“Come on, cheer up!” Dad urges me as I comb my long- for a boy- floppy blonde hair. “Don’t think there’s a single twelve year old boy who wouldn’t kill to go where you’re going tonight, getting to see the best film ever with your girlfriend AND being surrounded by a bunch of celebrities…”

“Yeah, I guess,” I say with a long sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Dad asks. “Just a little tired? Don’t tell me you don’t like Star Wars…”

“No, the film was alright,” I say, making dad sigh.

“’Alright’,” dad laughs. “Well, I guess there are worse things you can be than someone who doesn’t like Star Wars, heh.” I laugh along with dad as we head downstairs, though my insides are churning- if he’s disappointed at me for not liking his favourite film, god knows how he’ll react when he finds out that I don’t like being a boy…

“Aww,” mum sighs happily as she sees me in my smart shirt and trousers. “My little boy’s really not that little anymore!”

“Thanks, mum,” I say, blushing with embarrassment as my three sisters all giggle at my expense.

“Make sure you thank that Nikki girl for getting you and your friends these tickets for tonight,” mum yells as dad and I head outside to his car.

“And make sure you thank Suriya’s brother for chaperoning you as well,” dad says. “Enjoy being twelve while it lasts, five or six years from now you’ll be the one driving your sisters around their dates, being ‘the heavy’ in case their boyfriends decide they’re not going to be perfect gentlemen…”

“Getting ahead of yourself a bit?” I say, making dad laugh.

“Well, maybe,” dad chuckles. “But you are becoming a man, and that brings with it plenty of responsibilities. It’s not going to be all about having a girl on each arm, you know.”

“I know,” I sigh. “I don’t mind having responsibilities all that much.” Becoming a man, on the other hand…

I force a smile on my face as we arrive at the cinema in Highbury that’s hosting our ‘party’. There’s a red carpet leading up to the main entrance, but that’s for the big celebrities, meaning dad and I enter through the side entrance- where I’m immediately ambushed by my girlfriend grabbing my arm and cuddling it close to her chest.

“Hey Ash!” Suri squeaks, extending her cuddle to my entire body as my dad lets out yet another laugh. “This is SO cool, I’m so glad we got tickets for this… I’ve already had a selfie with Kayla from Out of Heaven!”

“Cool!” I say as Suri leads me toward the rest of our friends. I smile as I greet the girls with hugs, but deep inside the sight of the six of them in their pretty party dresses, fancy make-up and nail polish, translucent tights and cute, heeled shoes just makes me feel all the more frustrated to be wearing my shirt and trousers.

“Hey Ash!” Laura squeaks, greeting me with a hug. “This is SO cool…”

“Already said that!” Suri giggles.

“God, just look at all the famous faces here,” Megan sighs. “Kinda feel out of place, I mean, we’re just schoolkids…”

“I still reckon Nikki only gave us our tickets because Nicole first tried to persuade Phil’s sister into getting them for us,” Suri says. “The suck-up…”

“I’m not complaining!” Harriet laughs.

“Me either,” Laura says with a smile. “I mean yes, it’ll take more than just this to make me trust her again, but this is a step in the right direction.”

“And you get to spend the evening wearing your poshest dress and your highest-heeled shoes,” Suri giggles, before grimacing and releasing my arm. “Oh… Sorry, Ash…”

“It’s okay,” I sigh, even though deep inside, I’m very much not okay. I open my mouth to speak again, only to be interrupted when Priya returns along with her boyfriend and her brother- neither of whom know about my ‘secret’.

“Here you go,” Priya says as the two older boys hand soft drinks to all of us.

“Hey, it’s Ashley, isn’t it?” The tall Caucasian boy- who I recognise as Priya’s boyfriend Carl- says to me.

“Yeah,” I say, shaking Carl’s hand.

“You two HAVE met before,” Suri giggles. “You’ve been going out with me and my sister for over a year!” Carl laughs at Suri’s teasing, before turning back to face me.

“Pri says that you’ve already seen the movie, is that right?” The tall, friendly boy asks.

“Uhh, yeah,” I say. “It’s not bad, I guess.”

“Not really a sci-fi geek?” Carl chuckles. “Fair enough, I guess. Doubt you’d get much chance to be one anyway, seeing how you only ever hang out with the girls!” I force out a chuckle at Carl’s teasing- he no doubt sees my friendship with the girls as a bit of fun, rather than the lifeline it is. God only knows how he’d react if he found out about the ‘real’ me- the cautious way he’s looking at Laura tells me that I might not want to find out.

“Come on then,” Mohan- Suri’s brother- urges, snapping me out of my daydream. “Line up in front of the poster, dad wants plenty of photos of the five of you.” I smile as I find myself instinctively drift toward the five girls, only to be stopped by Mohan’s strong hand on my shoulder.

“Sorry mate,” the young Indian man says. “Girls only in this photo. Doubt dad would like it much if I got any photos of Suri clawing at you like she usually does!”

“You shut your face!” Suri admonishes her brother as he takes the requested photographs, before all of us slowly filter into the cinema to watch the film. As I’ve already seen the film, my attention wonders throughout, staring at all the beautiful women sat in the cinema in their beautiful clothing. And as usual, it’s Suri and Laura who I mainly focus on.

Both girls look utterly beautiful- Suri’s knee-length dark blue dress complements her dark skin and jet-black shoulder-length hair wonderfully, whilst her long black fingernails and 3” heeled shoes make her look a lot older than her thirteen years. Laura looks even more mature than Suri- she’s been taking oestrogen pills for a month now, and even though it’s not a full dose, it’s enough to make her start to ‘develop’. Her waist is narrowing whilst her chest is swelling and her hips and backside are expanding, an effect enhanced by her slinky silver-coloured dress and matching high heeled shoes. Her shoulder-length blonde hair has been styled into a cute wave, her nails have been painted a blood red colour and her face is as immaculately made-up as Suri’s. It’s not just difficult to believe that she’s genetically the same as me- it’s downright impossible.

…Especially as I scratch my leg and wince as I feel short, wiry hairs starting to poke through my skin. My chest is also widening, but not in the same way as Laura’s. My muscles are growing- as am I- and my voice constantly wavers between baritone and soprano, sometimes over the course of a single sentence. Laura will never have to worry about her voice deepening. She’ll never have to worry about her chest and waist widening, about her muscles growing, she’ll never wake up to find that she’s had an ‘incident’ in the middle of the night…

I grin as the movie ends and we head back into the cinema foyer, Suri clinging to my arm in her trademark way and all five girls giddy with excitement- not about the movie, but about the fact that they’re walking side-by-side with women they’ve known and admired for months, if not years.

“Oh my god,” Laura breathes excitedly as she grabs my free arm and points at a young, dark-haired woman a few feet in front of us. “Ash! That’s Nikki Thomas!”

“Who, the woman who got us our tickets?” I ask.

“AND the literal Angel who helped me out after my hospital visit earlier in the year,” Laura giggles.

“We should thank her for our tickets,” Priya says, leading us over to where the tall girl is getting herself a drink.

“Um, excuse me?” Laura asks cautiously.

“Oh, Laura, hi!” Nikki replies with a giggle. “And, I guess, hey girlies! Well, girlies and ‘boyie’, heh!” I blush as the eighteen year old transwoman singles me out, even as I wish that I was one of the ‘girlies’.

“Thanks for getting us our tickets today,” Priya says, to which Nikki simply waves dismissively.

“Least I could do,” Nikki says with a warm smile. “I figured that after everything you’ve been through this year and last, you deserved a super-glam evening wearing your best dresses. Even if it was, you know, just watching Star Wars. You girls want a selfie?”

“Hell yeah!” Suri squeaks excitedly, letting go of my arm and- along with the other girls- posing with Nikki for a selfie. Even though the girls’ excitement is infectious, I’ve never felt more left out than I do at this exact moment. My feelings of exclusion only grow further when Miss Fullerton- our ballet teacher and one of the ‘Angels’ who organised tonight’s event- comes over and playfully rests her head on Nikki’s shoulder.

“Aww,” Miss Fullerton giggles as she sees the five girls. “Hope you’re not trying to steal my ‘Little Angels’ away from me!”

“As if you’d let me,” Nikki laughs.

“Hope you girls are up for some work over the Christmas break,” Miss Fullerton says with a smug grin. “My- sorry, OUR new dance studio isn’t going to decorate itself, much as I’d like it to!”

“Do they make dungaree tutus?” Nikki asks, making Miss Fullerton laugh as I feel more and more miserable. I try to slip away from the group to avoid getting more upset about my ‘exclusion’, only for my sudden movement to attract the attention of our teacher.

“Ah, Ashley Moore!” Miss Fullerton giggles, making me blush. “Should’ve known you’d be here, even if Suri ISN’T clinging to your arm like a security blanket as usual!” I smile and blush an even deeper shade of red as my girlfriend takes this as her cue to rush over to me and tightly cuddle my arm to her chest, nearly scratching my arm on her long black fingernails.

“Hi, Miss Fullerton,” I say nervously.

“Oh please,” my teacher laughs dismissively. “I’m only ‘Miss Fullerton’ in class, outside it you can call me Krystie, same as everyone else! Honestly, Nikki, you should see this boy move, I’ve never seen a boy dance so gracefully. Can’t wait to get him in my advanced class and dancing with the pointe students… Even if he did ask me if he could learn pointe himself!”

“Really?” Nikki asks, her interested suddenly piqued by my desire to dance en pointe like the other girls.

“I, uh- umm, I think my dad’s here to pick me up,” I mumble, slinking away from Krystie, Nikki and the girls so as to avoid any further embarrassment.

“Aww, don’t be so coy!” Miss Fullerton shouts after me as I head toward where my father is stood with a wide grin on his face.

“Did you have fun?” Dad asks. “Or were you too distracted by all the girls, as usual?”

“…I had fun,” I shrug as I get in dad’s car.

“How much of the film did you spend snogging your girlfriend on the back seats?” Dad asks, making my cheeks flush again.

“We didn’t snog,” I mumble.

“Of course you didn’t,” dad laughs, though I can tell from his voice that he doesn’t believe me for a second. He almost certainly wouldn’t believe me- and certainly wouldn’t want to believe me- if I told him that I’d spent the entire evening gazing longingly at all the girls’ dresses, imagining what it’d be like to wear such beautiful clothes- and to be as beautiful as the girls themselves.

Once we arrive home, I head straight up to my bedroom to get ready for bed (even though it’s a school holiday, it is also 10pm and I am very tired), but before pulling on my pyjamas, I open up the suitcase in the back of my wardrobe and pick out a short pale blue dress, pulling it over my head and sighing happily at the feeling of the light fabric swishing around my legs, just as it had for Laura, Suri and the rest of my friends earlier tonight. Sadly, whilst they had no doubt worn their dresses for hours, I can only wear mine for a mere five minutes before stripping it off, carefully folding it away in my suitcase and pulling on the plain cotton t-shirt and trousers that I’d worn to bed for the last three days- though I moan with frustration when I wake up and feel a familiar sticky sensation on the front of the trousers, signifying that I won’t be wearing these pyjamas again tonight.

After stuffing my pyjamas in the washing basket and showering, I dress in my plain, boring jeans and sweatshirt and head downstairs, where I’m immediately ambushed by the most excitable of all my sisters.

“IT’S ONLY TWO DAYS ‘TILL CHRISTMAS!” Cassie squeaks loudly in my ear as she clings to me, bouncing up and down even after we sit down on the sofa.

“Cassidy, leave your brother alone, he had a late night last night!” Mum laughs as she- and her vastly swollen belly- relax in her armchair.

“Well, I’m awake now, I guess,” I laugh.

“Did you have fun last night, Ashley?” Mum asks. “I’ve had a look on various news websites but the photographers were all very well-behaved, not getting any photos of you or anyone underage.”

“Are you going to be in the news, Ashley?” Cassie gasps excitedly.

“No,” I laugh. “You know Miss Fullerton, our ballet teacher? She organised last night’s trip to the cinema, and as she’s famous, she-“ Before I can continue, I’m interrupted by a loud reprimand from my mother- not directed at me, but at the 9 year old girl who’s just walked down the stairs wearing even more make-up than my friends did last night.

“Bryony Francesca Moore, what do you think you’re doing wearing that much make-up?” Mum asks, making even me cringe.

“It’s the school holidays,” Bryony argues. “Why can’t I wear make-up?”

“You’re not going anywhere today,” mum says. “And more importantly- you’re nine years old! You don’t NEED to wear any make-up!”

“But I want to wear it,” Bryony pleads. “I LOVE wearing make-up…”

“Next you’ll be encouraging Cassie or Dorothy to start wearing it,” mum says. “Go and wash it off. Now.” I bite my lip as Bryony stomps back upstairs in a huff, returning ten minutes later with a frown on her make-up free face.

“Believe me, when you’re older, you’ll be thankful to have a day when you don’t have to wear make-up,” mum says, though Bryony looks far from convinced. It’s amazing how, over the course of a few short weeks, Bryony has gone from being level-headed to the point of calling everything she doesn’t like childish and silly, to being a wannabe teen rebel, wearing make-up, nail polish and experimenting with fashion- all the things I wished I could do when I was nine, and still wish I can do now that I’m twelve.

“Can I at least paint Cassie’s nails?” Bryony- whose own nails are painted a pail red colour- asks, making mum sigh and roll her eyes, especially as Cassie herself looks at her expectantly.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” mum laughs. “Though you’re not painting Dorothy’s nails!”

“Or mine,” I say half-jokingly after the two little girls as they leave the room.

“Eww, you’re a BOY,” Bryony snorts. “Boys don’t get to wear nail polish or make-up!” I force out a laugh as Bryony and Cassie head into the kitchen for their ‘makeover’, even though her words cut deep.

“You know, sometimes I do wonder what exactly it is you do when you go round to one of the girls’ houses,” mum laughs. “Whether or not they’ve coerced you into getting a makeover in the past…” Believe me, I don’t take that much coercing. Rather than allowing mum to prove further, I simply let out a snort of laughter and turn my attention to the television, hoping it’ll ‘cure’ the envy I feel toward my little sisters- who return a short while later with light red fingernails that they both show off for the rest of the morning.

Before I slip even deeper into my misery, however, I’m ‘saved’ when a knock comes from the front door, which I answer to find Suri and Laura staring at me with faces that are barely suppressing excited giggles.

“Hey girlies!” I squeak just loud enough for Laura and Suri- but crucially, none of my family- to hear.

“Hey Ash!” Suri squeaks in a voice much louder than the one I used.

“Hi Suriya!” Mum yells from the living room.

“Hi Mrs. Moore!” Laura yells.

“We’re here to ki-“ Suri says, before grimacing as she remembers the ordeal that Laura was put through less than eighteen months ago, the ordeal that’s still playing a major role in my not coming out to my parents. “Umm, is it okay if we take Ashley to Laura’s house, please?”

“Of course,” mum yells. “But we have plenty of space here, you girls are welcome to come and hang out here if you’d like.” No chance, I think to myself as I stare longingly at the thick make-up, glossy black tights and short black skirts being worn by my friends.

“That’s okay, Mrs. Moore,” Laura says, still clearly rattled by Suri’s ‘kidnap’ joke. “We, uh, don’t want to get in your way.”

“Huh, okay,” mum says. “Be back by teatime!”

“Will do!” I say, my voice almost breaking into a girlish giggle as I follow the girls to Laura’s mum’s car, where Suri immediately groans in frustration.

“Ugh, Laura, I am so, so sorry,” Suri moans. “I need to watch what I say in future…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Laura says, calming down. “God knows there are worse things you could’ve said. ‘I’m stealing your boyfriend’, for starters…”

“No, I’m perfectly happy with the one I have!” Suri giggles, cuddling my arm close to her chest. “God, Ash, are you getting hunkier every day or something?”

“I wish,” I sigh, though the looks on my friends’ faces tell me that they can instantly tell that I wish for the exact opposite. “Thanks for letting me come over, Mrs. White.”

“My pleasure,” Laura’s mother says with a chuckle. “Thank you for agreeing to put up with the company of two excitable teenaged girls for the day!”

“My pleasure,” I say, making Laura and Suri both giggle as they realised that this time, what I’m saying is 100% truthful.

“After I drop you home I need to head out to Tesco, to get a few things for Christmas Day,” Mrs. White says. “I trust I can leave you alone for a couple of hours?”

“Mum!” Laura retorts as though offended. “I’m fourteen, I’m not a little kid, you don’t need to watch me every second of every day.”

“I know,” Mrs. White says, “it’s the house I’m more worried about!” Suri and I both giggle as Laura groans with embarrassed frustration, though that quickly turns to giddy excitement once we arrive home- and once Laura’s taken me up to her bedroom, it’s easy to see why. Laid out on Laura’s bed is a pair of glittery grey tights, a pleated black miniskirt, a tight, striped girl’s top and more make-up than I’ve ever seen in my entire life. My entire body tingles with excitement as I see the beautiful clothes laid out on the bed, though that’s nothing compared to the tingles I feel as I strip down to my underpants (once I’m alone in the room, of course) and slowly ease the beautiful clothing onto my body. I’m so excited that I can barely keep still as Laura and Suri apply my make-up, and once my look is complete, I’m almost ready to burst with happiness.

“Hello, MISS Moore!” Laura squeaks happily as we exchange a girlish hug.

“Thank you so much,” I sigh as I play with my hair, which Laura and Suri have brushed out into a very feminine style. “This feels SO good, so right…”

“The more you wear these clothes, the more ‘right’ they feel,” Laura says. “And you CAN wear them more, you know what you have to do…”

“Laura!” Suri admonishes the older girl. “Leave her alone, let her enjoy this time!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Laura says, before a wicked smile creeps across her face. “Are you ready?”

“Always,” Suri replies with a smug smile.

“Ready for what?” I ask, before watching with confusion as Laura and Suri strip off their skirts and their tops, revealing short-sleeved dark blue leotards underneath their clothes.

“A little treat we planned for you,” Suri says, taking her pointe shoes out of her bag and knocking the solid toe boxes together.

“Miss Fullerton’s been teaching us some more advanced pointe steps,” Laura explains as she gets out her pointe shoes and ties them to her feet. “And as we don’t go to ballet over the Christmas holidays, we figured we ought to get in some practice… So we’re going to do a dance just for you!”

“Even though we all know you’d prefer to be the one doing the dancing!” Suri giggles.

“Just wearing a leotard would be enough for me today,” I sigh happily.

“That can be arranged,” Laura says smugly as she leads us downstairs to her small kitchen, where Laura and Suri spend the next five minutes delighting me with their ‘dance’, which is really just a collection of random pointe steps.

“Beautiful,” I say as the two girls finish their dance and both dip into a perfect ballerina’s bow.

“Aww, thanks!” Laura and Suri say, both giving me girlish hugs as we return to the living room and crash on the sofa.

“Have you asked Miss Fullerton again about pointe lessons for yourself?” Suri asks.

“She’s given me exercises to do,” I sigh. “She says she'll teach me if I want, but I doubt she'd be willing to teach me pointe with the other girls.”

“I bet she would if you told her that you were transgendered, like me,” Laura says.

“I- I couldn’t tell her that,” I say, my entire body clenching with fear at the mere thought of revealing the ‘real’ me.

“Why not?” Laura shrugs. “You know she’d accept you, I mean, she accepted me without question, one of her best friends is transgendered, she taught Nikki Thomas ballet, and she’s transgendered.”

“And you need someone like her to confide in,” Suri says. “Do any adults actually know about you- well, ‘girl you’?”

“…No, actually,” I say after a moment’s thought. “It’s just the six of you who know.”

“I bet,” Laura says confidently, “if you tell her, she’ll support you 100% AND help you come out to your parents.”

“Yeah,” Suri says. “Come out to her in January and you could be wearing a skirt to school by February!” I smile as I play with the fabric of my skirt, which is very close in style to the skirts Laura and Suri wear to school. Wearing a skirt to school would be a dream, and as Laura’s proved, dreams CAN sometimes come true…

“You really don’t have anything to lose,” Laura advises. “And if not Miss Fullerton, then someone else, maybe Nikki herself, she’s helped me a lot and I know she’d do the same for you.”

“They’re all famous, though,” I say. “I wouldn’t feel right pestering them for help…”

“Oh, LOSE the pair already!” Laura sighs. “Yes, Miss Fullerton’s famous, but she also knows you personally through her class.”

“Okay,” I say, making the two girls giggle. “I’ll tell her next month, first class I have… But I’ll need your help, I’ll need backup.”

“We can come along to your class just this once,” Suri says. “I’ll bully my sister into coming too.”

“AND Harriet and Megan!” Laura giggles. “This is going to be so cool, believe me, once you’ve got an adult you can confide in, you’ll find life a LOT easier.” I giggle happily as Laura gives me a hug, but the giggles soon stop as the front door suddenly starts to open.

“Uh- what?” I stammer in a state of near-panic. “I thought we were going to be alone for hours!”

“It’s only me!” Laura’s mother says. “Tesco was just ridiculously busy so I’m going to go tonight instead. Have you three had lunch yet…” Mrs. White’s voice trails off as she enters the living room and sees me sat on her sofa, dressed in her daughter’s clothes and wearing her make-up. My heart jumps into my mouth as the middle-aged woman’s face flickers between shock and confusion, before finally settling on anger.

“What- what have you done?” Mrs. White whispers, barely containing her fury. I open my mouth to try to respond, but before I’m able to make a sound, Mrs. White launches into a full-fledged tirade- which, much to my surprise, is directed not at me, but at her own daughter. “Laura, what the hell did you do to Ashley!?”

“Mu- mum?” Laura stammers, recoiling in surprise and fear.

“Just because you’ve chosen to be a girl, it doesn’t mean you can force it onto anyone you please!” Mrs. White yells. “You too, Suriya! I’m shocked and appalled that you’ve coerced Ashley into dressing the way he has!”

“Bu- but Mrs. White…” Suri mumbles.

“I’m not finished!” Laura’s mother snaps. “Here I was, thinking that now you’re fourteen, now you’re taking oestrogen, that you might be a little bit mature, a little bit grown-up, but I can see that I’m sadly mistaken! Consider yourself grounded for a month, young lady!” My jaw starts to quiver as tears form in Laura’s eyes- this is clearly the most trouble she’s ever been in, and it’s all my fault. The time has come for me to stand up and be a- a woman.

“Mrs. White,” I whisper.

“It’s okay, Ashley, we’ll get you out of that soon,” Mrs. White says in a kind voice, before turning back to face her daughter with a face full of fury. “As for you, young lady, NO Facebook, NO television and most definitely NO friends over for the next month! And I’ll make sure your parents hear about this too, Suriya!” The sight of tears starting to form in the corners of Suri’s eyes tells me that I need to act now- even though Mrs. White’s anger has made me feel smaller than a fly.

“Mrs. White!” I say more forcefully, gulping as the middle-aged woman turns to face me.

“Come on, Ashley,” Mrs. White says. “Let’s go upstairs, we can wash off that make-up and you can change back into your clothes while these two LITTLE girls think about what they did!”

“…No,” I say with a quivering, nervous voice.

“I’m sorry?” Mrs. White asks.

“No,” I say more confidently. “Laura and Suriya didn’t make me dress like this. I wanted to, because I… I’m also transgendered, like Laura.”

“You don’t have to say this just to get them out of trouble,” Mrs. White says.

“I’m not,” I say. “I want… I want to be a girl. I feel like a girl, on the inside.”

“Well… Okay then,” Mrs. White says, sitting down in her chair and trying to process what I’ve just said.

“Does- does this mean that I-“ Laura says, before being silenced by her mother.

“Yes, you’re not grounded,” Mrs. White sighs. “I’m disappointed that you feel you couldn’t trust me with this information, though in a way I can understand why. Ashley, do your parents know about this- well, this?”

“No,” I whisper. “I can’t tell them, they’d go ballistic!”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Mrs. White says. “And they need to know.”

“I- I can’t,” I say, my panic levels rising. “Please, please don’t tell them.”

“…Okay,” Mrs. White says. “I won’t. For now. But you won’t get to be a girl unless you tell them.”

“…I know,” I sigh.

“We’ve been telling her this for years,” Laura interjects, earning a stern stare from her mother that silences her.

“And I’m obviously not happy that you’re wearing my daughter’s clothes,” Mrs. White says.

“They’re cast-offs, clothes I don’t wear anymore…” Laura says, before yet another stern stare silences her.

“Believe me, you’ll get the chance to talk later,” Mrs. White says to Laura, before turning back to me. “Even if they’re cast-offs, I don’t like you doing this- well, ‘this’ under my roof. In your own house is fine, but not here.”

“How is that any different from me wearing what I’m wearing now?” Laura asks, making her mother sigh in exasperation.

“Go and wait in the kitchen,” Mrs. White orders her daughter, clearly tired of Laura’s constant interruptions.

“But Ashley-“ Laura pleads.

“Laura Jade White, go and wait in the kitchen until I’ve finished speaking to Ashley!” Mrs. White commands in an angry voice. “You too, Suriya.”

“But Ashley and I ARE the same!” Laura says. “I was lucky because I had you to recognise who I truly was. Ashley’s not that lucky, and she needs our help.” Laura braces herself for another telling-off from her mother, but to both our surprise, Mrs. White relents upon listening to what Laura has to say.

“The only people who can truly support Ashley are his parents,” Mrs. White argues.

“HER parents, not ‘his’,” Laura retorts.

“’Her’ parents,” Mrs. White concedes. “Ashley, if you don’t want to tell your parents now, I’m not going to force you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. White,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief.

“But they need to know, if only so that they can help you,” the middle-aged woman continues. “If you don’t tell them soon, eventually I will have to.”

“No- please, no…” I plead.

“You can’t keep this from them forever,” Mrs. White says. “I can tell that this is a genuine thing, not just some silly game. It’s in your best interests to tell them sooner, rather than later. If you haven’t told your parents by the end of the school year in July… I will.” I open my mouth to protest, but I know it’d be futile to even try.

“I understand,” I whisper.

“There has to be something else we can do for her,” Laura says, making me tingle at her use of the word ‘her’. “Get her an appointment to see Dr Williamson, maybe?”

“Before you came home we were talking about getting Ashley an ‘adult confidante’,” Suriya says nervously. “Guess that’s now sorted, heh.”

“I’m not going to be Ashley’s counsellor, or her confidante,” Mrs. White says firmly. “She would need to be referred to Dr Williamson by her GP. Ashley, do you know who that is?”

“Umm, Dr Singh, I think,” I reply. “At the doctor’s on Sheffield Road. Though I can’t go there without my parents, and they’d ask why I wanted to see the doctor…”

“Mum?” Laura asks expectantly.

“I can’t take someone else’s child to see the doctor!” Laura’s mother snorts. “Do you have a counsellor at your school who Ashley can see?”

“I don’t think so,” Laura sighs. “Whenever I have a problem I just go to see my head of year…”

“Better than no one,” Mrs. White shrugs.

“Tell- tell a teacher!?” I exclaim.

“They’re professionals, they won’t blab if you ask them to keep it private,” Mrs. White says.

“And Mr. Peters is very understanding,” Laura says. “He’s still head of year eight, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” I whisper.

“Then it’s settled,” Mrs. White says. “Ashley will go and see her head of year in January, and one or both of you will go with her for support.”

“Yes, mum,” Laura sighs, though it’s clear from her smile she had every intention of accompanying me anyway.

“In the meantime,” Mrs. White continues, “there’s the question of what we do for the rest of today. Obviously Ashley can’t stay dressed like this for the rest of the day.” My heart sinks as I realise that I’ll have to change back into my dreaded boy’s clothes, though I knew that this was inevitable.

“Why not?” Laura asks. “It’s what makes her feel comfortable…”

“I- I do prefer this to my boy clothes,” I say in a quiet, feeble voice.

“…Fine,” Mrs. White sighs. “But only for today. And in the future, you let me know if you’re going to pass any clothes onto Ashley, okay?”

“Okay,” Laura says as a smile starts to creep across her face. I breathe a sigh of relief as I sit back down on the sofa, keeping my knees pressed tightly together. I spend the rest of the afternoon as ‘girl Ashley’, smiling every time I lick my lips and taste my strawberry-flavoured lipstick, and every time I cross my legs and feel the thick material of my tights rubbing together. If Laura’s mother hadn’t returned early, I’d have changed out of this outfit after little more than an hour of wearing it, but because she caught me in it, I've now worn this outfit for longer than I've worn any item of female clothing, and it almost brings tears to my eyes when the time comes to step out of the skirt and peel off the tights to pull my boy clothes back on.

"You okay?" Suri asks, cuddling my arm as I step out of Laura's bathroom in my jeans and sweatshirt, my face scrubbed free of make-up.

"No," I sigh.

"You know, if you want someone to go to the doctor's with you, I'm sure my sister will," Suri says. "She's only fifteen herself but she's very mature."

"She has to be, with you as her sister!" Laura says, giggling as Suri sticks her tongue out at her. "But seriously, Priya would be a good choice."

"I know," I sigh. "Mrs. White? I'm ready now." I sigh as Laura gives me a long, gentle hug, the kind one sister would give another. Suri's hug is even longer and even tighter, and punctuated with a soft kiss on my lips.

"I'll talk to my sister," Suri says. "If need be, I'll make her go with you!"

"Come on, you two," Mrs. White says. "Laura? You coming with us?"

"Of course!" Laura giggles.

"You know, Ashley," Mrs. White says. "If you did want to tell your parents now, I'll happily stand by you. You'll have friends with you, and speaking to another adult- especially one who's gone through the same thing they'll be going through- will make things go a lot more smoothly." My heart beats faster as I consider Mrs. White's offer- the conditions are definitely perfect for me to come out, of that there's no doubt. But to do so now, without preparing myself... My legs turn to jelly at the mere thought of telling my parents.

"No," I whisper, making Laura groan with frustration. "Maybe- maybe after Christmas."

"Which Christmas, Christmas 2080?" Laura asks, earning a stern stare from her mother.

"Laura..." Mrs. White says as a clear caution to her daughter. "She is right though, Ashley. The longer you put it off, the harder it'll be. But if you don't want to tell them now, I respect that decision."

"Thank you," I whisper, though I feel extra awkward as the car ride home is conducted in silence- Laura and Suri are obviously disappointed by my cowardice. They still give me hugs as I'm dropped off, though it's clear that they'd rather be hugging the 'other me'.

"Evening, Ash!" Dad chuckles as I walk through the front door and crash onto the sofa. "Have fun with your girlfriends?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Too bad George had to go away for Christmas," dad continues. "I'm sure you'd have much preferred to hang out with him, right?"

"Actually, I prefer Suri and Laura," I reply honestly.

"I'm sure you do!" Dad laughs. "Was there much talk of last night?"

"Not really," I reply.

"Bet there would've been if George had gone with you," dad says. "I'm not going to criticise you for having a girlfriend, Ash, but you do need a male best friend to hang out with, a proper 'best mate', especially now that you're nearly a teenager. The older you get, the more different you'll get from the girls, even if you do have shared 'interests'."

"Yeah... You don't need to remind me of that," I say with a barely-suppressed grimace.

"Now I'm not saying you shouldn't have female friends," dad says, "but as they get older they're going to spend more of their time talking about things like make-up and especially other boys. Things you won't- or at least, I hope you won't- have any interest in whatsoever."

"Didn't you have any female friends at school, then?" I ask.

"Not at secondary school," dad says, shaking his head. "None who weren't girlfriends. A couple at primary school, but we drifted apart before we went to secondary."

"...Then how do you know what you're saying is true?" I ask. "About what girls talk about..."

"Ask your mother if you don't believe me!" Dad laughs derisively. "Trust me Ash, if you go round to Laura's house twelve months from now you'll be bored stiff. Or bored AND stiff, heh!" That's an appropriate joke to say to a twelve year old, I think to myself. Even if I have heard George say it about a hundred times already.

I head to bed shortly after 9pm, musing on how today I came closer than I've ever been to permanently being a girl, only for dad and his words and actions to drag me back even further. I shed a solitary tear as I cuddle my blankets around me, my pyjamas feeling more and more like a prison when compared to the soft nightdresses Laura, Suri and my friends will inevitably be wearing.

The sound of my excited younger sisters downstairs wakes me just after 7am on Christmas Eve, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I check myself to discover that tears were the only bodily fluid that leaked from me during the night. After showering and dressing in my usual jeans and sweatshirt, I head back into my room and stare at the suitcase in the back of my wardrobe. Sighing, I pick out a cute, short black skirt and tight grey top similar to the ones I wore yesterday, along with a thick black pair of tights. I stare at the gorgeous items of clothing for at least five minutes as every cell in my body urges me to strip off my boy clothes and pull the girl clothes on, but I know that ultimately, it'd be futile. Ultimately, I'd just have to change back into my boy clothes anyway, so why bother even pulling on the girl clothes in the first place?

I shed another single tear, frowning as the drop leaves a dark stain on my tights, before returning the clothes to my suitcase and grabbing my tablet computer. I login to Facebook and smile as I see that all of my friends are already awake and online. My smile widens as I type out a message to Suri, only for her to send a message to me before I've finished writing.

'Hey girlfriend!' Suri types, making me giggle.

'Hey girlfriend!' I reply.

'I've talked to Pri,' Suri types. 'She's happy to go with you to the doctor's if you want. Just let us know when you get your appointment.'

'Thanks,' I reply, as my heart begins to beat faster at the prospect of actually having to tell my doctor about who I really am...

'I can't stay on long,' Suri types. 'Our grandparents are over from India for Christmas, mum and dad are taking us out sightseeing in London. Talk soon, girlfriend! xxxx'

'Ttyl xxxx,' I type, before Suri goes offline and leaves me to my thoughts, but all I can think about is the look of utter disappointment on Laura's face yesterday when I turned down her mother's offer to help me come out to my parents. Laura clearly thinks I'm never going to come out unless I'm pushed into doing so... And she may be right.

After a quick breakfast- during which I open the final door of my Lego Star Wars advent calendar and chuckle as dad 'helps me put it together', I head back up to my bedroom, secretly taking the house telephone with me. I shiver with nerves as I dial the number for the surgery, letting out a small gasp as it’s answered after just two rings.

“Hello, Sheffield Road Surgery, how can I help you?” The receptionist on the other end of the phone asks.

“He-hello,” I stammer. “I’d- I’d like to book an appointment, please.”

“We don’t have any until next Wednesday, the 30th,” the receptionist says. “Will 10am be okay?”

“Ye-yes, that’ll be fine,” I say, shocked at the ease of getting the appointment. “Do- do I need to bring my parents with me?”

“No,” the receptionist says with confusion. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Twelve,” I say in a quiet voice.

“Well obviously we’d recommend you bring your parents,” the receptionist says, “but you don’t have to if you need to discuss a personal matter with your doctor.” That’s good, it doesn’t get any more personal than this, I think to myself. “Will you be able to get here alright?”

“Yeah, that’ll be fine,” I say. After giving the receptionist my name and date of birth- so they can expect me- I hang up the phone and let out a sigh of relief. If only coming out to my parents could be as easy as it was to get the doctor’s appointment…

I send a quick Facebook message to Priya and Suriya to let them know about the appointment before changing my sweatshirt for a smart button-up shirt and heading downstairs, smiling sadly as I see my three sisters all dressed in their smartest, prettiest dresses, their long, blonde hair immaculately brushed and held in place with shiny hairclips.

“Nice of you to join us at last,” dad laughs as he adjusts his own smart shirt and trousers. “Are you four excited to see your grandparents?”

“Yes!” Cassie squeaks loudly, bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Grandpa! Grandma!” Dorothy yells happily, making even Bryony crack a smile. Less than ten minutes later, I follow my three sisters to the front door as we see a familiar blue car pull up outside the house. The car’s occupants- a couple in their late fifties- barely take two steps into the house before their mobbed with hugs from all three of my sisters.

“Okay, okay!” Mum laughs, making my sisters blush as they sit back down in the living room. “Hi mum, hi dad!”

“Hello, Clare!” my grandmother says, giving my mother a tight hug despite her vast belly. “My, Ashley, aren’t you turning into a tall, handsome man!”

“Thanks, grandma,” I say, giving the 55 year old woman a hug.

“Hello Alan, hello Wendy!” Dad says, greeting his in-laws with a hug (for grandma) and a firm handshake (for grandpa). “Come on Ash, roll up your sleeves, we need to get more chairs out of the shed.”

“Couldn’t you have asked him that before he put on his best shirt?” Mum sighs, to which dad simply shrugs.

“You don’t mind getting your hands dirty, do you, Ash?” Dad asks.

“Nope!” I lie as I follow dad out to the shed. Over the course of the next half hour, my other grandparents- my father’s parents- arrive, along with all five of my living great-grandparents. The great thing about being born into such a young family (my parents were only 22 when I was born) is that you have plenty of living relatives. For the first 8 months of my life I even had a living great-great-grandparent. This of course means that I’m always spoiled at Christmas and on my birthday, even despite my three (soon to be four) siblings. The bad thing about this, though, is how old-fashioned seemingly all of my grandparents and great-grandparents are.

“So, Ash,” grandpa Greg- my mother’s father’s father- asks me. “What d’you reckon are Rangers' chances of going up this year?"

“Umm… I dunno,” I say, freezing as I’m suddenly put on the spot.

“Ash isn’t really a football fan,” dad laughs. “Unless it involves girls, Ash isn’t interested!”

“Do you still go to your dance class, Ashley?” Grandma Joanne- my father’s mother- asks.

“Umm, yes,” I say. “I should be joining the advance class next year, after my birthday.”

“Boys dancing ballet,” Grandpa Harry- my mother’s mother’s father- tuts. “You should be out playing football with your mates, not prancing around a dance studio!”

“I like dancing too…” Cassie whines, making grandpa Harry chuckle and pull her onto his lap.

“Well you’re allowed to,” Grandpa Harry laughs. “You’re a girl, and I’ll bet you’re the most beautiful ballerina in your class, aren’t you?” The smile returns to Cassie’s face as she nods enthusiastically, making our great-grandfather chuckle. “Go on, do a few steps for us!” My grandparents and great-grandparents all coo happily as space is cleared in the room (not easy when there’s fifteen people in it) and Cassie does a few steps from her junior class. The coos grow even louder as Bryony joins in and dances with Cassie, and by the time Dorothy (who’s recently joined Miss Fullerton’s toddler class) does some steps, the room is filled with happy laughter.

“Ashley’s a better dancer than all of us,” Cassie says. “He should do some steps too!”

“No, no, that’s alright,” grandpa Harry says, clearly uncomfortable with the mere thought of me dancing.

“Oh come on, Harry, let the poor kid dance,” Grandpa Chris- my father’s father- urges. “Just because he’s a dance it doesn’t make him gay, or a girl. Just look at Anton du Beke, or that other guy from Strictly, you know, the one who’s seeing that girl from Countdown?”

“I don’t like either of them, either,” Grandpa Harry snorts.

“But you do like Ashley, don’t you?” Grandma Catherine- grandpa Harry’s wife- asks.

“Well obviously I like Ashley,” Grandpa Harry retorts. “I LOVE Ashley. Doesn’t mean I want to see him prance around the room though, does it?”

“Ash, do you do any sports at school?” Grandpa Greg asks in an attempt to change the topic of conversation.

“Umm, we did rugby this last term,” I say, shuddering at the memory of running around a muddy field getting body tackled by boys much larger than me. “I didn’t really like it…”

“Do you like ANY sports?” Grandpa Greg asks.

“Oh, leave the poor boy alone!” Grandma Eleanor- grandpa Greg’s wife- says.

“I kinda like basketball,” I shrug. No physical contact, the sport’s played entirely indoors… What’s NOT to like about basketball? “We only do that in the summer, though.”

“Basketball?” Grandpa Greg laughs. “You’re not much of an ‘outdoor’ kid, are you?” I start to blush as my great-grandfather teases me- clearly he has an idea of what a boy should me, and I’m not living up to his expectations.

“Now be fair, Andy wasn’t either,” Grandma Jo- my father’s mother- says. “When he was Ashley’s age, all he’d do is sit in front of his Playstation for hours on end.”

“Not much has changed,” mum says, making dad playfully sigh and shake his head. I also chuckle, happy that the attention has been drawn away from me.

“Frankly, I’m happy that Ashley has a hobby he enjoys, like dancing,” grandpa Chris says. “If he wants to dance, I say let him dance! Every time I see a photo of him on Facebook, he’s surrounded by girls. This surely can’t be a coincidence?”

“And I’m so glad he’s got such a nice girlfriend in that Indian girl,” grandma Wendy- my mother’s mother and the youngest of my grandparents- says.

“Boys having girlfriends at the age of twelve…” Grandpa Harry sighs.

“Welcome to the 21st century, granddad,” mum says, making my great-grandfather tut disapprovingly. “You know that fifty years ago, there’s no way a white boy and an Indian girl would’ve been allowed to go out together.”

“I’m not denying that THAT is an improvement,” Grandpa Harry concedes. “And Ashley’s girlfriend IS very sweet.”

“And it could be worse,” grandpa Alan- my mother’s father- laughs. “Ashley could be going out with that transsexual girl!” I grimace as my grandparents and great-grandparents all have a long laugh at Laura’s expense.

“Girls, go and get us some snacks,” dad orders my sisters, who all dutifully traipse off to the kitchen.

“In Laura’s defense,” mum says once the girls are gone, “she is very nice and has always been a good friend to Ashley.”

“Well, okay,” Grandpa Alan concedes, “but it’s a bit weird, isn’t it? Deciding one day that you’re going to stop being a boy and be a girl instead?”

“I’m pretty sure she put more thought into it than you’re implying, Alan,” grandpa Chris says. “It’s not just a case of ‘waking up one morning and suddenly being a girl’.”

“I still don’t like it,” Grandpa Greg says with a shudder. “What if she-he-she- what if this Laura person corrupts Ashley into wanting to be a girl?” My entire body starts to clench as my family discusses this most sensitive subject.

“Dad’s right,” Grandpa Alan says. “It has to be really confusing for Ashley to have a friend who used to be a boy but is now a girl.”

“I- I’m not confused,” I meekly stutter.

“’Course he isn’t,” grandpa Chris says. “He’s twelve, he’s not a little kid.”

“Frankly, I’m glad Ashley’s got such an open and accepting heart,” grandma Jo says, making me blush as my sisters return with trays full of food and the subject abruptly changes from Laura’s ‘status’, not going back to the topic for the rest of the day. My grandparents and great-grandparents depart just after 6pm, at which I breathe a sigh of relief. As much as I love them, being in a crowded room with fourteen other people- especially when I’m dressed the way I am in my uncomfortable shirt, whilst my sisters are all wearing pretty dresses- really is something I can only take for so long.

After helping dad put away the chairs (and musing on how this is a ‘man’s job’ as opposed to the washing-up my mum and my sisters are doing), I head upstairs to my bedroom and strip off my shirt and my trousers, before reaching into my suitcase for a dress very similar to the ones my sisters were wearing this afternoon. I sigh sadly as I pull it over my head and replace my thick black socks with soft white tights, before staring at my reflection in the mirror. I really could be a pre-teen girl, if only I had the courage. I really could…

“Ash? You in there?” Dad asks, knocking on my door and making me panic.

“Uh- hang on, I’m just getting changed,” I say, grimacing as I tear a large hole in my tights in my rush to remove them from my legs. No wonder the girls always carry spare pairs with them…

“Come on, Ash, what’s taking so long?” Dad asks. “It isn’t anything I haven’t seen before, you know…”

“Okay, ready,” I say, hastily stuffing the dress into my suitcase and pulling my jeans and sweatshirt back on.

“Going barefoot, are we?” Dad chuckles as he stares at my bare toes and my discarded socks.

“Oh, um- yeah,” I say, making dad chuckle.

“Sit down,” dad laughs, patting at a spot on my bed, which I dutifully sit down on. “You know your grandparents are only teasing you, right? When they’re talking about your dancing?”

“I know,” I sigh. “It’s- it just hurts a bit, that’s all.”

“I know it does, mate,” dad says, giving me a firm pat on my shoulder. “But they’re just a bit set in their ways. If you want to dance, you dance! If you want to act, you act!” And if I want to be a girl? I self-pityingly think to myself. “And if you want to play basketball, you play basketball! I will admit, I did not see THAT one coming!”

“I like basketball,” I shrug.

“Fair enough,” dad shrugs. “I think Grandpa Greg just wanted a footballer in the family, heh. He’ll just have to wait for your baby brother to become one, won’t he? And besides, basketball’s a decent sport, they occasionally have NBA games in London, we’ll have to go to one sometime!”

“Yeah,” I say, even though the prospect of seeing a basketball game is only slightly more appealing than seeing a football game.

“As long as it actually is basketball,” dad chuckles. “And you haven’t followed the girls and joined the netball team instead!”

“No, no, I bounce the ball when I play,” I say, making dad laugh as he leaves the room. I sigh as I head over to my wardrobe, where my dress- which used to belong to Megan- lays crumpled and creased on top of my now-ruined tights, which were my only pair of white tights. I sigh as I stuff the tights into a plastic bag which contains all my ruined or dirty girl’s clothes, before carefully folding my dress back into my suitcase.

I shed a single tear at the destruction of my tights as I lay down on my bed, trying to relax and let all the frustration in my life roll away, though I know any such attempt is futile- any attempt that doesn’t involve wearing a dress, anyway, and tonight’s ‘session’ got terminated after less than five minutes. After half an hour of ‘destressing’, I head back downstairs, sighing sadly as I see my sisters sat on the sofa, still wearing their fancy party dresses. I spend the rest of the evening on the sofa watching television with my sisters (they’re allowed to stay up late on Christmas Eve in the vain hope that it’ll make them sleep late on Christmas morning}, before heading to bed.

The anticipation of Christmas morning means that I don’t sleep much, even though I know that I won’t get any of the things that I truly want. Nonetheless, I am asleep when my alarm clock wakes me at 6:30am. I pull on my dressing gown and head downstairs, where my sisters are, unsurprisingly, already tearing open their presents, and every present they open makes my heart sink further and further. In their present piles I see skirts, dresses, girly shoes and dolls. Bryony’s pile even includes a small amount of make-up, and both Bryony and Cassie have received new ballet leotards and- adding insult to injury- packets of new white dance tights.

“Happy Christmas Ash!” Cassie yells, giving me a tight hug before doing a twirl in her sparkly pink tutu. “Do you like my tutu?”

“Yes, very cute!” I say, leaving out the fact that I once wore a very similar costume during a dress-up session at Nicole’s house earlier in the year.

“Oh my gosh!” Bryony squeaks as she opens her next box- which is, to my dismay, one of the special ‘Angel boxes’ that all of my female friends get- a random selection of cosmetics and fashion-related merchandise delivered monthly, endorsed by the modelling group that includes our dance teacher.

“It’s a bit old for you,” mum laughs as Bryony gives her a hug. “Then again, YOU’RE a bit old for you! And technically, two months of that comes from Ashley!” I smile as Bryony gives me a hug, but inside, I’m even more churned up than ever. Not only am I not getting anything girly, I’m actually giving girly stuff away to my sisters (rather than buy each other presents, my siblings and I always give money to our parents and ask them to get presents on our behalf).

“Speaking of your brother,” dad says, “is there a reason he’s NOT opening his presents yet?” I roll my eyes, before opening my own generous pile of presents. I force a smile on my face after each present is opened, despite the fact that I could happily have gone without any of them this year. I’ve got a new pair of trousers, new school shoes, a whole clutch of Lego Star Wars sets, a new pair of football boots- though dad did say he’ll change them for sneakers, given my supposed new-found love of basketball- men’s deodorant… But, as expected, nothing feminine whatsoever. I don’t even get any new boy’s ballet shoes, despite the fact that my sisters all got leotards and tights and I’m badly in need of a new pair of shoes.

“This is all so cool,” I say with forced enthusiasm. “Thank you all so much!” My heart starts to beat faster as my parents look at each other with coy smiles on their faces.

“Did you really think that was it?” Mum asks as dad leaves the room. “Did you really think we hadn’t noticed over the last few months? All those hints you’ve been dropping…”

“R-Really?” I ask, my hands shaking with anticipation.

“I know my son,” mum says with a smug smile as dad opens the door to the living room. I picture him in my mind, staggering through the door clutching several presents in his arms, all of which are beautiful items of girl’s clothing, or cosmetics, or fashion accessories… But instead, he’s carrying a small, rectangular box, deflating my hopes for a real Christmas miracle. Nonetheless, I unwrap the present, letting out a gasp of happiness when I see what’s inside- a brand-new Android smartphone.

“This is also probably a bit old for you,” mum says as I thank her with a long hug. “But I didn’t want you feeling left out, after all, all your friends at school have one.”

“This is awesome!” I giggle. “Thank you so much!”

“You’ll only get £3 credit each week,” mum says as I calm down and start unboxing the phone. “Anything else you’ll have to get with your pocket money, or earn with chores.” My smile widens- £3 a week will be more than enough for my needs, which will include the odd text message to Suri and, with any lucky, telephone consultations with Laura's counsellor.

I spend the rest of Christmas Day fiddling with my new phone- much to my parents' dismay- sending texts to all my friends and chatting with them after installing Facebook on the phone. After my sisters go to bed, I relax on the sofa with my parents a while longer, only to be surprised when my new phone suddenly rings- and the number showing on the screen is Laura's.

"I, uh, I have to get this," I say, taking the phone to my room to avoid my parents' teasing laughter.

"Hey Ash!" Laura squeaks excitedly into the phone. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Laura!" I laugh.

"It's SO cool that your parents got you a phone for Christmas," Laura says. "Now we can chat anytime we want, girl to girl!" I feel my insides start to shake with excitement as Laura describes me as a 'girl'- even though I'm wearing all male clothing, her acceptance makes me feel just that tiny bit better about myself.

"And thank GOD you booked that appointment," Laura laughs. "I'm telling you, Ash, this time next year you will be MISS Ashley Moore. Just lucky you've got such an androgynous name, heh! Would I be right in guessing, though, that your phone was the only present you got this year that you truly enjoyed?"

"...Yes," I sigh. "Would I be right in guessing that every present you got would make me green with envy?"

"Yes," Laura says with a sympathetic voice. "I got a new dress, two new skirts, a new ballet leotard, a new gymnastics leotard, make-up, nail polish, perfume... I even got a MASSIVELY girly box of stuff from my brother, to make up for him not being able to come home for Christmas this year."

"Sounds amazing," I say, my voice quivering.

"Mum even bought me a packet of thongs," Laura laughs. "Mum. Bought me. Thongs. It's like she's actually ready to start treating me as a young woman, not just a girl. My grandmothers, of course, got me stuff for younger girls, not that I'm complaining, hehe!"

"Sounds amazing," I repeat in the same monotone voice as before.

"Oh, Ash..." Laura says with a long sigh. "Next year. I promise you. You may not get any thongs, but your Christmas WILL be better than this one. Though that said... You busy tomorrow?"

"Umm, no, just watching TV," I say. "Why?"

"I've kinda got a free day too," Laura says, the smugness dripping off her voice. "Wanna come over and, you know, 'be yourself'?"

"I thought I wasn't allowed to 'be myself' at your house anymore?" I reply.

"Let's just say it's going to be mum's Christmas present to you," Laura says. "Bring tights but no clothes. I may have a Christmas present for you too..."

"I'll be there!" I squeak happily, before ending the call and heading back downstairs to my parents. "Hey, is it okay if I go to Laura's tomorrow?"

"Sure, I guess," dad shrugs. "Are you sure she's not your girlfriend instead of Suriya? You seem to be spending a lot of time with her lately..."

"She's one of my best friends," I shrug.

"I thought George was your best friend?" Dad asks, leading to an awkward pause. "Okay, okay, I'll drive you to Laura's tomorrow. Just- just don't prove your grandparents right by coming home in a skirt, okay?"

"I promise," I say with a smug grin. I won't be coming home in one, but I can't guarantee I won't be wearing one at some point tomorrow...

Sure enough, the following morning, I arrive at Laura's house wearing a plain (albeit new) sweater and pair of jeans, but within half an hour I've changed into a pair of thick black tights, a knee-length grey skirt and a girlish pink blouse... And everything suddenly feels right, as though this was who I was meant to be, especially once I've had make-up applied to my face.

"Thank you for letting me dress like this, Mrs. White," I say as I sit down next to Laura on the sofa.

"I suppose it isn't doing anyone any harm," Mrs. White says, making it clear from the tone of her voice just how big a favour she's doing me. "And Laura's told me that you've booked in to see your GP next week- that's all the proof I need that allowing you to, well, 'be yourself' is the right thing to do."

"The day of my GP appointment was the first day I ever got to dress as a girl," Laura says. "That was almost three years ago! After the appointment, mum took me shopping and bought me a skirt... I think I wore that skirt every day for a month!"

"So jealous," I sigh as I smooth my own skirt over my knees.

"Obviously it's not been all good," Laura says with a sombre voice. "But it was the best thing that ever happened to me, becoming a girl. And it'll be the best thing that ever happens to you, too!" I smile as Laura and I share a girlish hug, before a knock comes from the front door and we're joined by Suri and her sister, who greet us both with girlish hugs.

"SO good to see you being happy and girly!" Suri says as she hugs me. "Even if it does mean I become single every time you pull on a skirt, heh."

"Well I for one can't wait for us 'magnificent seven' to finally, properly be a 'seven'!" Priya laughs as she gives me a hug.

"Thank you so much for agreeing to come with me on Wednesday," I say to the fifteen year old girl.

"Hey, when you're not my sister's boyfriend, you're one of my best friends," Priya says. "Girls gotta watch out for each other, right?"

"Right!" I cheer as Suri and Laura join Priya and I in a group hug. For the next five hours, the four of us share a proper girly day. We braid each other's hair- taking extra-special care with Priya's almost waist-length hair- we paint each other's nails (even if my nail polish has to be removed before I go home), we gossip about school and about ballet... And every second of the experience is something I treasure.

When it comes time to strip away my girlishness, I briefly hesitate, and for one second, I actually consider taking Mrs. White up on her offer, of driving home in my skirt, letting her talk to my parents and introducing myself to them as their daughter... But as my 'dream' reaches that point, it becomes a nightmare, as I imagine dad's furious reaction, his forbidding me from ever having any contact with my friends, from ever wearing a skirt again, from ever being a proper girl... At least the way I am now, I can be a girl some of the time. Some is much better than none. But at the same time, 'some' will never become 'all' unless I tell my parents…

“We’ll bring your new clothes to school, first day of the new term, so you can take them home,” Laura says as her mother drops me off back at home. “Ash… I meant what I said. I really do believe that this time next year, you’ll be just as girly as I am.”

“As girly as WE are!” Suri giggles, giving my arm a cuddle and my cheek a long kiss before I get out of the car.

“See you on Wednesday!” Priya says, waving as she and my friends drive away.

“Evening, Ash!” Dad says as I walk through the front door. "Bloody Ipswich, nicking it at the last minute... Though, of course, given that they didn’t bounce the ball in their hands, I’m assuming you’re not that interested?”

“You assume right,” I say. Though not just for that reason…

“Though I suppose if you’re hanging out with your friends all day, it means you’re not going to burn through the credit on your new phone in five seconds flat,” dad laughs. “You- you did like all your presents, didn’t you? I hope we didn’t overload you with Star Wars stuff…” I bristle slightly- now’s as good a time as ever to be honest with dad, to tell him with I truly wanted for Christmas, but I can’t shake the ‘worst case scenario’ out of my brain.

“I liked all my presents,” I say. “Especially the phone!”

“Even the football boots?” Dad asks. “Ash, don’t feel that you have to spare our feelings, if there’s stuff you’d rather have got, tell us!”

“Well, I, um,” I stammer. “I…”

“Go on,” dad says.

“I… I kinda needed new dance shoes,” I mumble. “Mine are starting to split a little…”

“Ugh, and you told me that before Christmas,” dad sighs. It actually takes me a couple of seconds to realise that his disappointment is directed toward himself for forgetting to get me new shoes, rather than toward me for needed dance shoes in the first place. “Well- you’ve got time before your next dance lesson, I’ll take you out during the week, we’ll get some from that store your dance teacher endorses. How does Wednesday sound?”

“Great!” I say, before remembering that I have another, even more important appointment on Wednesday. “Umm… Thursday would be better, actually…”

“Thursday’s New Year’s Eve,” dad chuckles. “I’ll be working all day, mate. What are you doing on Wednesday that’s so important?”

“Umm, just hanging out with Suri,” I lie. “In the morning.”

“Then we’ll go shopping in the afternoon,” dad shrugs. “You want black leather shoes, soft sole, size 6, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. Even though they should be stiff, pink, satin pointe shoes in that size, I think to myself. And all being well, this time next year, they may very well be that type of shoe.

Before I get into bed, I take the dress I wore on Christmas Eve out of my suitcase and carefully lay it out on my bed, frowning at the creases in the delicate material. Before changing into my pyjamas, I pull the dress over my head and smile as I feel the soft fabric swish around my legs with every step I take. Even though it’s crumpled and creased, it’s still a dress, it’s still beautiful, it’s still girly, and most importantly, it’s still mine, the property of MISS Ashley Moore.

I carefully fold the dress back into my suitcase, making a mental note to iron it, before changing into my pyjamas and climbing into bed, trying my hardest to cling to the memories of the dress flowing around my legs, and the feelings from earlier today of my tights- MY tights- clinging to my legs, of my skirt falling softly over my thighs, of my make-up making me look just as beautiful as Laura and the other girls…

When I wake up, though, the only feeling I get from my clothes is that of a sticky sensation on the front of my pyjama bottoms. I moan as I stuff my pyjamas into the laundry, before changing into my new jeans and sweatshirt and heading downstairs, where I’m forced to let out a giggle at the sight of Cassie and Dorothy still wearing the tutus they got for Christmas yesterday.

“You do know they’re not real clothes, right?” I ask my sisters.

“Yes they are!” Cassie argues. “They cover me, so they’re clothes!”

“If you covered yourself with a cardboard box, would that make the box clothes?” I ask.

“YES!” Cassie boldly replies.

“Fair enough,” I giggle. “Who am I to argue with a princess?”

“Come on, Dorothy,” Cassie says, taking our younger sister’s hand. “We’ve got princess things to do!”

“Aww,” mum sighs as the two little girls go into the living room to play, whilst I head into the kitchen for breakfast. “They are SO adorable… Pity I know it’s not going to last!”

“Just as long as they know their baby brother ISN’T going to be a princess!” Dad chuckles. “Obviously he’ll be adorable, but in his own way, like his big bro was!”

“’Was’, thanks,” I say, making dad snort.

“Boys don’t get to be adorable, not once they learn to walk and talk, anyway!” Dad says. “You’ll have to settle for ‘cool’ and, if you’re really lucky, ‘rugged’. Hell, a couple of years from now, you’ll actually need to learn how to shave! I’ve even picked out a razor for you, got it all ready and waiting!” The only place I want to use that razor is on my legs, I think to myself.

“…Thanks,” I mumble.

“What’ve you got planned for today?” Mum asks. “Hanging out with your hundreds of girlfriends again?”

“No,” I sigh. “Suri’s grandparents are over from India, Laura’s visiting her grandmother today…”

“You mean we’re actually going to see you for a whole day during this holiday?” Mum teases. “Assuming you don’t vanish to your room for the rest of the day, anyway!”

“I’m not promising anything,” I say, making my parents laugh, though any plans to head to my room for some ‘Miss Ashley’ time are thwarted when a knock comes from the front door, which I open to reveal the smiling faces of my father’s parents.

“Hello Ashley!” Grandpa Chris says, giving me a hearty pat on the shoulder, before Grandma Jo gives me a quick hug.

“Oh my,” grandma Jo says as she sees Cassie and Dorothy in their tutus. “Aren’t you two just the most beautiful ballerinas ever?” Despite myself, I let out a giggle as Dorothy enthusiastically nods, whilst Cassie dances a few steps for my grandparents.

“Grandpa and Grandma are here!” Cassie yells as she dances, whilst I lead the middle-aged couple into the living room.

“Hi Chris! Hi Jo!” Mum says as she lowers her expanding form into a chair. “Bryony! Grandpa and grandma are here!”

“Are you sure that girl’s nine and not nineteen?” Grandma Jo chuckles.

“That’s the thing about having lots of children,” mum laughs. “The older ones get older a lot quicker than they should. Speaking of, Ash, show your grandparents your new phone!” I blush slightly, before grabbing my phone and showing it to Grandpa Chris.

“Oh, that is nice,” my grandfather coos as he handles the phone and compares it to his own expensive smartphone. “I take it you thanks your parents properly for this?”

“Of course,” I say. “And thank you too for my videogame.”

“You’re more than welcome, Ashley!” Grandma Jo laughs. “I hope we got the right one, that it’s not too young for you…”

“No, no, it was fine,” I say, bringing a smile to my grandmother’s face, even as I secretly wish that I’d received the same gift that they’d bought for my sisters- matching bracelets in a very feminine pink and silver.

“Grandma! Grandpa!” Bryony yells as she rushes over to my grandparents to give them each a hug.

“Hello, Bryony!” Grandma Jo chuckles. “How much make-up do you NEED to wear, young lady?”

“I’m only wearing eyeliner and lipstick,” Bryony complains, little knowing how envious even this amount of make-up is making me. “Thank you very much for my bracelet.”

“Ah, you’re very welcome,” Grandpa Chris laughs. “Did your parents not get you a tutu like your sisters, then? Or are you much too old and mature for things like that now?”

“…I got a tutu too,” Bryony says, her own cheeks starting to flush.

“Well then, go on, show us!” Grandpa Chris urges as Bryony starts to cringe.

“It’s silly,” Bryony complains. I’ll wear it if you don’t want to, I think to myself.

“Come on, just this once, for your old granddad?” Grandpa Chris asks.

“Well… Okay,” Bryony mumbles, traipsing up the stairs and returning minutes later wearing a pair of pink tights and her own pink tutu.

“Beautiful!” Grandma Jo says, taking out her own smartphone and kneeling down in front of the three girls. “Come on, smile for the camera!”

“They are not going to thank for that photo fifteen years from now, mum!” Dad laughs as Bryony, Cassie and Dorothy pose for the camera, even doing a few steps as our grandmother records a video.

“Ashley should dance with us!” Cassie suddenly exclaims in the middle of her ‘performance’, catching me- and our parents and grandparents- off-guard.

“No, no, no,” Grandma Jo coos. “YOU’RE the ballerinas! You can’t be a ballerina if you’re a boy, can you?”

“But he’s a better dancer than us,” Cassie complains as I try to put Grandma Jo’s comment about ballerinas and boys out of my head.

“Yeah,” Bryony says. “He’s been dancing for over a year, we’ve only been going to ballet for a few weeks.”

“…I don’t mind,” I shrug. Even if I will only be wearing a t-shirt and my leggings, instead of those gorgeous costumes…

“Oh, let the boy dance,” Grandpa Chris laughs. “See if he’s as good as he’s made out to be!”

“Thanks, Bryony,” I say sarcastically, making my sister blush while the adults in the room all laugh.

“Go on, Ash, go and get changed,” Grandma Jo chuckles, making me smile as I run up the stairs, returning five minutes later in my t-shirt, leggings and worn-out dance shoes. As promised, I perform a quick routine for the camera, taking care only to dance the male steps taught to be by Miss Fullerton instead of the female steps ‘taught’ to me by Laura, Suri and the other girls. I even briefly dance with Bryony, much to the younger girl’s embarrassment at her relative lack of skill.

“Bravo!” Grandpa Chris says, giving me a standing ovation as I finish. “Why couldn’t you have been as talented as Ashley when you were a boy?”

“Oh leave me alone,” dad moans. “I didn’t do too badly, did I?”

“Not everybody can be as… ‘Artistic’ as Ashley,” Grandma Jo reprimands her husband, even as I blush from his praise. “Though you are a very, very good dancer! I’ll bet all the girls in your class want to dance with you!”

“Probably not as much as Ashley wants to dance with them!” Grandpa Chris chuckles. You’re right, grandpa, I think to myself. Just not in the way you’re thinking…

I keep my t-shirt and leggings on for the rest of my grandparents’ visit- which only consists of a quick lunch in front of the television- before heading upstairs to my bedroom to change. However, I don’t change back into my jeans and my sweatshirt. As I enter my bedroom, I pull back my sheets, smiling as I see what I hid away whilst changing into my t-shirt and leggings. There, on my bed, is a pair of soft pink tights and a girl’s pale blue leotard. I waste no time I stripping off my t-shirt and my leggings and tossing them in the laundry, before slowly sliding the tights up my legs and stepping into the leotard, shivering with excitement as I stretch the clingy material across my chest. I pin my hair back using silver hair clips Harriet ‘donated’ to me, before wrapping a flimsy, translucent dance skirt around my waist. Even though the dance shoes on my feet are my own black leather ones rather than any of my friends’ pink canvas or satin ones, and I’m wearing absolutely zero make-up, when I stare in the mirror, the ‘illusion’ is complete- I AM just like any other girl going to her ballet lesson.

I spend the next twenty minutes performing all the female steps I wanted to downstairs but- for obvious reasons- couldn’t, before taking the photocopies pages Miss Fullerton and my friends gave me and running through the various foot-strengthening exercises, the same exercises my six friends were doing over the past few months before they received their pointe shoes. I don’t just look like a girl, as I dance and do my exercises I FEEL like a girl… And those feelings don’t go away even as I strip off my dancewear and pull my jeans and sweatshirt back on. In the past I’ve read columns by various famous transgendered people such as Nikki Thomas, who explained that in the weeks leading up to the start of their transition, they felt less and less like boys pretending to be girls, and more like girls pretending to be boys. It’s not until today, as I stare at my reflection, my supposedly male reflection, that I know what they mean.

Three days- and three ‘Miss Ashley’ sessions, two at home and one at Harriet’s house- later, Priya, Suri and I find ourselves sitting in the cramped waiting room of my local GP. I start to tremble slightly as my name is called, but Suri’s hand quickly finds its way to mine, giving it a quick, supportive squeeze.

“Just tell him everything,” Suri whispers. “We’ll be waiting out here until you’re done.” I nod, squeezing Suri’s hand back, before heading into the small room where the doctor is sat with a smile on his face.

“Hello Ashley,” Doctor Singh says. “Are you here without your parents today?”

“Yes,” I say nervously as I sit down. “It’s- it’s a personal thing I want to talk about.”

“Of course,” Dr Singh says. “How can I help you today?”

“I- I think I’m transsexual,” I say, my heart beating twice as fast as normal. “I- I feel like a girl, a girl trapped in a boy’s body.”

“Okay,” Dr Singh says, nodding matter-of-factly. “Tell me more, and I’ll see what help we can give you.” I laugh nervously as I continue speaking, amazed that the confession, the thing I’ve wanted to say for so long was accepted so unquestioningly.

I leave the appointment with a smile on my face and a referral to a counsellor who works with the counsellor Laura regularly sees. Obviously, I can’t see her in person without my parents either being present or driving me to her. Even if I got a lift from a friend’s parent, it’d raise too many questions, but there’s nothing stopping me from having telephone consultations, especially now that I have a mobile phone of my own.

On the afternoon of Monday, 18th January, I‘m sat on my bed, nervously wringing my hands together in anticipation. Finally, at exactly 4:15pm, my phone buzzes and vibrates on my bedside table.

“He-hello?” I ask nervously.

“Hello, is that Ashley?” The kind-sounding middle-aged woman asks. “This is Doctor Elaine Maxwell, I believe you’re expecting my call?”

“Hi, yes, this is Ashley,” I say.

“It’s nice to speak to you, Ashley,” the doctor says. “Your GP referred you to me because of a suspected case of gender dysphoria, is that correct?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“I understand,” Dr Maxwell says. “You need to understand that I can’t issue a diagnosis of gender dysphoria over the telephone, that can only be diagnosed following two face-to-face appointments. What I can do, however, is offer help and advice, to listen to what you have to say and help you through what is undoubtedly a difficult time.”

“I understand,” I say.

“This initial call can take up to an hour, are you okay to speak now?” Dr Maxwell asks.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m okay,” I say with a smile. And I am okay. I truly do feel okay. I don’t know whether it’s the smooth black tights on my legs, the knee-length skirt hanging from my waist, or the three uniformed teenage girls in my bedroom offering moral support that’s making me feel as positive as I am right now, and frankly, I don’t care. All I know is that, after so, so many setbacks, I’m finally a step closer to being that which I always wanted to be, a step closer to being who I always wanted to be- a person called MISS Ashley Moore.

Of course, I’m still thousands upon thousands of steps away from my goal. But I am at least facing in the right direction, and as I bare my soul to Dr Maxwell, a part of me believes that maybe, just maybe, by Christmas 2016, I WILL be unwrapping the same feminine gifts my sisters did this Christmas just gone.