggles. “Kayleigh-Ann, you grab her right leg. Georgie- you get her left leg.” Georgie and I both nod, and when we see Ella laid on her back in her bed, I immediately position myself by her left leg to avoid the inevitable left/right argument with the dim-witted Georgie.

“Now!” Abbey-Gayle yells, startling the sleeping Ella awake. Immediately, the four of us spring to action, each grabbing one of the tall girl’s limbs before she has a chance to react.

“What- what are you doing?” Ella moans. “Where’s Shaun?”

“The boys took care of him,” Abbey-Gayle says smugly. “Do you remember last year, when Dannii Samson and her gang went to Spain, they made a video?”

“Yeah, but- oh no,” Ella moans. “Oh god, you’ve got to be kidding me, I’m in my nightie for fuck's sake!”

“Like, so?” Georgie asks.

“Like, see-through?” Ella asks, before sighing. “Okay… Let me change into my bikini and I’ll let you throw me in the pool.”

“Hmm… Okay,” Abbey-Gayle says with a smug grin. The four of us release Ella, who skips the short distance back to her room, re-emerging later with her dark blue bikini in place and a wide grin on her face.

“Don’t smile so much!” Brooke admonishes the blonde girl. “This is supposed to be spontaneous!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Ella grimaces, before grimacing and pretending to struggle against our grip.

Needless to say, our ‘performance’ attracts plenty of attention- especially from those with smartphones- and I play my part to perfection as we reach the hotel’s small pool, forcing out a genuine-sounding laugh as we hurl Ella into it. Of course, in keeping with our efforts to repeat last year’s viral video, Abbey-Gayle, Brooke, Georgie and I immediately join Ella in the pool, before being chased off by the hotel’s manager.

Twenty minutes later, after we’ve all decamped to the beach, I let out a long sigh as I slide off my shorts, which have been thoroughly wrecked by the chlorinated water of the swimming pool and will probably never fit me again.

“Problem, Kayleigh-Ann?” Ella asks as she stretches out on her sun lounger.

“Ugh,” I spit. “These were my favourite shorts. ‘Were’ being the word…”

“Ah, you’ll get more,” Ella giggles. “Now you might actually show off those awesome dancer’s legs of yours!” I force out a giggle- Ella obviously intended what she said to be a compliment, little knowing how deeply it cuts me.

“Ella…” I mumble. “Why- why did you let us throw you in the pool? I mean- god, I dunno…”

“Ah, it’s just a bit of fun, you know?” Ella replies. “And you never know, our video might go viral, get us noticed… If we’re REALLY lucky, might even get the rest of us signed by Joshua Benedict!”

“Even those of us who AREN’T models?” I ask.

“Now you’ve left school, you’ll get work,” Ella shrugs. “I’m surprised you haven’t already found yourself an agent, for your acting if nothing else.”

“I’m… Just, you know, wanting to enjoy my holiday,” I reply. In truth, the thought of finding an agent chills me to the bone- I’ve spent my whole life wishing I hadn’t been forced into doing all these performing arts. Getting an agent would turn it into an unwanted hobby into a profession- and potentially, my entire life.

“Oh, I DEFINITELY get that!” Ella giggles. “Of course, the best way to enjoy your holiday is to find yourself a hot boy to cling on to!”

“If you say so,” I sigh.

“You’re really not interested in any of the guys on the beach?” Ella asks. “I mean, I would ask if you wanted me to find a girl for you, but seeing as you were juggling two boys earlier in the year, that kinda answers any questions there… Even if, you know, between your hair and your lack of make-up, you do kinda look a bit boyish!” I open my mouth to respond to the tall Australian girl, but stop just short of saying ‘thanks’.

“If you say so,” I say, running my slender fingers through my hair. “Hair’s grown a lot the last few months though.”

“It’ll be as long as mine soon,” Ella laughs, playfully tossing her extra-long blonde tresses before tying them back into a tight ponytail. “Kayleigh-Ann... Are you REALLY not interested in any of the boys on the beach? I mean, you’re tall, you’re hot, I’m sure you could have your pick of any of them.”

“REALLY not interested,” I confirm.

“Kayleigh-Ann…” Ella whispers. “Is- is everything, you know, okay? I mean, I know you still see your counsellor… Not all boys are like Ollie, I promise you that.”

“That’s for damn sure,” I sigh as I watch Marley and Georgie frolicking in the surf, the tall boy’s hands being just as ‘adventurous’ as they were yesterday.

“What do you and your counsellor talk about, anyway?” Ella asks.

“Seriously?” I retort, making Ella grimace.

“Sorry, sorry,” the tall girl sighs. “I just- we’re friends, you know? A few months from now, we may even be Angels… I want to know what I can do to help.”

“If I thought there was anything you could do, I’d ask,” I sigh. However, it’s pretty unlikely that Ella’s able to issue a prescription for a course of hormone treatment. Unfortunately, neither is my counsellor…

Over the last few months, my meeting with Dr Williamson have been equal parts helpful and frustrating. Having someone- a professional, no less- to unburden myself onto is a great relief. She listens to my stresses, helps with them and never judges. However, as she’s made clear on several occasions, she isn’t able to provide a formal diagnosis of gender dysphoria, and most certainly isn’t able to prescribe any hormone treatments without parental consent. As I’m sixteen, I could simply ‘emancipate’ myself from my parents by moving out, living with a friend (such as Ella), but then that’d raise a million other problems, with money being first and foremost. I still don’t have a weekend job, as the only ones I’ve seen are either as a waitress, tottering around everywhere in a short skirt and high heels, or working behind the perfume or make-up counter in Boots, which is obviously not an option (and my vegan parents obviously would never approve of me working in a fast food restaurant).

As such, the only source of income I have remains my parents- who stipulate, of course, that I spend the money on cosmetics and clothes- and the only chance I ever have of being ‘Ian’ is whenever I have the house to myself, which is far too infrequent for my tastes.

And of course, I’m never going to get the chance to be ‘Ian’ whilst laid in a bikini on a sun lounger in Spain, as I’m reminded every time a boy walks past and ogles my hairless bronzed body. The five of us spend the rest of the afternoon on the beach either sunning, swimming or playing volleyball (something that doesn’t last long after Ella and I repeatedly beat the much shorter Brooke and Georgie), before heading back to the hotel to change into yet another loose dress for yet another evening meal. Despite Abbey-Gayle and Ella’s attempts to get me to join them in trying to get into a bar or nightclub, I head back to the hotel room, where I fall asleep putting yet more teeth marks in the hotel’s pillows.

Our third day in Spain goes much the same as the previous two days- sun, sea and sand- though I find my stress levels growing ever more with each pair of male eyes that mentally undresses my bikini-clad body. It doesn’t help that today is Monday, the day I normally see Dr Williamson, so instead of spending today working through my problems, all I end up doing is adding to them, to the extent that when we return to the hotel, it takes all of my willpower not to hurl myself head-first into the pool. I decide to skip dinner in favour of an early night- we have an early flight home- and spend the evening packing my suitcase, which is possibly the first enjoyable thing I’ve done all weekend.

“Oh my god!” Georgie squeaks as we head to the check-in desk at Cadiz airport the following morning. “That was SO the best holiday EVER!”

“I know!” Brooke giggles. “I SO can’t wait to come back next year… At the expense of our agency, of course!”

“Have you found the pool video yet?” Ella asks excitedly.

“Not yet,” Abbey-Gayle replies. “But it’ll be on there!” I force out a giggle along with the other girls as Abbey-Gayle searches for Ella’s dunking video on her phone, though as I look to my right, I feel a pang of jealousy as I see the other four girls’ boyfriends stood off to one side, gossiping about a topic I can’t quite hear, but I know deep down I’ll find more interesting than the girls’ conversation.

During the holiday, I’d tried to relax, tried to allow myself to believe that life as a girl isn’t so bad, that maybe in a more relaxed environment I could get on with the girls, and by extension, actually enjoy bring a girl for the first time in my life. There were a couple of moments that made me hope this would be the case, too- Sunday morning’s conversation with Ella being top of that list. And yet, as we board the plane- with me constantly having to straighten my short skirt after my shorts were predictably destroyed in the pool- I find myself more desperate than ever to just strip away all my ‘girl layers’ until all that’s left is Ian- the boy I’m desperate to be.

I tune out the conversation the surrounds me all throughout the flight home, and once we land back in England, I immediately grab my luggage and bid the girls a quick farewell before heading straight home. Both my parents are on holiday themselves, and will be for the rest of the week, so the instant I finish unpacking, I scrub away my make-up, strip off ‘Kayleigh-Ann’s clothes and pull on the jeans and t-shirt that I have come to associate with comfort and happiness. Sure, having my breasts squashed by an elastic bandage isn’t exactly ‘comfortable’, but that feeling goes straight out of the window when I look in the mirror and see the boy inside staring back at me.

“My name is NOT Kayleigh-Ann,” I say with a confident smile as I clamp my Arsenal cap to my head. “I am NOT a girl.”

I head downstairs to the living room, where I collapse on the sofa and immediately relax in a way I simply wasn’t able to in Spain. With mum and dad away until Saturday, I’ll be able to spend three whole days as Ian- just long enough for forget that when they’re back, I’ll have to become ‘Kayleigh-Ann’ once again. After a disgusting lunch of vegetables and grains, I relax back down on the sofa… And I suddenly realise that this is the first time in a while that I’ve been ‘Ian’ for a prolonged period of time, and more importantly, the first prolonged ‘Ian’ session I’ve had when I’ve been alone- and I’m at a loss as to what to do.

After pulling on my most androgynous trainers, I had out onto the busy streets of London, heading to the nearest shopping mall to buy some REAL food, but the mere act of stepping in the mall’s front entrance causes a wave of emotion to crash over me- this is the exact same place where I had my first proper encounter with Ollie, the place where ‘Ian’ was truly born. Ollie wasn’t just my fake boyfriend, he was- or at least, I thought he was- my best friend, and ‘Ian’s only friend…

Subconsciously, I reach for my smartphone, and open up Facebook, quickly locating Ollie’s profile. I open up the window to type a new private message to him, but I pause before typing anything. Ollie was the only friend Ian ever had… But he also betrayed him- no, betrayed ME. He saw ME as a piece of meat, a sex object, and when he was denied sex he tried to force the issue and I ended up in hospital. Just like every other man, he only thought with his genitals- though Georgie’s actions in the Spanish surf with her boyfriend shows that sex-obsessed behaviour isn’t solely a male trait. And whether I like it or not, Abbey-Gayle, Brooke, Georgie and Ella ARE my friends… Or rather, they’re ‘Kayleigh-Ann’s friends. If they saw me out, dressed the way I am right now, I doubt they’d still be ‘her’ friends for long. And it’s not even like they’re particularly good friends- their interest in Kayleigh-Ann is purely out of the belief that being part of a ‘clique’ will gain them the fame and recognition they so desperately crave- and that my parents crave for me.

And yet, with school now over for good, they are the only friends that Kayleigh-Ann- or rather, they’re the only friends that I still have. And later tonight, I’m going to strip off ‘Ian’s clothes, pull on a clingy, sweaty pair of pink tights, a skin-tight black leotard and dance around a room with all of my friends until my feet ache and my toes bleed. The mere thought makes my skin crawl so much that I immediately browse away from Ollie’s profile and to that of our dance teacher, leaving a hastily-worded message explaining that I won’t be able to attend, claiming that I picked up a stomach bug whilst away. This lowers my stress levels enough that I’m able to eat my burger and go home, where I once again crash on the sofa, once again at a completely loose end.

After an early dinner that was just as revolting as the lunch that had been left for me, I head back up to my room to try to relax on my bed, but my bedroom is so unapologetically feminine that I only stay on the bed for less than thirty seconds before jumping up and heading back downstairs. As much as they frustrate me, at least my parents are always- well, almost always- there for me, and as much as they irritate me, at least Abbey-Gayle’s gang are always up for a chat- even if I have no interest whatsoever in the topics they chat about. With no home- not a proper one, anyway- no family and no friends, if I’m going to become Ian, I’m going to have to do it from scratch, from the ground up.

I grab my laptop and log onto the internet, briefly looking at flats in London, but the rent on all of them is so extortionate there’s no way I’d be able to afford them even if I got a full-time job, let alone a part-time job. I even look at homeless shelters in my local area, but the more I research living independently, the more stressed out I get, until after a mere fifteen minutes, I find myself laid on my bed with my stuffed giraffe’s leg between my teeth. As I bite down, however, I see my reflection in my mirror… And I see just how ridiculous I look. No sixteen year old boy should ever look the way I do now, with a stuffed toy hanging from their mouth. Hell, no sixteen year old girl should, for that matter. But it’s not like I have any other option- well, apart from let the stress boil up until I explode, or worse yet, look in the bathroom for dad’s razor and use that on my wrists.

One thing’s for certain, though- things can’t continue the way they’re going. I’ve only been by myself for less than twelve hours but already the loneliness is starting to get to me. Either that, or the fear of what will happen when my parents return- not their reaction at seeing ‘Ian’, but the fact that I’ll have to put Ian aside and return to being Kayleigh-Ann, with her ballet classes, her fledgling modelling career, her intense parental pressure, her skimpy underwear, her tights, her dresses, her make-up…

I feel myself start to hyperventilate as I make my way down the stairs, and my the time I reach the sofa, I’m having a full-fledged panic attack. I know I need to talk to someone, and urgently, but I can’t speak to anyone as ‘Kayleigh-Ann’ without causing myself more stress, and my counsellor’s office closed an hour ago so she won’t be available. With no other options, I grab my smartphone and look down my contacts list for the number for The Samaritans (which I’d saved for an occasion such as this one), when another number catches my eye- Grandma’s number. Not Grandma Walker, of course, but Grandma Jones- my mother’s mother, who lives in Cardiff.

I open up my grandmother’s contact details and prepare to dial her number, but I pause before pressing the button- what do I say to her? What am I meant to tell her, how am I supposed to make her understand what I’m going through? Do I just say ‘hey grandma, I’m feeling really depressed because I wish I was a boy’? How on Earth is she supposed to respond to that?

I drop my phone and collapse back onto the sofa, cradling my head in my hands as I try to sniff back my tears. Boys don’t cry. Boys DO NOT cry. They don’t get emotional- well, unless it’s about football, anyway- they take their problems and they work them through logically. Fact: I don’t want to go back to being Kayleigh-Ann. If I do, the chances of me self-harming or doing something even more stupid… Well, let’s just say they’re not insignificant. Fact: I can’t stay as Ian, at least not when my parents return. Fact: I can’t call anyone to tell them about my stresses. Anyone who’d understand isn’t available to talk to, and there’s no one in London I can talk to face-to-face. This leaves me only one option…

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” the voice of the elderly Welsh woman calls as I knock on the door. “Do you know what time it is? If this is another pizza for next door I swear I’ll- Kayleigh-Ann?”

“Hi, grandma,” I say in a quiet, trembling voice.

“What are you doing here?” Grandma asks. “And why are you dressed like that?”

“It’s-“ I sniffle as tears start to flow from my eyes. “It’s a long-“ Before I can continue, I’m silenced by a long, tight hug from my grandmother, who wordlessly leads me into her living room.

“Oh, Kayleigh-Ann,” Grandma sighs as she sits me on her sofa. “I do worry about you at times, especially since that unfortunate incident with your wrists- which I’m trusting you HAVEN’T repeated?”

“No,” I whisper. “Though- though I’ve come close…” I sob and let more tears flow from my eyes as grandma gives me another gentle hug.

“More boy troubles?” Grandma asks.

“Umm… You might say that,” I say, my heart racing as I prepare to reveal all to the elderly woman.

“Kayleigh-Ann,” Grandma whispers. “Are- are you feeling okay? You look pale as a ghost, and not just because you’re not wearing any make-up… What’s this boy done to you? Should- should we call the police? Is this why you’re wearing boy’s clothes?”

“No boy’s done anything to me,” I whisper. “It- I- I, um, it’s be easier if I just came out and said it, the reason why I’ve been so stressed, so depressed…”

“Go on,” Grandma whispers.

“I…” I say, holding back a wave of nausea as I try to force the words out. What if grandma doesn’t understand? Worse yet, what if she calls my parents? As the millions of worries flow through my brain, however, one simple fact becomes clear- however grandma reacts, things couldn’t possibly be any worse than if I don’t say anything right here, right now.

“I…” I continue. “I always wish… I always wish that I’d been born a boy.” I pause briefly to allow grandma respond, but all she does is nod gently, giving me my cue to continue. “When- when I’m, you know, being a girl, I feel so stressed, so tense, it’s like there’s so much expected of me, I have to act a certain way, I have to look a certain way, and it just feels alien to me, it feels so wrong… Like I hate every aspect of myself, every part of my body just for being the gender I am, and I-“ I’m silenced by yet another hug from Grandma, who allows me to gently weep onto her shoulder.

“Kayleigh-Ann,” Grandma whispers. “When- when you made that, um, that mark on your wrist, is it because- because you wished that you were a boy?”

“Yes,” I whisper, my hands shaking as the adrenaline thins in my blood.

“When I was your age,” Grandma says, “any girl who says that she wished she was a boy would get a clout around the ear. Good thing it’s 2016 and not 1961, isn’t it?”

“You- you don’t mind this?” I ask, gesturing to my masculine appearance.

“Why should I mind?” Grandma shrugs. “It’s your life, you have to live it the way you see fit. If life as a girl is causing you to make marks on your wrists then you shouldn’t be expected to live your life as a girl. Are you really, really happier as a boy?”

“Much happier,” I whisper. “I feel so much freer, like there’s no pressure on me, no expectations…”

“And are you sure that these ‘pressures’ are because you’re a girl,” grandma asks, “and not because of your mother’s expectations?”

“I…” I say, before sighing. “I’m not 100% sure. My counsellor asked me the same thing…”

“You’ve been seeing a counsellor?” Grandma asks.

“On and off for the last six months,” I reply. “All I know is that merely wearing girls’ clothes makes me want to tear off my skin, but dressed like this… I feel happier, and more confident… Confident enough to tell you about ‘Ian’, heh.”

“Who’s ‘Ian’?” Grandma asks, making me grimace.

“Ah, he’s- that’s…” I say. “’Ian’ is my ‘boy name’. It’s the last two syllables of my first name… I always hated the name ‘Kayleigh-Ann’, especially as everybody always uses both parts…”

“I never liked it either,” Grandma says with a warm smile, before extending her hand for me to shake. “And it’s very, very nice to meet you, ‘Ian’!”

“Th- thanks,” I say, smiling genuinely for the first time in a very, very long time.

“I take it your parents aren’t aware of ‘Ian’?” Grandma asks.

“Nope,” I sigh. “If I told mum she’d go ballistic, try to guilt me into being a girl again like she always does… Dad would just go scurrying off to Grandma- my other Grandma- who’d yell at me and try to exorcise me or something.”

“I always hated that dreadful woman,” Grandma spits.

“Me too,” I say, before stifling a yawn.

“Oh god, Kay- I’m sorry, Ian,” Grandma says. “You must be exhausted after that train ride. I’m guessing you didn’t bring any clothes with you?”

“I’m wearing the only clothes ‘Ian’ owns,” I sigh.

“Do you have any money in your bank account?” Grandma asks.

“Umm, a couple of hundred pounds,” I say.

“Then tomorrow, we’re going to Primark, and we’re getting you some proper clothes!” Grandma announces.

“Um,” I say, “but I’ll have nowhere at home to put them, and I’ll never get any chance to wear them…”

“You let me worry about that,” Grandma says. “You just get upstairs and get yourself to bed, IAN.” I smile, before yawning again, nosing and heading upstairs to Grandma’s spare room. I strip down to my plain grey jockey shorts and untie the bandage from around my chest, breathing a sigh of relief as my sore breasts hang free.

After my long day, it doesn’t long for me to fall asleep, and the next thing I’m aware of is the smell of freshly-brewed coffee wafting into my nostrils.

“Mmm…” I sleepily moan.

“Good morning, Ian,” Grandma whispers, making my heart beat faster as I realise that I’m still wearing my jockey shorts, and when I open my eyes, in addition to my coffee, I see my jeans and t-shirt neatly laid out on a chair next to my bed.

“M- morning,” I say, making an effort to lower my voice to a more masculine pitch.

“Come on, drink your coffee,” Grandma urges. “I’ve got a plate of bacon and eggs waiting downstairs for you once you’re washed and dressed. Boys like you need to keep their strength up, after all!” I laugh excitedly as I sip my coffee, before- as Grandma urged- washing myself thoroughly, pulling on the clothes I wore yesterday (including my uncomfortable bandage) and heading downstairs, where my truly delicious-smelling breakfast is waiting for me.

“This is so amazing,” I say, choking back tears as I savour every bite of my breakfast. “Thank you so much for all this, Grandma.”

“You’re very welcome, Ian,” Grandma says with a warm smile. “Whilst you were asleep I did some Googling, I looked up ‘gender dysphoria’- that’s the right term for what you- well, I would say ‘have’, but that makes it sound like an illness, something that can be cured…”

“It’s the right term, yes,” I say. “My counsellor’s said she wants to get to the root cause of my stress before she’s confident enough to issue a formal diagnosis of it- and even then, there’s nothing anyone can do about it without the permission of my parents…”

“The websites I read said that that was also a major part of the process,” Grandma whispers. “Telling your parents…”

“The- the thought of going back to being a girl, being ‘Kayleigh-Ann’…” I mumble, shivering in terror.

“Ian,” Grandma says in a soft, kind voice. “If it hurts you that much to be a girl, then I promise I will do everything in my power to ensure that you never live another second of your life as a woman.”

“Th- thank you,” I say, wiping a tear from my eye.

“And if you’d like,” Grandma says, “you can stay with me for the rest of the summer holidays as ‘Ian’.”

“R-really?” I ask, my jaw dropping at the offer. “But what about mum and dad-“

“You let me worry about them,” Grandma says with a confident smile. “What’s most important is that you’re happy. And by ‘happy’ I of course mean ‘not doing anything stupid’!”

“No danger of that,” I laugh as I clean my plate. “That breakfast was SO good… I haven’t eaten bacon in ages, heh.”

“Your parents still have you on that modern rabbit food diet?” Grandma asks, tutting as I nod. “Well THAT ends now as well! I’ve got a joint of beef in the fridge that needs eating up, and you and I are eating it tonight. To celebrate the arrival of my new grandson!”

“This- this is like a dream,” I laugh. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for all this. Even everything you’ve done so far is just so, so much.”

“Nonsense,” Grandma chuckles. “I’m your grandmother, which brings with it certain responsibilities. If you really want to thank me, promise me that you’ll never doing anything silly with any sharp objects ever again, okay?”

“I promise,” I say with a smile.

“Good,” Grandma says. “Now get your shoes on, Ian, we have some shopping to do!” I giggle as I head into the hallway to pull on my trainers, before following Grandma out to her car.

Two hours later, I return to Grandma’s house carrying bags full of clothes- full of PROPER clothes. I have new t-shirts, a new sweatshirt for winter, new jeans, a pair of smart trousers, two new button up shirts (that button up properly, like a man’s shirt), a pair of new, smart shoes and even a new, smart tie. Grandma also said that she ordered some ‘special’ vests off the internet, vests to help flatten my chest (hopefully in a more comfortable way than my bandage). She also made it clear that these are special treats, and not to expect many more of them (Grandma’s income obviously being limited to her pension). Anything I get in the future, I’ll have to pay for myself- meaning my new smart clothes may well see use soon at job interviews!

After putting away my new clothes, we head back down to Grandma’s car for the long drive to London. Grandma correctly pointed out that if my parents are to believe that ‘Kayleigh-Ann’ is staying with Grandma, it’ll look suspicious if ‘her’ things are all still at home. I actually have a smirk on my face as I throw ‘Kayleigh-Ann’s clothes into the suitcase, crumpling up ‘her’ skirts and dresses without a second thought, and bagging up ‘her’ cosmetics, knowing that there’s a chance I may never wear them again. Once I’m finished packing, I take one last look at my bedroom, with one thing in particular catching my eye.

“Sorry, Melman,” I sigh as I pick up the stuffed giraffe that’s been part of my life for almost a decade. “Won’t be needing you where I’m going.” I have a sad smile on my face as I snap off my bedroom light- this IS my home after all… But it’s not ‘Ian’s home. I’ve been given the chance to rebuild my life from the ground up as the boy I always wanted to be, and I’d be foolish not to take it.

“Are you ready, Ian?” Grandma asks.

“Yeah…” I say with a smile. “I think I am.” Grandma smiles as she leads me back to her car, and a few hours later, I’m back in my new bed in Cardiff, sleeping soundly despite the confrontation that awaits me tomorrow.

I’m woken early in the morning not by Grandma, or by the alarm on my phone, but by my phone notifying me of a new Facebook message. When I read the message, however, I realise that I have more than one confrontation ahead of me.

‘Happy birthday!!!!’ The message- which is from Abbey-Gayle- reads. Also in the chat are Brooke, Georgie and Ella- whose birthday is the one we’re celebrating. Worse yet, it’s her eighteenth birthday, the most significant of them all- and not only didn’t I get her a present, I’m also hundreds of miles away in Wales, so I won’t be able to attend her party… To say nothing of the fact that I’m also no longer the girl the other four think I am- or even a girl at all anymore.

‘Happy birthday Ella!’ I type, before biting my lip. ‘I’m sorry I can’t make it to your party tonight, I’m still feeling under the weather. Hope you have a great day!’ In my eagerness to become Ian, I’d almost forgotten that the departure of ‘Kayleigh-Ann’ will leave a hole in more than just my parents’ lives. However, I know that the girls will get on with their lives without me. Hell, the way I was treated whilst I was in the group, I doubt they’ll even notice that I’m gone.

‘Thanks, girlies!’ Ella’s reply appears on my scree. ‘That sucks that you can’t make it, Kayleigh-Ann. We’ll just have to have a special girly day, just the five of us, once you’re better!’ I smile sadly and type a smiling emoticon in response to Ella, even though I feel somewhat guilty as I know the girly day she’s talking about will never happen. It’s not like Ella won’t make other friends, and I’m sure I’ll make new friends as well as ‘Ian’- it just would’ve been nice if Ella could’ve been Ian’s friend too, but if I’m going to live this new, exciting life, some sacrifices will have to be made.

After the chat reaches a natural end- with me hardly contributing to it, as always (though given the circumstances, I don’t mind so much)- I head down to eat the breakfast Grandma prepared for me, before taking a deep breath as Grandma takes her phone and begins dialling a number.

“The sooner we do this, the sooner it’ll be over,” the wise elderly woman says. “Oh, hello Angela! Hope you and Craig are enjoying Singapore! Yes, I’m doing fine, thanks. I’m actually calling about Kayleigh-Ann.” I bristle slightly at the used of my old name, even though under the circumstances, its use is justified.

“No, she’s not in any trouble,” Grandma says, making me roll my eyes at mum’s assumption. “Yes, I think she did enjoy Spain, but she’s picked up a bit of a bug while she was out there so I picked her up and brought her back to Cardiff. That’s quite fine, Angela, I’m her grandmother, it’s part of the job.” This puts a smile on my face- mum is obviously feeling guilty about being on holiday whilst I’m ‘sick’ and is grateful to Grandma for looking after me.

“Yes…” Grandma says hesitantly. “Yes, she- she’s said she wants to stay in Cardiff for the rest of the holidays.” I grimace- this is obviously going to be the main ‘sticking point’ with mum. Mum’s always wanted me to go to a fancy performing arts college after school, then either study drama at university or (preferably) become a famous actress. As of today, the 18th of August, I still haven’t been accepted to study at any colleges in London, and if I stay in Cardiff for the rest of the holidays, I obviously won’t be.

“Well her health needs to come first,” Grandma says firmly in a voice I’ve heard before- the only voice that can silence my mother. “Yes, we’re following her food plan.” I suppress a giggle as Grandma flashes me a quick wink. “Yes, I’ll have her back to you ready for the start of college in September. I’ll let you get back to your holiday, it must be late where you are. Talk soon, Angela.” Grandma smiles as she hangs up the phone, and I smile as well- though Grandma can instantly see the sadness behind my smile.

“What’s the matter?” Grandma asks me. “You’ve got the rest of the summer, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I sigh. “But then in just a couple of weeks, it’ll be September…”

“Yes,” grandma says with a knowing grin. “Ian, I have no intention of sending you back to London if you don’t want to go.”

“…What?” I ask, shaking my head. “I- I’m sorry?”

“If that life makes you- well, makes you leave marks on your wrist,” Grandma says, “I’m going to make sure you never return to it, even if I have to raise you myself.”

“R-really?” I ask.

“Really,” Grandma says proudly. “Besides, when I say ‘raise’, it’s not like you need much ‘raising’, I mean, you’re sixteen, you’re practically an adult already! And as I get older, I could always use some extra help around the home… Especially from a strong, handsome young man!”

“But- but mum and dad-“ I stutter.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Grandma says. “I don’t need to be a therapist to see that over the last two days, you’ve been happier than I’ve ever known you, and I don’t need a fancy doctorate to know why. When you’re ready, WE will talk to your mum and dad and explain to them all about their SON. In the meantime, we’ll get you booked in with a counsellor here in Cardiff, we’ll get you a job, or enrolled on a course at college, we’ll make sure that Ian has everything HE needs to live a full, independent life, so that when he finally meets his mum and dad, there’ll be nothing they can do about it other than accept him as their son.”

“O-okay,” I say, shocked by the generosity and love being shown to me. “I- I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you, Grandma.”

“You know my one condition,” Grandma says. “The one thing you can do to thank me is to make your life happy and successful. And if I ever see any more marks on your wrist, I’ll have you sectioned myself!”

“You won’t, I promise,” I say, barely suppressing a giggle.

And over the course of the next few weeks, I didn’t as much as scream in frustration at any element of my new life in Wales. As grandma promised, she assumed parental responsibility for me, and I was enrolled in a further education college to study digital art (something I’ve always been interested in), I started a Saturday job in a videogame store, and I even opened a bank account- all under my new legal name of Ian David Freeman. My parents, of course, think I’m studying drama- but with every day that I wake up and pull on a pair of jockey shorts and jeans, I gain more and more confidence, more and more self-assuredness ahead of the inevitable confrontation.

I was registered with a new counsellor in Cardiff, who took all my information from Dr Williamson in London and continued my treatment. My new counsellor has said that they want a few more sessions to make sure that life as Ian is the remedy for my stress before diagnosing me with gender dysphoria and prescribing testosterone, but I’m confident that that will happen sooner rather than later. And as grandma’s now my legal guardian, I don’t need permission of either mum or dad before taking the hormones I crave- I only need the permission of Grandma, who has said she'll provide it the second I get my diagnosis.

Of course, that's not to say that all my problems are over, just because I'm wearing trousers. I still have the confrontation with my parents to 'look forward' to, not to mention the undoubtedly hysterical reaction of my other grandmother. I've still got to figure out how I'm going to disappoint Abbey-Gayle and her gang. And apart from my supportive grandmother, I'm all alone in a new city. But I know I can make friends. I WILL make friends. Friends who will accept Ian for who he is- rather than as a shortcut into the pants of a girl who no longer exists.

I've been blessed with a true miracle. This is an opportunity I don't intend to waste, because after years of repeating it to myself, I can finally, legally say that my name is NOT Kayleigh-Ann, and nor will it ever be again. I am NOT a girl, and have no intention of ever being one again.

My name IS Ian. I AM a boy. And anyone who doesn't like that fact, be they friend, foe or family... That's their problem. Ian is here to stay.