A wide, happy grin creeps across my lips as I dance for the cheering crowd. My face has been made-up with thick stage make-up, making me look a lot older than my thirteen and a half years. My shoulder-length blonde hair has been tied into a bun, and a white, feathered headdress has been pinned to my hair- but none of this compares to my costume.

I’m wearing a brilliant white tutu with thin shoulder straps and a stiff net skirt that sticks out several inches from my narrow waist. My slender legs are encased in white tights and on my feet are a pair of brand-new satin pointe shoes, which I’m using to balance my entire bodyweight on the tips of my toes. I look and feel like the princess I have always dreamed of being, and as the music reaches a crescendo, I dip into a perfect ballerina’s curtsey, giggling happily as the crowd all cheer.

“Oh my god, thank you so much!” I squeak in my high-pitched, feminine voice, giggling as I try to push the tutu’s skirt out of my face. However, no matter how hard I try, the skirt just keeps springing back, tickling my face until it smothers it completely, leaving me panicking at the darkness…

I gasp as I awake with a start, before groaning as the memory of my wonderful dream begins to fade. My face isn’t made-up- in fact, it’s completely bare. Well, apart from the thin, wispy hairs starting to grow on my top lip, anyway. My hair is shoulder-length, but lose and straggly. My legs aren’t covered in tights, they’re covered by a pair of boy’s pyjamas, which have a frustratingly familiar sticky patch on the front. And not only are my feet not encased in pointe shoes, they have never been encased in them, and if my father has his way, they never will be. Even the knowledge that I have a huge stash of make-up in my drawers and more pairs of tights than all three of my sisters combined isn’t enough to put the smile back on my face, as when I get up, I pull on a pair of boy’s jeans and a smart, baggy sweatshirt, and as has been the case every time I see my reflection in the mirror, it’s all I can do not to scream at the top of my lungs.

“Morning, Ashley!” Mum says with a grin as I walk downstairs.

“Morning, Ashley,” dad says with a cold voice.

“Morning,” I say, trying to stifle a yawn.

“Oh, stop that,” mum laughs. “I know you’re up early- heh, you’re a teenager now, getting up at ANY time is getting up early- but you know you’ll have fun today, won’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I say, frowning as dad regards me with a stern stare. In truth, though, I am really, really looking forward to today- well, right up until I have to come home, anyway.

My dream of being a ballerina, wearing a tutu, make-up and pointe shoes actually came true earlier in the week- but it came true for Laura rather than me. Tuesday was her fifteenth birthday, and was also a ballet night, so she got to close the lesson by performing the solo routine from our upcoming recital for the whole class, before going home and sitting in a pile of presents that included make-up, nail polish, clothes… All the things I crave, yet have to hide for fear of angering my father or ‘corrupting’ my younger siblings. Today, as Laura’s ‘birthday’ party, all of her friends- myself included- are being treated to a day at a local salon, getting our hair, make-up and nails done. All of my friends will return home looking like beautiful young women, but before I can return home, I’ll be forced to scrub away all the layers of femininity I’d wrapped myself in throughout the day.

If Laura’s birthday was just one week later, however, I might not have needed to do this. Ever since my successful coming-out to my family in May, I’ve been attending fortnightly meetings with a counsellor to help me through the misery involved with being born the wrong gender, and whilst they’ve helped, there’s only so much help they can give. A couple of weeks ago, however, I attended a special meeting with a second counsellor. This second meeting was for one reason, and one reason only- to get a ‘second opinion’, and with it, a diagnosis of gender identity dysphoria- medical confirmation that I am indeed a girl trapped in the body of a boy.

There’s no guarantee, of course, that I’ll receive the diagnosis, something that dad is all too keen to remind me of every time we return from one of my meetings. To him, this is just a ‘phase’, something I’ll get over once I become a ‘real man’… Despite the fact that the more I become a ‘real man’, the more depressed I get. Sometimes I wonder what it’ll take to get through to dad, whether I need to take more ‘extreme measures’… But I could never do that to mum, who’s shown me nothing but love and support, and I especially couldn’t do it to my sisters.

Ever since I told her about my ‘real self’, Bryony has been a constant source of support. Even though she’s only ten, I can talk to her just like I would one of my older friends. Often, when I’m ‘dressed’ at home, I’ll sneak into Bryony’s room to help her with her homework, or she’ll sneak into my room and we’ll experiment with our hair or make-up. If dad found out about this, he’d probably have a fit- even though we’re not doing anything that any other pre-teen girl doesn’t do.

“I wish I could go with you,” Bryony moans as I pack an outfit- a proper, girl’s outfit- in my bag to take to Laura’s (for obvious reasons, I can’t change at home). “Sounds so cool, getting a makeover…”

“It will be,” I say. “Doubt Laura’s stepfather could afford it for a ninth girl, though.”

“Reckon dad will do this for me and my friends for my birthday?” Bryony asks.

“You could always ask him,” I shrug.

“Yeah…” Bryony sighs. “He wouldn’t let you go too, though. I wouldn’t want it if you couldn’t come as well.”

“No, don’t worry about me,” I say, giving the small girl a quick cuddle. “You should have what you want.”

“I WANT a big sister,” Bryony says firmly.

“And I want to BE a big sister,” I sigh. “It’ll be okay. Soon, Bryony… We’ll both get what we want.”

“I hope so,” Bryony whispers as I head into Laura’s stepfather’s waiting car.

“Hello Ashley!” The middle-aged man greets me with a wide grin.

“Hi Ashley!” Lily- Laura’s stepsister- greets me with an enthusiastic wave.

“Hello Mr. Ruddock,” I politely reply. “Hi Lily!”

“Lily will be joining you girls at the salon today, if that’s okay,” Mr. Ruddock says.

“Fine with me,” I shrug.

“She found out what we had planned and sulked until we let her come too,” Mr. Ruddock laughs.

“I didn’t sulk!” Lily pouts, making me and her father laugh as we pull up outside a familiar middle-class house. I force a smile on my face as two teenaged Asian girls climb onto the back seat of the car alongside Lily, smiling politely at me as we set off.

“Thank you for the lift, Mr. Ruddock,” Priya says.

“You’re very welcome, Priya,” Mr. Ruddock chuckles. “It’s your big day in less than two weeks, isn’t it? A BIG big day, too!”

“…It’s not THAT big,” Priya mumbles shyly.

“You’re turning sixteen, yes it IS that big!” Suriya protests as Priya laughs nervously. “When I turn sixteen the whole of London’s going to know about it!”

“I guess,” Priya laughs as Suriya continues to tease her. Even though I’ve long since been forgiven for the way I treated the two girls earlier in the year, following my disastrous first coming out, the sisters are still slightly uneasy around me, and it’s easy to understand why. Fortunately, I know that once I’ve changed into the cute short skirt and clingy top I have in my bag, the sisters will be a lot friendlier, but it still hurts to get the cold shoulder from them, especially as I want myself and Bryony to grow as close as Priya and Suriya so obviously are.

A short while later, the full car arrives at Laura’s house, where the other girls- Nicole, Megan, Harriet, our new friend Mia and the birthday girl herself- are waiting, along with Laura’s mother and brother. As always, I get a cautious stare from Laura’s brother as I walk into the house, but the awkward feeling soon passes when Laura herself grabs my hands and drags me up to her bedroom to get changed into my ‘proper’ clothes.

“Ugh, sorry about Ricky,” the fifteen year old girl spits as I pull on a pair of comfortable girls' panties, before fastening a training bra behind my chest. “Sometimes I forget what a knob he can be.”

“S’okay,” I shrug. “He’s no worse than my dad…”

“Ahh... Sorry,” Laura mumbles. “Still, you never know, this time next week…”

“I doubt it,” I moan.

“Oh- don’t be like that…” Laura sighs. “Anyone with half a brain can see what you are. And it ISN’T a boy.”

“Thanks,” I whisper as I stretch the clingy top I’d brought over my head before trying to rearrange my messy blonde hair into some sort of feminine style. “Okay, you can look now.”

“…Gorgeous and girly!” Laura squeaks, before grabbing my hand and leading me downstairs, where the other seven girls (Lily included) all compliment me on my appearance. Even though my face is make-up free (as we are heading to a salon, after all), the mere act of being my ‘real self’ is enough to put me at ease as we all get back in the cars.

“It’s so weird,” Suriya laughs as we head to the salon for our afternoon of treats and pampering. “You get into the car as a boy and it’s like you’re one big dark cloud, but pull on a skirt and all of a sudden you’re happy.”

“And, all of a sudden, you’re talking to me,” I say, making the tiny Indian girl frown.

“That’s because ‘Ashley my ex-boyfriend’ is an insensitive jerk,” Suriya says, her frown turning into a smug grin. “But ‘Ashley my girl friend’ is sweet, sensitive and cool!”

“Aww!” I coo, giggling girlishly.

“Are you sure you’ll keep the name ‘Ashley’ when you start transitioning?” Priya asks.

“No reason why not, it CAN be a girl’s name too,” I reply.

“But you could maybe spell it differently?” Priya suggests. “Like, there’s a girl in our year who spells it A-S-H-L-E-I-G-H.”

“I’m happy with the ‘Y’ at the end of my name,” I shrug.

“I’m just, you know, worried that you might see it is, sort-of, erm, a part of your old life,” Priya mumbles.

“Aww,” I giggle. “You’re worried about me…”

“Priya’s just being a big sister to everyone,” Suriya laughs. “Something you should know about, Ash!”

“Something I’ll hopefully get to know about,” I sigh as I stare at the nylon-covered legs poking out from underneath my skirt.

“And you WILL,” Suriya says. “Isn’t that right, Lily?”

“Yeah!” The nine year old girl cheers, as I once again muse on how maturely a primary school student like Lily (or Bryony, for that matter) can take my change when compared to a so-called adult like my dad.

The convoy arrives at the salon not long afterward, and the nine of us all spill out the cars almost giddy with excitement at our upcoming treat, myself included- though as I step into the posh salon I do suddenly feel VERY self-conscious about the hairs growing on my top lip, faint as they are.

“Isn’t this cool?” Megan squeaks as we’re greeted by the salon receptionist, who take us to the area that’s been reserved for us- an area filled with pink ribbons and balloons, and with two huge balloons at one end- one in the shape of a ‘1’ and the other in the shape of a ‘5’.

“Oh my god!” Laura squeaks as she bounces up and down, excitedly fanning her face with her hands. “Thank you so much…”

I smile nervously as I follow the other girls in selecting a chair, and before long, my hair is being washed and my nails are being shaped and polished to perfection. After my hair is wrapped in a big, fluffy towel to dry, the beautician turns her attention to my face, before frowning as she sees something- and it’s obvious what’s confusing her.

“You- you’ve kind-of got something, erm, on your top lip…” The young woman says to me, clearly afraid of saying something that would cause offence. “I, um, I can-“

“Ashley has a little bit a hormone- um, a problem with her hormone levels,” Suriya- who’s sat in the chair next to me- says, and I can’t help but giggle at the half-truth.

“Well, we’ve got plenty of ways of dealing with THESE, then!” The beautician laughs as she carefully eliminates the hairs, leaving my top lip as smooth as any of the other girls’, before reshaping my eyebrows from their usually bushy mess to a much sleeker look.

My make-up is next- a plain concealer, followed by a slightly tan-coloured foundation, then thick mascara and eyeliner and a cute fuchsia coloured eyeshadow. The final treatment is on my lips- a frosty pink lip liner, combined with my new hairless lips, fully disguise any evidence that I was ever a boy.

After our makeovers are completed, our hair is styled next. As my hair is still the shortest of the group (but still long for a boy), it’s styled into a very basic bob with a cute fringe at the front. As I look at myself in the mirror, I muse on how similar my hair looks to Suriya’s old style, the style she wore when we first met. Back then, Suriya and Laura were my idols, girls I desperately wished to emulate. Seeing myself with the same hairstyle, I can’t help but think ‘mission accomplished’… Even though I know that it won’t last, however much I desperately wish it would.

Suriya’s current hairstyle, of course, is much more elaborate now that her hair has grown longer, and despite my own cute look, I find myself envying the other girls- even Lily- as they show off their new, carefully-sculpted looks. The most beautiful of all the girls, of course, is Laura. I suppose it’s only fair, given that it IS her birthday and all, but as I stare at her, my heart fills to the brim with envy- and sadness at the thought that I might never get to look like her, that I might never get to BE her.

Laura’s long blonde hair has had several waves styled into it and cascades freely over her shoulders. Her make-up is just as elaborate and professional as mine, only her eyeshadow is darker and her lips and nails are a blood-red colour. Laura looks as beautiful as any model or celebrity I have ever seen, and the thought that I might be told, possible soon rather than later, that I will never get the opportunity to be like her? It’s enough to tear my heart in half. The only thing stopping me from crying is the thought that I might ruin my make-up…

“Okay, girls!” The head beautician laughs as she claps, gaining our attention. “Tights off, we’ll do your legs next.” I look quizzically at Suriya as I remove my tights, but the Indian girl simply giggles in response.

“Will this be your first time?” Suriya asks me as Laura’s stepfather takes Lily home, leaving only the teenaged girls in the room.

“…First time for what, exactly?” I ask, before my eyes go wide as several pots of hot wax are brought into the room.

I don’t mind confessing that I shed a tear or two over the course of the following hour, as I imagine all of the other girls did as well. None of us- myself included- had particularly long or noticeable leg hair, but by the time the beauticians were done, all eight of us have legs as soft and smooth as a baby’s bottom.

“Oh my god,” Mia giggles as she strokes her legs. “Kinda don’t want to put my tights back on now, hehe!”

“Then don’t,” Harriet shrugs. “God knows this is a one-off treat, might as well enjoy it while it lasts!” I bite my lip as the ginger haired girl stares in my direction- what she said was clearly intended for me ahead of the other girls.

“Even though it’s freezing outside?” Suriya protests.

“Some people like the feeling of a skirt blowing around bare legs,” I shrug, earning happy coos and hugs from the other girls.

Naturally, despite the cold, I leave my tights off as I get into Laura’s mother’s car along with Priya, Suriya and the birthday girl herself- a decision that causes several giggles as Suriya keeps playfully grabbing my knee!

“Stop groping Ashley,” Priya chastises her sister. “I thought you had a boyfriend, anyway?”

“I do,” Suriya giggles. “And do you see any BOYS anywhere in this car?”

“…My mistake,” Priya says with a smug grin.

“You all look so beautiful,” Laura’s mother gushes, making all four of us blush. “Good to see that salon was worth the money!”

“It was,” Laura sighs happily. “Thank you SO much for today.”

“I’ve left myself with a hell of a task, trying to top this next year for your sixteenth,” Mrs. White laughs. “Girls, we’ll drop you off at your homes to change, then be back in about 45 minutes to pick you up, okay?”

“Drop me off!?” I exclaim.

“Yeah,” Laura says. “You know, the second part of the party, the ‘tea party’? We all change into fancy dresses and we… Ah.”

“Yeah,” I grimace. In fairness, Laura HAD told me about the second part of the party, but hadn’t mentioned the need to change OR to bring additional clothes apart from what I’m wearing. “My sisters are at home, so’s my dad-“

“I’ll lend you one of my dresses,” Laura says softly. “I already know which one I’m wearing anyway.”

“…Thanks,” I whisper.

A few minutes later, we’ve dropped off the two sisters at their home, and a few minutes after that, Laura and I head back to her house, heading up to her bedroom where she opens her wardrobe, and I can’t help but sigh at the sight inside. Her wardrobe is full of beautiful creations including dresses, skirts and blouses. Along the bottom of the wardrobe are a collection of girly shoes, mostly flats but some heeled shoes too- some of which have higher heels than I’ve ever seen on any pair of shoes.

“Here,” Laura says, pulling a smart royal blue dress out of her wardrobe and holding it against my body. Obviously, the dress is gorgeous- Laura has great taste in fashion, after all. It’s got long sleeves and a high collar, but they are both cut in a very feminine style, and the lightly pleated skirt comes to just below my knees. It’s not very playful, but it is smart, and Laura wouldn’t have picked it out if it wasn’t appropriate for the occasion.

“Umm… Turn around?” I say, making Laura snort and roll her eyes.

“Umm, no?” Laura chuckles. “You’re only stripping to your underwear, it’s nothing I don’t see at ballet. And we ARE both girls, aren’t we?”

Well- yeah, I guess,” I say as I step out of my skirt and remove my top.

“I don’t ‘guess’, I KNOW,” Laura retorts as she removes her own skirt, thinking nothing of standing in front of me wearing just a thong and her lacy bra. Even stripped to her underwear, it’s impossible to tell that she is anatomically the same as me. Well, the same apart from the two very noticeable mounds on her chest, anyway. I giggle excitedly as Laura pulls her chosen dress out of her wardrobe. The dress is truly stunning- it’s a dusky pink colour, made out of a shimmering fabric that seems to sparkle every time it catches the light. It fits Laura’s slender body perfectly, with the hem of the skirt coming to a couple of inches above her knee. Rather than a zip, it has several buttons on the back that I have to fasten for Laura, before giggling as she orders me to turn my back whilst she removes her bra. Laura completes her look with a pair of high-heeled shoes that match her dress, before pulling on a dainty white cardigan to shield her arms from the cold November air.

“Beautiful,” I giggle as Laura does a playful twirl.

“Thanks!” Laura squeaks, before handing me a pair of shoes that match my dress. Even though the shoes only have a low heel- barely an inch in height- the mere presence of a heel on the shoes is enough to make me almost giddy with excitement.

“Oh please,” Laura laughs as I practise walking in the shoes. “I KNOW you’ve worn higher heels than that before.”

“Only as, you know, ‘dressing up’,” I retort. “Never as part of an actual outfit before.”

“First time for everything,” Laura shrugs. “First time of many!”

I giggle and exchange a quick, sisterly hug with Laura, before we head downstairs to find the rest of Laura’s family just as smartly dressed as we are- her mother is wearing a smart pencil dress and Lily is wearing her best party dress, whilst her brother and stepfather are wearing smart shirts and ties. I’m immediately reminded of my great-grandfather’s birthday a few months ago, when my sisters all wore dresses similar to the one Lily’s wearing, whilst I was stuck wearing clothes identical to the two men in the room… And I felt like screaming every second I was wearing the stupid clothes. But sat here now, wearing these beautiful clothes… I feel at peace, like this is exactly who I was always meant to be.

The other six girls- all wearing smart dresses and shoes like mine and Laura’s- return a short while later, along with Laura’s two grandmothers (who both playfully tell off Laura for wearing too much make-up), and we spent the rest of the afternoon eating tiny, dainty cakes and pastries and drinking tea. The whole party does feel a little ‘juvenile’, like the sort of thing even Bryony would turn her nose up at for her 11th birthday, let alone her 15th, but I actually have to remind myself that Laura’s 11th birthday- which was long before she became ‘Laura’- was undoubtedly very different in tone to this party. Probably like my own birthday ‘party’ six months ago, in fact…

The guests start to depart just after 6:30pm, but I stick around as late as possible, clinging to the vain hope that I can stay in my beautiful clothes and my beautiful make-up just a while longer, but as the clock ticks on, I know that I’m delaying the inevitable.

“Come on,” Laura whispers, gently grabbing my hand and leading me upstairs to her room. Fifteen minutes later, my nails are once again polish-free, my face is scrubbed clean of all make-up and my hair is back in its straggly, boyish style… And I’m only able to stare at my reflection for one second before bursting into floods of tears.

“It’s not fair,” I sob as I pull my jeans back on, before crying even more. “Why can’t I just be who I want to be? Why does my fucking father think that I’m just going to get over this?”

“You’re right, it’s not fair,” Laura said, giving me a comforting hug. “If your counsellor could see you now they’d know that you belong with us, as a girl. It’s who you’re meant to be. It’s who you WILL be.”

“I hope so,” I sob as I dry my eyes and head downstairs, though the stares I get as I pass through the living room en route to the front door tell me that I didn’t do a good enough job of disguising the fact that I’ve been crying.

“Why don’t you just go home in your dress if it upsets you that much?” Laura’s brother asks, earning stern stares from his sister and his mother.

“It’s not that simple,” Laura hisses. “For starters, it was MY dress, and secondly… You know full well that it’s not that simple.” Laura’s brother lowers his head as though he’s remembering something- and the look on Laura’s face makes it clear that they’re both remembering the time Laura’s father kidnapped her and forced her to be a boy again- a fate I thankfully avoided from my father.

As I return home, however, it’s clear that while my father would never take the same extreme measures as Laura’s father, he’s still just as determined as he was to make sure that I never become the girl I want to be.

“Hi Ash,” dad says in a quiet, sombre voice as mum, Bryony and Cassie sit glued to the TV- which of course has Strictly Come Dancing playing on it at the moment.

“Hi dad,” I say, dropping my bag of clothes in the hall before sitting down between my sisters. “Who’s been on so far?”

“Have you heard the QPR score?” Dad asks, and I’m forced to suppress a chuckle as Bryony tuts and rolls her eyes out of sight of our father.

“Umm, yeah,” I lie, immediately cringing as mum, dad and Bryony all fix me with stern stares, having caught me in my lie.

The five of us sit in silence for the next forty-five minutes, watching as the celebrities and professional dancers waltz, tango and salsa across our screen, before Bryony and Cassie are sent up to their bedrooms to get ready for bed. The second the two girls leave the room, dad turns to me with a look of pure fury on his face.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” dad spits, his face angrier than I’ve seen in a long, long time.

“Generally speaking… Yeah, I am,” I say, taken aback by dad’s anger but refusing to be cowed by it.

“Andrew,” mum says with a firm voice that instantly puts dad on the back foot. “You know what Dr Williamson has said, you’ve been there whilst Ashley was discussing hi- while we were discussing Ashley’s feelings. This doesn’t help. And nor does your attitude, Ashley.”

“…Sorry,” I mumble.

“You know,” dad sighs, “I was actually looking forward to teaching Ashley- my SON- how to shave. My dad taught me how to shave, his dad taught him… And now I’ve had that taken away from me.”

“You can always teach Eddy in thirteen years’ time,” I say.

“Ashley!” Mum snaps, silencing me and making me bite my lip.

“Right up until two months before you were born,” dad says in a cold, stoic voice, “the doctors were convinced you were going to be a girl. We’d even picked out pink baby clothes, painted your nursery pink… Then when we found out you were going to be a boy, I was the happiest man in the world. And now you’re taking that away from me.”

“I can’t help who or what I am,” I say. “And believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Not hard enough,” dad snarls. “I don’t want another daughter, I want my son!”

“And if Eddy had been ‘Emily’, would you love him any less?” I ask.

“Well- no, of course not,” dad retorts.

“So why would you love me any less if I was a girl?” I ask, smirking as dad fails to answer my question. “Six months ago you asked me if it hurt to be a boy. Back then I said no. Now I’m saying yes. When it came time to take off my dress today it HURT. It actually hurt. I HATE being a boy. I NEED to be a girl. And you need to acknowledge that.”

“I will never, ever acknowledge you as my daughter,” dad spits.

“ANDREW!” Mum snaps, a look of pure fury in her eyes. “Ashley, go to your room.”

“But-“ I protest, before a stern stare from mum tells me that I’m better off not arguing and I slink upstairs, trying to fight back tears at the sound of mum and dad fighting downstairs, trying to keep the volume just low enough for my sisters not to hear. After just five minutes, however, a tiny knock on my bedroom door tells me that my parents didn’t keep the volume low enough.

“Come in,” I say, smiling at the sight of Cassie creeping in, wearing her tiny pink footed pyjamas.

“Ashley,” the six year old girl sniffles, “are mum and dad fighting again?”

“They’re just tired, that’s all,” I say, inviting Cassie to sit on my bed- an invitation she immediately accepts. “It’s just been a long day, that’s all. You should be in bed, right?” I smile as Cassie nods, before picking the tiny girl up in my arms and carrying her back to hers & Bryony’s bedroom, where I tuck her into her bed.

“Mum and dad will never stop loving you, or any of us,” I whisper as I give the little girl a kiss on her forehead that puts the smile back on her face, even as I contemplate whether or not what I said was actually true.

After I return to my room, I change into my dreaded boy’s pyjamas and collapse down hard onto my bed, trying to drown out the noise of my parents from downstairs as I focus on the positive aspects of my life. I have seven friends, all of whom- their families included- accept me as ‘one of the girls’, as does my sister and my mother. Three days from now- just three days- I may even get the magical piece of paper that confirms that I am indeed a girl trapped in the body of a boy, and dad surely can’t ignore that… Can he?

I sigh as a knock on my door wakes me from a dreamless (and mercifully dry) slumber- the firmness of the knock immediately gives away that it’s not coming from any of my female relatives.

“Come in,” I grunt.

“No,” dad says from the other side of the door. “You come out here!” I sigh as I pull on my dressing gown and open my bedroom door, staring into the face of the 35 year old man who is only slightly less angry than he was yesterday.

“What?” I grunt.

“Get dressed,” dad growls, barely keeping his temper in check. “PROPERLY dressed. We’re going out today.”

“Where?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” dad sighs. “Just- put on some clothes.” I frown as I close my door in dad’s face, before opening my wardrobe and sighing at the contents.

It’s not like I don’t have dresses, blouses and skirts in there- not to mention my girl’s school uniform, which has gone unworn since mum bought it for me at the start of the school year. But the bulk of the wardrobe is taken up by boy’s sweatshirts, school shirts and smart trousers- all things I’ll be happy to throw away and never see again. I’d give anything to have a wardrobe like Laura’s- literally anything.

“I’m ready,” I say as I slink downstairs in a pair of jeans and a comfortable, androgynous-looking sweatshirt.

“Phone,” dad says, holding out his hand expectantly. I sigh as I hand my smartphone to him, only to look on in confusion as he hands it straight back to me. “Actually, get in touch with George, see if he’s doing anything today.”

“It’d help if I knew what I was inviting him to,” I say.

“You’ll see,” dad says with a smug grin as I fire off a Facebook message to my best male friend.

An hour later, I let out a heavy sigh as the car containing myself, George, my father and Grandpa Chris pulls up outside a small, dingy-looking football stadium.

“Really?” I ask dad as we head toward the stands.

“I know, I know,” dad sighs. “It’s not Loftus Road, but I figured some fresh air would do you good. ESPECIALLY after yesterday.”

“Mate, how was yesterday?” George asks. “Obviously I haven’t seen any pictures, but Megan says you-“

“George,” dad says firmly but calmly, silencing my friend. “We’re here to watch football.”

“There are a lot of young players in this team,” Grandpa Chris says. “You never know, you might be watching the next Harry Kane today.” I’m forced to suppress a giggle as George mouths a confused ‘who’ in my direction.

For the next two hours- my phone having obviously been confiscated for the duration- I’m forced to try to entertain myself as dad and grandpa immerse themselves in the sight of twenty-two grown men chasing a leather bag around a pitch. Any time I try to talk to George about anything not related to football, a stern stare from dad immediately ends the conversation, and any time I try to mentally drift away, thinking of happier times- such as yesterday’s salon visit- grandpa Chris gives me a gentle whack on my arm, bringing me crashing back down to reality. And all throughout the match… I feel guiltier than ever.

Dad and grandpa are clearly enjoying the day out, not because of the football, but because they can enjoy it as father and son. Dad clearly wants to have the same relationship with me that he has with his own father… But I’m simply not able to give him what he wants. Sure, dad will probably eventually get the father-son relationship he wants with my brother, but Eddy’s only seven months old- too young to even come to a football game, let alone enjoy it.

When we get back into the car at the end of the game (which I couldn’t even tell you the final score of), my misery and guilt is obvious- and dad is only too happy to make me feel even guiltier with his angry, disappointed stare.

“Cheer up lad,” grandpa says. “I know this wasn’t what you wanted.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble as we head home.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Ashley, I was talking to MY son,” grandpa says, making me frown with confusion. “Andy, you’re not going to make Ashley into the boy you want him to be by simply taking him to a football game and expecting him to love it.”

“I have to do SOMETHING,” dad protests.

“So when you were thirteen,” grandpa says, “you’d have been okay with me switching off your Sega and forcing you to come out fishing with me?”

“In hindsight, yes, yes I would,” dad says. “Though I’d rather he be a videogame addict than- well, THAN.”

“Really?” grandpa snorts. “What was that game you begged me to get you for Christmas one year, that horrible one with all the blood in it?”

“…Mortal Kombat 2,” dad mumbles.

“Right, that’s the one,” grandpa laughs. “Even though you yourself were only 13 and the game had a ‘15’ on the front.”

“Your point?” Dad asks.

“My point,” grandpa says, “is that Ashley’s ‘hobbies’ are a hell of a lot better than watching two computerised people rip each other to shreds!”

“I turned out alright, didn’t I?” dad shrugs.

“That depends,” grandpa says.

“On what?” Dad asks.

“On whether or not your children live happy, fulfilling lives,” grandpa says firmly, before turning to me. “Ashley, I know you didn’t enjoy today, I know you’d rather be with your girl friends doing whatever girl things you enjoy. I’m never going to understand it, and to be blunt, I don’t want to understand it, but if it’s important to you and it’s what you want, then I won’t try to stop you. But you have to accept that your father only wants what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me is letting me live my life as the girl I want to be,” I retort, making dad moan with frustration.

“You haven’t been diagnosed with gender whatever,” dad says.

“YET,” I retort. “Will it really change things if I am?”

“You wouldn’t ignore a doctor if Ashley was diagnosed with cancer, would you?” Grandpa asks.

“Of course not,” dad snorts.

“What about if he was diagnosed with depression?” Grandpa asks.

“…I don’t know,” dad mumbles.

“Just ‘cause it isn’t a physical illness, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” grandpa says. “Same with his gender thingy.” Dad’s silence brings a smile to my face- he’s lost this argument and he knows it.

As we arrive home, however, grandpa takes me into the kitchen, and the stern look on his face tells me that dad isn’t the only person getting a telling off today.

“And as for you, Ashley,” grandpa says, “I don’t know how frustrating it is for you to be forced to do these things you don’t like, but they’re a part of growing up, so you need to accept it, and you need to accept the fact that your dad’s only doing what he thinks is best for you.”

“He only thinks about himself!” I moan, immediately regretting my outburst when grandpa glares at me.

“Much like someone else in this room,” grandpa snorts. “You’ll understand when you become a father.”

“Or a mother,” I say, silencing the 61 year old man.

“…Or a mother,” grandpa concedes with a sigh. “I’m not saying that your dad couldn’t try a little harder to accept you. But he IS trying. You need to give him a little more time and stop constantly trying to pick a fight with him!”

“Yes, grandpa,” I mumble as grandpa leaves the kitchen and heads back to his home. Inside, though, I feel more miserable than ever at the guilt that’s been piled on me by virtually every male relative in my family. I know that dad’s trying to accept me, as is grandpa… But the fact is that neither of them have seen me in a skirt, and neither of them want to. Neither of them have seen how happy I am when I’m a girl. All they can think of is ‘losing a son’ or ‘losing a grandson’, and they don’t seem to care that they’d be gaining a daughter/granddaughter.

I spend the rest of the day in my bedroom, chatting with the girls on my tablet computer. Naturally, I have a pair of black tights wrapped around my legs and a short denim skirt hanging from my waist, but compared to yesterday’s extravagance, it feels like I’m barely dressed at all (even if the tights do feel AMAZING against my new-look legs). Nonetheless, once I’m immersed in the girly chat, I feel all my worries melting away as I can imagine, however briefly, that I am the girl I always wanted to be… Even if it is just for a short while.

My alarm clock wakes me at 7:30am and I immediately groan, just as any other teenager would, at the prospect of a full week of school. After getting washed and dressed, I pause before pulling on my shoes and blazer to perform what has become a Monday morning ritual. I gently remove my grey, pleated school skirt from its hangar and hold it against my waist for a few brief seconds, before opening my underwear drawer and gently stroking the pairs of thick grey tights housed within.

After hanging my skirt back up, I finish dressing, comb my hair back away from my face and head down to mum’s car, where Bryony and Cassie are already waiting, dressed in their own red cardigans, grey skirts and red tights. Is it really too much to ask to belong with my sisters- or with the seven friends who greet me with hugs and giggles when I arrive at my school?

“Hey Ash!” Laura giggles as we head towards form.

“Hey Laura!” I reply, trying not to stare at the 15 year old girl’s legs, which are, as always, encased in black tights underneath a straight grey skirt that seems to be getting shorter every day she wears it. “Thank you so much for Saturday… Easily the best birthday party I’ve ever been too, hehe!”

“No pressure for next month, Priya!” Suriya teases her soon-to-be-sixteen sister. “And your birthday’s on a Friday this year, so you have no excuse!”

“Oh, leave me alone, before I pull rank!” Priya retorts, pointing at her prefect’s badge.

“Yes, ma’am!” Suriya playfully salutes, making all eight of us- Priya included- giggle as we head to our forms.

Even though I can’t claim that I actually enjoy schoolwork, it does at least distract me from the fact that half of the class sat around me are the gender I desperately want to be, whilst the other half are the gender I desperately DON’T want to be. This only works for the first lesson of the day, however, and I feel the usual sense of dread associated with Monday mornings intensify as I, along with all the boys in my class, march toward the changing rooms, where I exchange my uniform for a pair of shorts, a long-sleeved dark red sports shirt, studded boots and a gum shield. I'm only glad that many of my classmates are yet to grow hair on their legs, so my own smooth legs don't draw too much attention.

“It’s only one hour a week, mate,” George whispers to me as we head out onto the cold, wet field, shivering from both the outside temperature and the sight of several oval balls in a bag next to our PE teacher. Behind us, I catch a glimpse of the girls from our class heading into the warm gymnasium for their PE lesson. Most are wearing plain shorts and t-shirts, but a select few are wearing long-sleeved, multi-coloured leotards, which make me burn with envy even as I freeze to death in the cold.

An hour later, George and I sit down at the table with Laura and the other girls, grunting as we take the weight off of our sore, tired legs.

“Hey Ash,” Laura says with a sympathetic smile. “Don’t need to ask how PE was…”

“I HATE rugby,” I spit. “It’s so unfair! Why can’t boys do gymnastics instead if they want? The school doesn’t even have a boys’ gymnastics team…”

“I agree,” Nicole says, “and not just because male gymnasts, like male dancers, are h-o-o-o-t!”

“It’s also unfair that there isn’t a girls’ rugby team,” Harriet says, earning quizzical stares from the other girls.

“…You actually WANT to play rugby?” Suriya asks the ginger girl.

“Eww, no!” Harriet sneers. “But that doesn’t mean that any girl who wants to- for whatever reason- shouldn’t if they want to.”

“Ugh, speaking of rugby,” Mia spits as two new faces in the school walk past our table- one year 10 girl and one very tall, very stock year 11 boy. As one, the nine of us all deliberately avoid looking at the two siblings, though it’s obvious they’re sneering at us.

The girl- Samantha- was placed in Laura, Harriet, Nicole and Suriya’s form at the start of the year, and immediately started bullying Laura the second she discovered she was transgendered. Before she found out, she couldn’t have been nicer- but to her, the mere fact that someone might want to live their life as the opposite gender to the one they were born into was so offensive that she felt she had to make that person’s life a living hell. Needless to say, I steer well clear of Sam, especially as she usually hangs around with her brother- who by all accounts, is a hundred times worse than her.

“It sucks that you let her shut you up like that,” George sighs. “What’s she going to do 1 on 9, anyway?”

“TWO on nine,” I say with a shiver. “And you know even together, me and you wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight against Ryan.”

“All the more reason to get your diagnosis as soon as possible<” Laura says. “People think that a skirt is a sign of weakness. It isn’t. It’s a sign of strength, like- like a shield.”

“Tell my dad that,” I snort, making Mia- who has taken over from Suriya and Laura as my ‘pretend girlfriend’- sigh as she rests her head on my shoulder. Mia had originally been part of Sam’s ‘gang’ in bullying Laura, but after speaking candidly to Laura (and being threatened with expulsion from Miss Fullerton’s ballet class) she gradually came to accept us as friends- and I, for one, am very glad that she did.

“Tell you what,” Harriet says with a smug grin, “you tell MY dad, and we’ve got a deal!”

“Ugh, your dad,” Laura spits. “No offence.”

“Trust me, none taken,” Harriet snorts. “You know my name’s ‘Harriet Martina’, right? Obvious that he wanted it to be ‘Harry Martin’ after him and his dad. You know, he actually tried turning me into a tomboy? Actually took me to a football game with him and granddad, same as you yesterday, Ash. At least you looked like you belonged there, I was desperate for him to let me wear a skirt, but he insisted I wore jeans instead.”

“Ugh,” Suriya spits. “No offence to any tomboys, but I MUCH prefer being a girly girl!”

“Girly girls rule!” Nicole cheers. “And we’ve got Saturday as proof of THAT, hehe!”

“Yeah!” I laugh as Harriet smiles sympathetically at me.

Fortunately, the last two lessons of the day go smoothly, thanks to them not being PE, and I almost feel relaxed as I get into my mum’s car, though my stress comes crashing straight back when I realise that only one of my sisters is in the car with me, and the other one is in Nicole’s parents’ car.

Bryony has become close friends with Nicole’s sister Sabrina, having met at Miss Fullerton’s ballet class, and as they’re both starting our school next September, dad thought it would be good for them to become closer friends and arranged for Bryony to go round to Sabrina’s house every Monday evening to play. Obviously, I don’t have a problem with this, but when I suggested that I go along as well, dad angrily refused and actually threatened to ground me if I ever went round to their house on a Monday. Never mind the fact that I’ve been friends with Nicole for longer than Sabrina and Bryony have been friends, never mind the fact that Bryony might want to have her big brother there (or better yet, her big sister), the chance that I might reveal ‘girl Ashley’ is too high for dad. God only knows how he’d react if he found that Bryony (and Sabrina for that matter) already knows about ‘girl Ashley’…

I spend virtually the entire evening in my bedroom chatting to the other girls on Skype (with, of course, eyeliner and mascara on my face and a short skirt wrapped around my waist) about school, Sam & Ryan, Laura’s birthday, Priya’s upcoming birthday, the upcoming ballet recital and a hundred other topics. Through the chat, though, I can’t divert my attention away from Nicole’s image, constantly wondering how our sisters are getting along in the room next to hers- and whether or not I’ll ever be allowed to find out.

A short while after the end of the conversation, as I’m getting ready for bed, my questions look to be answered as I hear a familiar knock on my bedroom door- two gentle knocks in quick succession followed by four knocks that run from the top of the door to the bottom.

“Come in, Bryony,” I say, smiling as the 10 year old girl giggles good-naturedly at the sight of ‘girl Ash’. “How was it at Sabrina’s?”

“S’okay,” Bryony shrugs. “Ash… Sabrina’s sister told me- she told me that you weren’t allowed to go, is that right?”

“’Fraid so,” I whisper.

“But why?” Bryony moans. “You’re friends with her, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah…” I mumble. “But dad- dad said-“

“Ugh!” Bryony spits. “I hate him!”

“No, please don’t,” I sigh, giving my sister a gentle hug. “He loves you, he really does, and he’s only doing what he thinks is best for you. He doesn’t know you know about me, remember?”

“Well, then we should tell him!” Bryony insists.

“Then he WOULD be angry,” I sigh. “Look, tomorrow I’m seeing a doctor who’s going to say whether or not I can be a girl all of the time. If she says yes… Well, there won’t be anything dad can do about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Bryony mumbles. “I really wish you could just stay as a girl forever…”

“So do I,” I whisper. “But we’ll find out tomorrow, this time tomorrow. Just need to wait a little longer…”

Naturally, given the importance of tomorrow’s meeting, I barely sleep through the night, though I have to muffle a frustrated scream when I do wake up to find a sticky patch on the front of my pyjama bottoms.

As I pull on my school uniform, I muse on how, if all goes well tonight, this might be the last ever time I pull on this pair of trousers or lace up my black school shoes. Even though it isn’t Monday, I still perform the ‘ritual’ of removing my school skirt from its hanger and holding it against my waist. This time next week- or maybe even sooner- the skirt could be hanging from my waist, and my feet may be covered by the tiny black flats in my wardrobe, rather than my clunky lace-up shoes.

Or, of course, the counsellor could say that I should stop being so silly, should stop pretending to be something I’m not, and that I should never wear a skirt ever again… And as I head down to the car, the look dad gives me leave me in no doubt as to what decision he would prefer.

School passes by in a blur- my friends are, of course, all excited about my meeting tonight, but I’m so distracted I barely concentrate on what they’re saying- and I almost get in trouble with my teachers when my distraction carries over to my lessons as well. By the time the school bell rings just after 3pm, I’m so tense I can barely move, and actually need George’s help to put my books and stationery away.

“Mate,” George whispers as we head to the car park, “you seriously need to relax, you look like you’re about to explode!”

“Yes, for obvious reasons,” I mumble.

“Well- yeah…” George sighs. “Mate, it’s gonna be weird, you know? Next time you come to school, you’ll look a lot different…”

“Hopefully,” I say. “I- I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be,” George shrugs. “I said I’d stick up for you, I meant it. Besides, I think Megan’d rip my balls off if I didn’t, heh! Mate… Will you mind me calling you, you know, ‘mate’ after you- after you-“

“Anybody else? No,” I say. “You? You can, if you want.”

“Thanks, MATE,” George laughs, giving me a firm handshake before getting in his parents’ car. As I head to my own ride home, I sigh happily as I see seven familiar figures waiting by my car, each of whom greets me with an extra-tight hug before allowing me access to mum’s car. The last to hug me is Laura, the girl without whom I wouldn’t be on this ‘journey’- but who has also caused her own fair share of delays to it.

“This will be you,” Laura whispers as she gestures to the short grey skirt wrapped around her thighs. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I whisper as I get in the passenger seat of the car and wave at the seven girls as they wave me off.

“That was so nice of your friends, meeting you like that,” mum says, obviously knowing the reason for their ‘farewell’ but not being able to say it with Cassie in the car.

“Are you going out with Laura again, Ashley?” Cassie asks, making me laugh tiredly. “Laura is SO pretty! And she’s a ballerina!”

“She is, both of them,” I laugh. “So are the other girls, you know?”

“I want to be a ballerina just like Laura!” Cassie exclaims, making me, mum and Bryony (who obviously also knows the reason the girls saw me off) giggle.

“You only like her so much because she has blonde hair, like us,” Bryony says in a futile attempt to dampen the six year old’s spirits.

“Don’t you want to be a ballerina as well, Bryony?” Cassie asks.

“I like dancing,” Bryony shrugs. “Have to wait until I get my pointe shoes before I can take it REALLY seriously. Miss Fullerton reckons that’ll be another year, maybe a year and a half.”

“You’ll be the prettiest ballerina ever!” Cassie exclaims, making Bryony giggle. “Well, apart from Laura, of course!”

“…Thanks,” Bryony says, clearly upset by Cassie’s unintended insensitivity, and her quick glance in my direction reassures me that she knows I’m upset as well- I’d love nothing more than to be a ballerina, to pull on a tutu and a pair of pointe shoes and dance, just like Laura danced a week ago today… But Cassie, of course, can’t even conceive of the fact that I might want to do this. Or that I might want to wear a skirt to school, or pull on a stretchy leotard and so gymnastics instead of rugby, or spend my free time reading magazines like Teen Globe, listening to bands like Little Mix or Out of Heaven, making up dance routines to these songs with my friends… Or even having the amazing, wonderful friends that I do. Cassie no doubt sees me as a boy who hangs out with girls. God knows how she’ll react when she learns the truth- will she be able to accept it, to accept me… Or is dad right, should I keep being a boy, if only for their sake?

I hardly eat any of my dinner, I’m that nervous about my meeting. After Grandpa Chris and grandma Jo arrives to babysit the younger three children, Bryony and I get into the family car with mum and dad, Bryony dressed in the lilac leotard and pink tights worn by all ballet students… And that I might be wearing myself very soon. After dropping my sister off at her dance class, we head straight for my counsellor’s office, and by the time we arrive, I’m so nervous I’m almost hyperventilating.

“Try to calm down!” Mum urges me, giving me a comforting hug. “Whatever happens, you’ll still be our child, and we’ll never try to stop you from being who it is you truly want to be. Will we, Andrew?”

“…No,” dad mumbles as we head into the tall, looming building.

“Hello Ashley, Mr. Moore, Mrs. Moore,” Dr Williamson says softly as we sit down in her comfortable chairs, my hands trembling with fear and anticipation. “There’s no need to be so nervous, Ashley. I know today is a different appointment than usual, but we’re only here to support you."

“I know,” I whisper. “Do- do you have-“

“I have the report that my colleague and I put together,” Dr Williamson says. “From our meetings over the last six months, I’ve been able to get to know you and your situation well. You clearly have a strong female identity and a clear preference for that identity. In addition, you’ve displayed symptoms of both depression and stress, not just in this meeting but during virtually every meeting. The conclusion we’ve reached is that your continued struggles with your gender identity are what’s causing this stress and depression. Are- are you following me so far?”

“Yes,” I whisper as my parents also nod.

“This, combined with your description of your feelings when you are expressing your female side,” Dr Williamson continues, making me frown as I feel dad bristle next to me, “is enough to convince myself and my colleague that a diagnosis of gender identity dysphoria is appropriate in your case.” I blink twice as my jaw drops and my ice-cold hands start to shake even more. Did- did she just say what I thought she said? Did I misinterpret it?

“So- so you’re saying-“ dad stammers.

“Yes,” Dr Williamson says. “I am convinced beyond all reasonable doubt that, to put it in its simplest possible terms, Ashley IS a girl trapped in the body of a boy. Would you like me to put the diagnosis in writing for you?”

“Please,” mum says, giving my hand a supportive squeeze as dad looks like he’s about to fall into a state of shock. “How should we proceed now?”

“The sooner Ashley begins living life full-time as a female, the better,” Dr Williamson says as I struggle to believe the good news I’m hearing. “I can’t stress enough how psychologically damaging it would be to prevent Ashley from expressing her true, feminine identity, or to try to force her to live life as a boy, even on a part-time basis. Ashley needs time, space and most importantly of all, support, to grow into her identity.”

“But- but our girls…” Dad mumbles.

“Telling younger siblings is always difficult, I don’t deny that,” Dr Williamson concedes. “But in the long run, it’s better that they find out sooner rather than later. Mr. Moore, I know this must come as a shock to you-“

“You think?” Dad angrily retorts.

“-But you need to focus on what’s best for Ashley,” Dr Williamson continues.

“Surely his parents should be the ones to decide what’s best for him?” Dad asks as my heart sinks- it’s clear that despite the diagnosis, the road ahead is anything but smooth.

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t agree that Ashley needed additional help,” Dr Williamson retorts, silencing my father. “Mr. Moore… You’re not the first parent to be concerned about their child transitioning, and you’re almost certainly not going to be the last. But you HAVE to focus on Ashley, and what’s best for her.”

“…How?” Dad asks in a small, terrified voice.

“One step at a time,” Dr Williamson replies. “Obviously, given Ashley’s age, school has to be the first priority. I’d recommend that Ashley stays off for the rest of the week, until you have a chance to talk to the head teacher. Obviously, as Laura also attends Ashley’s school, there will be something in place already to cater for girls like Ashley.”

“Girls like Ashley…” dad whispers disbelievingly as the same sentence warms my heart.

“Do- do we send hi- her- do we send Ashley to school in a skirt?” Mum asks. “Because girls can wear trousers too, and it might be easier if, you know…”

“That should be Ashley’s choice,” Dr Williamson asks as dad looks on the verge of tears. “As I said, it’s important for Ashley to find her own identity. The next few days will be crucial to ensure that Ashley makes the best possible start to her new life, and your actions will be a very important part of that.”

“I understand,” mum whispers as it slowly starts to sink in. As of right now, I, Ashley Moore, am officially a girl. I zone out as Dr Williamson talks to my parents about the more technical side of what will happen to me next, though the counsellor regains my attention when she says a word I wasn’t expecting to hear tonight.

“…Hormones, which will-“ The counsellor says, before being interrupted by a predictable source.

“Whoa, whoa,” dad moans. “It’s far too early to be talking about hormones!”

“Yes, yes it is,” Dr Williamson says. “I was referring to prescribing Ashley on a course of hormone therapy only once she reaches sixteen. As she’s already started a male puberty, she will need to start a course of anti-androgens as soon as possible to minimise-“

“They’re still hormones, though!” Dad complains.

“They’re hormone BLOCKERS more than anything,” Dr Williamson explains. “Just to prevent and slowly start to reverse the effects of testosterone on Ashley’s body. I won’t need to prescribe oestrogen until Ashley is sixteen as she’s already started her growth spurt.”

“Are the effects of these- these blockers, um, are they reversible?” Dad asks.

“At first, yes,” Dr Williamson says. “After a certain amount of time, usually 9-12 months, the sterilisation will be permanent. I can write you a prescription for the anti-androgens today, if you’d like?” My heart starts to flutter at the thought of taking the pills. Laura’s often talked about how strong the pills- which she calls ‘boy blockers’- make her feel, and the idea that I might soon have some of my own… It’s almost overwhelming.

“Will it stop- will it stop, my, um, night time…” I mumble.

“Over time, yes,” Dr Williamson says, smiling sympathetically. “Ashley, I know this is a lot to take in, but this IS what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes, definitely,” I say. “I- I really, really hate being a boy. It’s almost like it hurts.” I sigh as mum gives me a comforting hug whilst Dr Williamson’s smile grows wider.

“Well from now on,” the middle-aged woman says, “you won’t have to be in pain anymore.” I smile at the doctor, laughing happily and feeling so light-headed that mum actually has to hold my hand to help me down the stairs after we leave the office.

All the way home, my mind is occupied by the future. I’ll finally truly be ‘one of the girls’, I’ll go to school wearing a skirt, I’ll go to ballet wearing a leotard, I may even join the school gymnastics or dance teams. Next year, I might even become a cheerleader…

As we arrive home, though, I’m reminded that it’s not all going to be plain sailing. Dad didn’t say one word all the way home, even after picking Bryony up from ballet, and as he sits down in his chair, all he can do is stare at me, his face a mixture of horror and disappointment. After ordering Bryony up to her room, I’m sat down in the living room next to my mother as my father and my grandparents try to take in what’s happened.

“So you got the diagnosis, then?” Grandpa Chris asks, sighing as dad nods. “Well, a medical professional isn’t going to give a diagnosis for a condition someone doesn’t have. The question is, what are you going to do now?”

“What CAN we do?” Dad retorts, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “My son is now my daughter. How am I supposed to react to that? What would you have done if I’d gone up to you when I was thirteen and asked ‘dad, can I please be a girl’?”

“…I’d probably have clouted you,” grandpa Chris concedes. “Which would’ve been the wrong thing to do. But that was 1994, this is 2016, and you have been raised to be tolerant of people who don’t fall into the normal, well, ‘categories’.”

“What your father’s trying to say,” grandma Jo interjects, “is that no matter what, we’d never have stopped loving you.”

“Exactly,” Grandpa Chris says.

“The doctor did say it would actually harm Ashley to prevent hi- to prevent HER from being a girl.”

“Sounds obvious to me what your next steps are, then,” Grandpa Chris shrugs. “If you need any help with money-“

“We’ll be fine,” mum says. “Even with four other children… Guess this way the clothes we get will get four uses instead of three, heh.”

“Well if you need any help at all, you know where to find us,” Grandma Jo says, before coming over to me and giving me a tight hug. “And you, young lady, don’t give your parents any trouble, okay?”

“Bit late for that,” dad mumbles, earning a VERY angry stare from both of my grandparents.

“I won’t,” I whisper, before exchanging an awkward hug with my grandfather.

“It- it’s getting late,” mum mumbles after my grandparents leave. “Ashley, we’re going to keep you off school tomorrow and probably for the rest of the week whilst we, well, get everything sorted. I suppose we’ll need to get you a nightdress for tomorrow… Can you sleep in your boy’s pyjamas for tonight?”

“It’s not going to kill me,” I shrug.

“That’s not what you said on Saturday,” dad snorts.

“Andrew!” Mum snaps. “This- all this- is NOT helping! Yes, it’s going to be a lot to get used to. But that’s just it- we HAVE to get used to it. It was a change every time all five of our children came along. This is no different. We were prepared then, and we’re prepared now. So you need to grow up and accept that we have another daughter!” I have to fight back tears as dad gets up and marches past my mother and myself, regarding us both with dark, angry stares as he goes.

“I- I’m sorry,” I whisper after dad leaves.

“No, don’t you dare be sorry for being who you are!” Mum says, giving me a tight hug as I silently weep onto her shoulder. “Ashley, listen to me. You are our child. We love you, we will never stop loving you. It doesn’t matter if you’re a boy or a girl, we’ll love you all the same, because as your parents, that’s our job. Okay?”

“Okay,” I sniffle.

“Now go on, get an early night,” mum says. “You look exhausted, and it’s understandable why. I’ll get you up tomorrow after your sisters have gone to school and nursery, okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, heading upstairs where I spend time staring at my collection of girls’ clothes in my wardrobe. Up until today, this had been a secret, a fantasy- every time I wore any of these items of clothing, right the way from my fanciest dress to a simple pair of panties, it had been just ‘dressing up’, almost like this was a game… Now, anytime I pull on any of these clothes, I won’t be ‘dressing up’, I’ll just be ‘dressing’, same as any other teenaged girl. I used to dream of being a girl, and now my dream has come true. But as with all things in life, it’s never THAT simple.

After briefly logging into Facebook to see if any of the girls are online (which they aren’t, having stayed late at ballet to rehearse for the recital), I change into my boy’s pyjamas for what I’m confident will be the last ever time. This time tomorrow night, I’ll be changing into a nightdress, the same as Laura, the same as Suriya and the other girls… Before the end of the year, I may even have a sleepover with the other girls, wearing my own nightdress. I might even HOST a sleepover…

Before I’m able to drift off to sleep, however, I’m reminded that however big my dreams are, there’ll always be someone willing to shatter them- and the man most likely to shatter them lets himself into my room, sitting down on the edge of my bed with a heavy sigh.

“Hi dad,” I say in the same quiet falsetto I use whenever I’m being ‘girl Ashley’, a voice I’m going to have to get using all the time.

“Ashley,” dad mumbles, my voice making him visibly uncomfortable even in the darkness of my bedroom.

“What do you want?” I ask, trying not to sound TOO confrontational.

“What your mother said was right,” dad sighs. “You’ll always be our child, and we’ll always love you, and support you. But I- I’m sorry, Ash. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to accept you as my daughter. For the last thirteen and a half years I’ve thought of us as a team. I wanted us to do all the things me and my dad did when I was growing up. I was going to take you to football games, teach you how to shave… Now I can’t do any of that.”

“You can do them with Eddy,” I shrug, making dad sigh with frustration.

“But I WANTED to do all these thing with YOU,” dad says. “And besides, what if ‘Eddy’ suddenly turns around one day and says ‘I want to be called Emily’?”

“So I’m not allowed to transition in case Eddy wants to?” I retort.

“I never said you weren’t ALLOWED,” dad says. “But you need to understand that what you’re doing affects more than just you. You’re depriving your sisters and your brother of their older brother. And you’re depriving your parents of a son.”

“I’m giving my sisters and brother an older sister, and I’m giving you a daughter,” I retort. “Don’t make me out to be the selfish one here.”

“I am NOT being selfish!” Dad hisses.

“You heard what Dr Williamson said,” I spit. “Some people are so uncomfortable living the way they were born that they kill themselves. Would you rather have an alive daughter or a dead son?” Dad’s anger immediately dissipates as I put the worst case scenario into his mind.

“You’d never do that,” dad says dismissively.

“I don’t need to anymore,” I shrug, causing dad to hang his head, though in the dark I can’t tell whether it’s due to frustration or due to shame.

“Goodnight, Ash,” dad mumbles, leaving my room and closing the door behind him.

My alarm wakes me up at 7:30am as usual, and in my tired state I actually pull on my dressing gown and lay out my school uniform on my chair for the day ahead, when the events of the previous day come rushing back to me. Not only am I being kept off school today, so I won’t have to wear this uniform today… But I won’t have to wear this uniform ever again.

I wait for dad’s car, which contains my three younger sisters, to leave, before getting up, washing my face and stripping off my pyjamas. Once I've returned to my bedroom, I look into my underwear drawer and my heart nearly skips a beat at the thought that from now on, this is all I'll be wearing under my clothes.

I have a wide grin on my face as I slide a brand-new pair of girls' panties up my legs, and I let out a giggle as they 'hold' me in a very snug way. Next comes a lace-trimmed vest- I do own a handful of training bras, but they can wait for now. Well, until I start growing breasts of my own, of course! Next come a pair of sheer, opaque black tights, followed by a short denim skirt and a clingy, long-sleeved grey top.

“Ashley?” Mum asks as she heads up the stairs. “Are you awake?”

“I’m awake,” I respond in my new voice. I fidget as mum opens my bedroom door, before smiling at the sight of me in my feminine glory.

“Beautiful,” mum says with a proud smile. “Though it wouldn’t kill you to put on a little make-up… I know I got told off a lot when I was thirteen, I used to go everywhere wearing the thickest eyeliner imaginable… Do- do you need a hand putting-“

“No, I’m okay,” I say, kneeling down in front of my wardrobe mirror and giggling at the feel of my thick carpet through my thin tights. I try to stop my hands from shaking as I apply a little mascara and a little eyeliner, and by some miracle, I finish applying my make-up without poking myself in the eye even once.

“Perfect,” mum says, kneeling down beside me and brushing my hair out into a feminine style that beautifully frames my face. How do you feel, Ashley?

“I- I can’t put it into words,” I say as I look at my reflection in my mirror. It’s an image I’ve seen before, of course. Many times, in fact, but back then I knew that it wouldn’t last.

It’s only as I help my mum stuff all of my boy clothes into bin liners, ready to take to a charity shop, that the gravity of the situation starts to dawn on me. This is really happening- my life from now on will be female or bust. The more my old, male life disappears, the more anxious I get, until I’m forced to lower myself onto my bed to catch my breath.

“Ashley?” Mum asks, sitting down beside me. “Ashley, are you alright?”

“It’s just- it’s just, you know, BIG,” I pant. “This is real…”

“Yes, yes it is,” mum says, giving me a comforting hug. “But it’s something you’ve spent the whole of the last six months saying that you wanted. Now that it’s real, do- do you still want it?”

“Yes, of course,” I say. “But- I dunno. I just thought…”

“You just thought you’d go to sleep as a boy, wake up as a girl and that’d be the end of it?” Mum asks, sighing as I nod. “Even you should’ve known it won’t be that simple. Yes, you’re living life from now on as a girl. But we all have a lot of work ahead of us, especially you.” I grimace as I hear the front door open and close. In the past, this would be a signal to me to hastily strip off my girl clothes and pull my boy clothes back on, but with all my boy clothes now in bin liners, that’s not an option…

“Big smile,” mum whispers. “He’s never seen you dressed as a girl, has he?”

“No,” I whisper.

“You never know,” mum says. “Maybe this will inject a bit of sense into him.”

“I doubt it,” I spit, but I know I have no choice, and I force a smile on my face as I follow mum out of my bedroom, my toes curling as I pad downstairs and lock eyes with my father. Almost instantly, his eyes begin to fill with tears at the sight of me in my skirt, and he hurries into the kitchen without saying another word.

“I’ll talk to him,” mum says quietly. “You relax on the sofa, grab your tablet computer, watch some TV, try to get settled, okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, returning to my room to get my tablet as mum heads into the kitchen to talk to dad. Unsurprisingly, when I switch on the tablet, there are several messages from the girls that came through after I went to bed yesterday, each one asking how my meeting with the counsellor went. I grin as I prop the tablet up on a bookcase and take a full-length photo of myself in my new clothes, hair and make-up, which I send to the other seven girls as part of a group message. As they’re all at school, they won’t be able to receive the message for several hours, but I couldn’t wait to spread the good news- though as dad comes back through from the kitchen, I realise that it’s only good news from a certain point of view.

“H- hello, Ashley,” dad mumbles, grimacing as I sit down with my knees pressed tightly together.

“Hi dad,” I whisper.

“Are- are you even comfortable dressed like that?” Dad asks.

“More comfortable than I’ve ever been,” I say. “I don’t have to hide anymore.”

“’Hide’ what, exactly?” Dad asks.

“Me,” I say. “The real me. This is who I’ve dreamed of being for my whole life. Now my dream’s come true.”

“Well you know it’s not going to be that easy, I hope,” dad says. “Your mother was telling me that you’ve bagged up all your boy clothes for a charity shop.”

“Yes,” I say.

“Well there’s no sense in throwing them out just yet,” dad says. “Eddy can wear them when he gets older.”

“They’ll have sat in a cupboard for thirteen years,” I say.

“Still,” dad says. “There’s no sense in just, umm, throwing them away…”

“Dad,” I say firmly. “I’m NOT going back to being a boy. This is who I am now. You have to accept that.”

“And you know I can’t do that,” dad sighs. “I suppose eventually, over time, I might be able to get used to it. But to me, you’ll always be my son. Seeing you looking like that… It hurts me, Ashley.”

“Living my life every day as a boy hurt me,” I whisper. “I was always the odd one out. I never belonged anywhere. Now I do.”

“School WILL be hard for you,” dad says. “Your mother and I will be meeting with your headmaster tomorrow to explain the situation-“

“Head teacher,” I interrupt. “She’s a woman too.”

“…We’ll be explaining the situation,” dad says, clearly irritated at me correcting him. “You’ll probably have the same arrangements as Laura does. And you’ll probably face the same bullying that Laura does. Worse, in fact, since everybody at that school already knows you as a boy."

“…I know,” I mumble. As much as I wish he wasn’t, dad IS telling the truth about the hardships ahead of me.

“And you still want to put yourself through all that?” Dad asks.

“It’s who I am,” I whisper.

“Ash,” dad sighs, “don’t think I don’t know anything about transgendered stuff. I know, for example, that is really, really rare for someone to transition when they’re as young as you or Laura. Most people don’t transition until they’re adults, some don’t transition until they’re even older than I am.”

“I know,” I say.

“What I’m trying to say,” dad sighs, “is that if you want to wait until you finish school and then transition, we’ll support you then. That woman we met at your birthday, that Nikki girl, she told me that’s what she did.”

“You- you spoke to Nikki?” I ask.

“Ash, we only want to help you,” dad says. “Yes, I’d prefer you to be a boy. I always will, and I won’t apologise for that. But if you’re sure you want, well, ‘this’… Then we’ll do all we can to help.”

“You’re kinda giving mixed messages,” I retort.

“What you said last night,” dad mumbles. “I would rather have an alive transgendered daughter than a dead son. But I also know you’d never do anything like that.”

“Because I’ve never been pushed that hard,” I say. “And I always had ‘this’ to look forward to, with my friends, or in private. Now I have ‘this’ 24/7.”

“So what have you got left to look forward to?” Dad asks.

“Sleepovers,” I retort. “Hanging out with my friends as one of the girls, getting pointe shoes for ballet, becoming a cheerleader, starting hormones… Surgery…”

“Fine,” dad says. “I’ll be picking up your sisters this afternoon, we’ll explain to all three of them at the same time. I hope you’re prepared to answer some hard questions, Ashley.”

“I am,” I whisper. “I hope you’re prepared to see me wearing a skirt every day for the rest of my life.”

“Suppose I might as well get used to it now,” dad sighs. “Ash… When you said things to look forward to, you never said anything about getting a boyfriend or a girlfriend. I know when I was thirteen, I was obsessed with girls- though obviously, I wasn’t obsessed with BEING one…”

“I- I don’t know,” I whisper. “I suppose it’s girls I’m interested in… Not really attracted to boys, not like Laura is.”

“So I don’t have to worry about you bringing any boys home?” Dad asks, smiling as I shake my head. “That’s something, I guess.”

“Dad…” I whisper as he starts to leave. “I- I am grateful. I’m grateful that you’re letting me do this. I know a lot of fathers wouldn’t.”

“I only want you to be happy,” dad whispers.

“Happy AND male,” I retort.

“Well, yes,” dad says. “I still don’t see why they have to be mutually exclusive.”

“Well trust me, they are,” I snort as dad heads back into the kitchen and I turn my attention back to my tablet computer, which still has Facebook open on it.

I let out a long sigh as I browse to my profile page, which still has a photo of my old, make-up free, male face, underneath which is the line ‘gender: male’. All I have to do to change this is tap a couple of buttons… And open myself up to the ridicule and bullying that I know I’ll have waiting for me when I return to school next week. I shiver as the angry face of Ryan Reid flashes in front of my eyes. The school has strict rules about discrimination, but if the rumours are true, Ryan’s already been expelled from two schools for violence… He wouldn’t think twice about beating me to a pulp. Maybe it would be best if I did go back to school wearing trousers after all…

I switch off my tablet, leaving my Facebook profile unchanged, before heading back upstairs to my room to rearrange my clothes into my wardrobe and my drawers. Thanks to donations from my friends and the occasional gift here and there from my mum, I have more than enough clothes to live, but my drawers still seem very empty, especially compared to Laura’s packed wardrobe. I pause before closing my underwear drawer, gently stroking the thick grey tights- MY thick grey tights, which I’ll be wearing to school before too long. Assuming I don’t get both of my legs broken on my first day back, of course…

As I leave my bedroom, my eyes are drawn to the three bin liners that contain my old clothes- my old life, in fact. Silently, I return the bag that contains my school uniform to my bedroom, before heading downstairs to relax and TV for the rest of the morning.

As dad promised, he leaves the house just before 3pm to pick up my sisters from school (or, in Dorothy’s case, nursery), and I wait nervously in the kitchen for their return. I’m slightly reassured by the fact that Bryony already knows about and has accepted ‘girl me’, but explaining this to Cassie, who adored her big brother, and Dorothy, who’s only three… This will NOT be easy.

After they return, I remain in the kitchen for an additional couple of minutes whilst mum and dad explain the situation to them. Part of me wants to be out there, explaining to my sisters myself and showing my parents- especially my father- that I can be mature and grown-up about this, but a much bigger part of me is all too happy to let my parents handle this for me.

“Ashley,” mum calls, making me take several deep breaths to compose myself. “Come out here, please.” I stand up, my legs trembling with nerves, before opening the kitchen door and smiling at the shocked faces of my three sisters (Bryony obviously putting on a convincing act for dad).

“Hi Bryony, Cassie, Dorothy,” I say in my soft, feminine voice.

“Hi Ashley!” Bryony says, grinning and coming over to give me a big hug.

“Cassie, Dorothy, say hi to your big sister,” mum says to the two younger girls, who are still stunned into silence.

“Hi Ashley,” Cassie says and she stares intently at my lightly made-up face. “Are you REALLY a girl?”

“Umm,” I say, my eyes going wide as I stare at my father, who simply shrugs in response. “…Yes. I am really a girl. I used to be a boy, but I didn’t want to be a boy anymore, so now I’m a girl.”

“So if I didn’t want to be a girl, could I be a boy?” Cassie asks, making everyone- surprisingly, even dad- giggle.

“Do you want to be a boy?” I ask, giggling further as Cassie screws up her face and shakes her head.

“Boys can’t be ballerinas!” Cassie squeaks, making everyone smile happily. “Ashley, if you’re going to be a girl now, does that mean that you’ll be a ballerina too?”

“I might be,” I say, making Cassie cheer and give me a tight hug as I turn to my still-silent youngest sister. “Dorothy, are you happy now that I’m your sister instead of your brother?” I smile as the toddler nods, before holding out her arms for a hug, which I happily give her. I have a very wide, very smug smile on my face as I turn to face dad, who is simply sat with a sad, resigned smile on his face. I might actually be getting away with this…

“Ashley,” Cassie asks, “if you change your mind, does that mean that you’ll be a boy again?” I pause as my smile fades and dad’s suddenly becomes more and more smug.

“But I won’t want to be a boy again,” I say.

“But you were before,” Cassie retorts. “What if you missed it? Can you be a girl at home or a boy at the weekend, like how I don’t wear my school uniform at weekends?”

“I’m not ever going to be a boy again,” I say firmly, giving the tiny girl a gentle cuddle. “I only ever wanted to be a girl. And now I am.”

“Well, okay,” Cassie says. “Does this mean that Eddy will be a girl too?”

“No,” dad says firmly. “Only Ashley. Eddy’s too young to know what he wants. Ashley…”

“Ashley’s thought about this long and hard,” mum says. “It’s not as simple as deciding what you want for tea, or even what you want for Christmas.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for over two years,” I say to Cassie, trying not to giggle as her jaw overdramatically drops. “It wasn’t an easy decision, but it was the only decision I could make.”

“Okay,” Cassie says uneasily, before immediately perking up. “Can I get changed into my ballet uniform now, please?”

“After tea,” mum chuckles as she escorts my sisters upstairs to get changed out of their uniforms.

“Okay,” dad sighs after my sisters leave. “I will concede, that went a lot better than I expected. And you were very mature, Ashley.”

“Thanks,” I say, sitting down my hands clasped in my lap and grimacing at the discomfort this gesture causes my father. “And… Yeah. You didn’t make it any harder for me, so, um, thanks.”

“I don’t want us to be enemies,” dad says.

“You don’t want us to be father and daughter either,” I retort.

“Well- no, no I don’t,” dad sighs. “But it’s been, what, six hours now? I’m slowly starting to get used to it. Maybe.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, before remembering the photo I sent to my friends earlier and grabbing my tablet from where I left it on the bookcase.

“Ah, teenaged girl obsessed with the internet,” dad says, making me giggle. “Messaging your friends?”

“Yeah,” I say as I wait for the tablet to boot up.

“…Invite them over tomorrow after school,” dad sighs.

“Re-really?” I ask.

“They’re going to be your friends,” dad shrugs.

“They already are,” I retort, silencing my father as I log into Facebook, giggling excitedly at the thousands messages waiting for me, all of them congratulating me on my decision.

“…Go on,” dad sighs, making me giggle as I take my tablet up to my bedroom, where I join in the Facebook chat that’s already in progress.

‘Hey girlies!!!!!!’ I type, my fingers trembling with excitement.

‘GIRLIE!!!!!’ Comes a near-immediate reply from Laura.

‘OMG congratulations!!!!’ Nicole types with several smiley faces after it.

‘Girly girlie!’ Mia types, making me giggle.

‘Can’t stay on long, got dinner,’ I type. ‘Just wanted you all to know the great news! Have come out to sisters too, they’re all cool with it.’

‘Of course they are,’ Laura types. ‘They’ve got the coolest big sister in the world!’

‘Joint coolest!’ Nicole types, earning a stuck-out tongue smiley from Laura.

‘When you coming back to school?’ Priya asks, also sending a stuck-out tongue smiley to Laura.

‘Probably Monday,’ I type. ‘Really nervous about it…’

‘George can be your bodyguard,’ Megan types with a winking smiley.

‘AND you’ve got a prefect to stick up for you too!’ Priya types.

‘Thanks, girlies!’ I type, followed a string of smileys. “Was- was Sam and Ryan a pain today?’

‘Same as always,’ Laura types. ‘I’ve told you before, this skirt is a shield, it will protect you. You ARE wearing a skirt when you come back, right?’

‘Why would I wear trousers?’ I type. ‘I’m not a boy!’ I giggle at the seven grinning smileys I receive from all my friends, before excusing myself from the chat to go down to eat dinner.

I spend the rest of the evening answering questions from my sisters- well, Cassie mostly, and most of those questions are about ballet- and chatting with the other girls over Facebook before having a Skype chat, where my ‘new voice’ gets a lot of positive comments- and for the first time ever, I’m able to speak without fear of being discovered by my father or any of my sisters, meaning I feel completely at ease when the time comes to change out of my skirt and top and into the new nightdress mum ordered off of Amazon yesterday. Even though it’s very plain- more ‘long t-shirt’ than ‘dress’, it’s still feminine enough to soothe my stresses as I cuddle up underneath my bed sheets, where I reflect on my first full day as a girl. It had its ups and downs, for sure, but there were a lot more ‘ups’ than ‘downs’- and most importantly, everyone has accepted that ‘girl’ Ashley is the norm from now on.

I wake up at the same time as my sisters the following day, even though I’m still not going into school today, and I giggle as I head downstairs to be greeted by enthusiastic waves from Bryony, Cassie and Dorothy!

“Hi Ashley!” Cassie squeaks. “Are you still a girl this morning?”

“He- uhh- SHE’ll be a girl every morning!” Bryony says. “Do you remember what I told you last night?” I smile as Cassie nods enthusiastically, before staring quizzically at the older girl.

“…What did you tell her?” I ask the ten year old girl as she eats her cereal.

"That you needed to be a girl, and that we need to treat you as a girl or you'll be miserable," Bryony matter-of-factly replies. "That is right, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I laugh. "Heh, it should be you who's the big sister here, not me!"

"I know," Bryony says smugly, before heading back to her bedroom to change into her school uniform.

After dad drops my sisters off at school and nursery, I change into my outfit for the day. As we're meeting with my head teacher, I dress smartly, but not in my uniform- that's to be saved for my first actual day of school. Instead, I wear a smart, long-sleeved knee-length grey dress with (of course) black tights and plain black flats.

Even though all the kids in the school are in their classes, and it's a short walk from the car park to Mrs. Houghton's office, and I am of course being 'escorted' by mum and dad, I still feel nervous as I walk through the familiar corridors for the first time as the girl I truly am inside. Not long from now, I'll be doing this for real...

"Mr. Moore, Mrs. Moore, please come in," Mrs. Houghton says as we enter her spacious office. "Hello Ashley, might I say, you're looking nice today."

"Thank you," I whisper nervously as I sit down next to my parents.

"I've reviewed the information you emailed me last night," Mrs. Houghton says. "Obviously, I'm not going to ignore what- or rather, who- is sat in front of me, but just so there's a paper trail, do you have the diagnosis?"

"Right here," mum says, handing over a piece of paper. "There's also confirmation on there that Ashley will be taking anti-androgens."

"...Yes," Mrs. Houghton says as she studies the letter. "Well, obviously, as you know- Laura White is one of your friends, after all- the school is more than willing and able to accommodate transgendered students. We will apply the same framework we used for Laura to you, Ashley. She'll be able to tell you which toilets you can use, where you can change for PE, which clubs you can and can't enter. Sports teams are a different matter- we were only able to get away with allowing Laura onto the teams because we were able to persuade all the schools in the area that she'd never been, well, 'chemically' male. I doubt we'll be able to do the same for you, Ashley."

"That's okay," I say quietly. "So will- will I be allowed to wear a skirt?"

"Skirts are permitted as part of the uniform code for girls, so yes," Mrs. Houghton says, before a friendly smile creeps across her face. "Ashley, you have my absolute reassurance that the school will acknowledge you 100% as your chosen gender. If you say you're a girl, and you have the paperwork to back it up, then as far as we're concerned, you are a girl."

"The school will acknowledge hi- Ashley," dad says, still apparently unable to refer to me as 'her'. "But what about the other pupils?"

"We value inclusion at this school," Mrs. Houghton says, her words flying over my head. "Anyone who discriminates anyone else for being a different skin colour, or for being LGBT, will be punished extremely severely. We want Ashley to feel that within these walls, she is free to be whoever she wants to be."

"YOU feel that, yes," dad says. "It's not you who's the problem, it's the people who won't be able to look past what Ashley was." Want to take a look in the mirror there, dad? I think to myself.

"Well obviously, we can't assign Ashley a bodyguard 24/7," Mrs. Houghton says. "But I can say that anyone who does try to harm Ashley will not be given the opportunity to try again, at least not within these walls."

"So if someone beats up Ashley, you'll expel them?" Dad asks as I cringe further and further.

"We will definitely look at exclusion as a potential sanction, yes," Mrs. Houghton says.

"And if thirty people beat up-" dad says, but he is not allowed to finish his sentence.

"Andrew!" Mum snaps, silencing my father. "Thank you for everything you've done, Mrs. Houghton. I'm sure these steps will be more than enough to guarantee our DAUGHTER's safety and happiness."

"You're very welcome, Mrs. Moore," Mrs. Houghton says. "However, it would be remiss of me if I didn't mention another option."

"...Another option?" Dad asks as I try to figure out what Mrs. Houghton could be talking about.

"Yes," the head teacher says. "After Laura started here, the board of governors and I worked together to put forward an 'action plan' for when we had other transgendered students starting with the school. Obviously, the option is there for Ashley to fully attend as her chosen gender, but we also have a 'compromise'."

"I don't want to come to school as a boy," I blurt, earning a stern stare from my head teacher before her kind smile returns.

"And we wouldn't ask you to, Ashley," Mrs. Houghton says. "We would simply not acknowledge your gender either way. You wouldn't use any gender-specific toilets and you wouldn't do any gender-specific team sports or swimming in PE. Any lessons that would involve splitting the class by gender, you would be excused from."

"That sounds like a lot of hassle for you," mum says.

"What's best for Ashley is most important," Mrs. Houghton says. "As it is, if Ashley were to return to school, we would need to cancel lessons to hold a special assembly to announce the transition to his- sorry, HER year group."

"What's the earliest you could do this?" Mum asks.

"Tomorrow," Mrs. Houghton says. "Trust me when I say we are treating this as a top priority."

"We don't want to keep Ashley away from school any longer than necessary," mum says. "Tomorrow it is."

"Hang on," dad says, making me groan. "I want to hear more about this compromise."

"Dad," I hiss. "I am NOT becoming a boy again."

"And I never said you will," dad says. "At home, you can wear whatever you want to wear and act however you want to act, but no one's going to beat you senseless at home. You can still take those blocker pills, and when you're sixteen, then you can go to college as whatever gender you choose and make a clean break. But there's no sense in deliberately putting yourself in harm's way, is there?"

"There also no sense in denying Ashley the chance to be who she truly is," mum argues.

"This isn't an easy decision, I agree," Mrs. Houghton says. "If you want time to discuss it, you have my email address and my mobile number, let me know when you come to a decision or if you need more time to decide. But you're right in what you say, Mrs. Moore- the sooner Ashley returns to school, the better. Classes will be getting out soon, so I'll let you go now before it gets too crowded. Could you let me know either way by this evening?"

"We'll have our decision for you then," mum says, shaking Mrs. Houghton's hand. "Thank you for your time today."

"That's why we're here," my head teacher says with a smile as we head back to the car.

"Obviously, the decision's yours, Ashley," dad says as we drive back home. "But I would think long and hard about that compromise Mrs. Houghton offered if I were you."

"You're only saying that because you want me to go back to being a boy," I spit.

"No," dad angrily retorts. "I'm saying that because I don't want the school to call me and tell me that you've been taken to A&E!"

"But there's no guarantee that would happen if Ashley went to school wearing a skirt," mum says. "She always hangs around with a large group of friends at break times, and no one would dare attack her in class."

"Well whatever you decide," dad sighs, "let us know soon, okay? I don't want to keep your head teacher waiting too long."

"Okay," I whisper.

A short while later, we arrive back home, and I head back up to my bedroom where I stare at the contents of the bin liner I 'saved' yesterday, containing my old boy's school uniform. As much as Laura says her skirt is a shield, the truth is that my anonymity has been far more of a shield. People may tease me for associating with the girls, but I've never not been a pretend boyfriend to any of them, giving me a 'cover story' to keep hanging out with them. If I wore a skirt to school, even once, there'd be no going back from it. And dad's right, when I leave school, I'll be able to do and wear whatever I want, make a fresh start at college... But that's 2 1/2, almost 3 years away. The last two years have been hard enough, trying to hide who and what I am...

I'm still torn by the decision when my friends arrive shortly after the end of school, each one of them giving me a tight hug when they see me wearing my smart dress. Well, each of them apart from George, who looks decidedly uncomfortable as he sits down on the floor next to Megan.

"This is so cool!" Laura squeaks as she squeezes me tighter than any of the other girls. "When are you back at school?"

"T-tomorrow," I say nervously.

"Oh my god!" Priya squeaks, her voice more excited than I've ever heard her. "Oh, I am SO looking out for you tomorrow. Consider me your official bodyguard at breaks and lunches!"

"Assuming I need one," I say.

"That's it, keep optimistic!" Mia says with a sad smile. "Of course, you DO realise I'm going to have to dump you, right? I only date BOYS!"

"Yeah," I giggle. "Girls- girlies... I don't know that I'll be wearing a skirt tomorrow."

"Umm... What?" Laura asks. "Why wouldn't you wear a skirt? You've, like, been dreaming about it for over two years now!"

"AND you actually own one that your mum bought especially for this!" Harriet laughs.

"Mrs. Houghton- Mrs. Houghton offered me a 'compromise'," I mumble, bringing a very angry expression to Laura's face.

"NO!" Laura snaps. "No 'compromise'! You shouldn't have to 'compromise' on who you are!"

"I wouldn't be," I say. "I wouldn't be a boy anymore... I just wouldn't be, you know, 100% a girl either. Not at school, anyway- I could still be as girly as I want at home, at weekends..."

"Even if you did," Suriya says, "it would eventually get round the school as well. Unless you want to keep going to ballet as a boy as well."

"There are other girls from our school who go to Miss Fullerton's class," Mia says, and she's right- Mia herself fell into that 'category' just a few weeks ago.

"Most of them are friends with stupid Sam," Harriet spits.

"...So I wouldn't get to be a ballerina," I shrug. "I can always start girl lessons when I start college, when I'm sixteen."

"By which point I'd be eighteen and away at university," Priya mumbles. "You know Miss Fullerton has always wanted the eight of us to dance together on stage. Then again, your safety IS more important."

"Than her happiness?" Suriya pleads with her sister.

"No, Priya's right," Megan mumbles. "Especially when you're in year 11, Ash, you won't have any of us there to protect you anymore, not apart from George, anyway."

"She wouldn't have either of the Reids, either," Suriya says. "She wouldn't NEED protecting."

"Doesn't mean someone else won't come along," George says. "Mate, you know I'll stick up for you. But if it means I get my face kicked in by Ryan Reid..."

"Well whatever you decide," Priya says, "we'll see you tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Okay," I whisper as the conversation turns to happier topics, like dancing and clothes. Despite this, I'm still not able to concentrate on what's being said- I'd hoped that my friends would be united to help me decide one way or the other about what to do, what to wear tomorrow, but the way they're split just makes the decision worse.

Of course, Laura would be in favour of me going 100% girl- it'd mean she wouldn't be the only transgendered girl in the school anymore. Harriet would obviously support that decision too for similar reasons, and what Suriya says is right- thanks to everyone having a cameraphone, all it would take is one slip-up for 'girl Ashley' to be outed and make the decision irrelevant.

Priya and Megan, of course, just want to avoid trouble where possible, and I'm sure Mia doesn't want to become one of Sam's 'targets'. Sam came down very hard on Mia for 'switching sides', even threatening to start a fight with her once. If she saw me walk into school dressed as a girl, she'd inevitably come straight for me- assuming, of course, that Ryan doesn't get there first.

The decision is an almost impossible one to make. Neither side is completely right or wrong, but I know that I have to make a decision, and quickly. This is the most important decision of my life so far, and it's like my whole life has been leading up to this day. In the end, though, it's not my life that's been that's most important, it's my life that's yet to come that I should focus on. And with that in mind, there's only one decision I can make...

I have a nervous smile on my face as I'm greeted by my friends at the school gate, ready to start the final school day of the week- and the first day of the rest of my life.

"Are you ready?" Priya asks me.

"No turning back now," I say as I straighten my thick grey tights and adjust the waistband of my knee-length pleated skirt. "Let's do this."

TO BE CONTINUED.