I looked up at my games teacher and his expression told me that he had seen me take part in the cricket game.   I knew I was in so much deep doodly doo-dah.   The Price To Pay - Vol. 2.09 - Balls! by Alys

"Aren't you boiling in that blazer?" asked Ceri lying sitting next to me in the sun, midst a mixed group of year 10 pupils*, enjoying the hot weather of our lunchtime school break.

"No, I'm fine," I lied, feeling quite uncomfortable in my extra layers," it's quite cool here in the shade."

"Suit yourself," he responded," but I don't know why you're under that tree, it's lovely here."

"Remember I got badly sun-burnt at half-term down in Tenby, I'm trying to avoid that again," I replied.

Ceri nodded his head an returned his attention to the furious game of cricket going on in the middle of the school field. The year 12 team were giving my team, year 10, a torrid time as their greater strength and experience enabled them to score quickly.

As a previous stalwart I had received a number of invitations to play but had declined. I had already got out of games and PE with a note from Doctor Thomas excusing me on the basis of a vague reference to 'post-operative trauma'. The last thing I wanted was to be observed by the games department taking part in a regular game showing no obvious infirmity. Another consideration was my lack of confidence in my tight T-shirt and loose shirt concealing the recent changes in my body shape.

There were cheers from the group of year 12 pupils as one of their batsmen hit the ball almost out of the field in response to a poor piece of bowling.

"Harri's hopeless," groaned Ceri, " I don't understand why you're not playing Celyn, you know you're much better."

"I'm not supposed," I replied," you know that, Doctor's orders."

"You look OK to me, you know," countered my fellow spectator.

"Celyn why don't you go and bowl?" shouted Sioned from a few metres away," we're going to get slaughtered otherwise."

I looked at her and shrugged my shoulders in a negative response even while sharing the frustration of my companions at the poor performance of our team.

There was a sudden loud 'smack!' as a hard hit ball struck one of our players in his leg. There was a collective sigh as the injured boy dropped to the ground in obvious great pain. He was immediately surrounded by a concerned group of fellow players. Soon he was being half carried off the field in the direction of the gym in the company of Mr Jones.

The remainder of the year 10 pupils on the field held a quick conference to decide on a replacement for their stricken team-mate. Siá´n, in his role as captain, looked around the crowd for someone who could be enlisted into the game. I watched as he scanned the group of supporters while he discussed the various merits of the pupils available. To my surprise his gaze stopped at me. There was a quick conversation and then Siá´n, accompanied by Harri and Gethyn, quickly walked over to where I was sheltering.

"Hey Celyn can you help us out?" asked Siá´n.

"Sorry, you know I can't play," I responded, shaking my head.

"Come on Cel, you only need to do a bit a fielding," countered Harri.

"Just stand here in the deep," said Siá´n," you might not have to do anything at all, but we need to make up the numbers."

I stood there for a few seconds while I considered whether fielding in a distant position was compatible with my stated inability to do any organised sports.

In the meantime others in my group of supporters had joined in with the encouragement and soon there seemed to be no alternative to taking part. I nodded my assent, to some muffled cheers in the near vicinity, gingerly took off my blazer and joined the game, standing as far from the action as possible.

The game resumed and soon, almost despite myself, I became engrossed in the tense struggle. I looked intently at the powerful year 12 batsmen laying into our bowling. I could see that they were getting a bit over-confident in their ability to almost score at will and wondered how I might be able to do something to undermine their self-belief.

Suddenly an opportunity arose, a ball was hit in my direction and the two batting players set off at a leisurely jog anticipating two easy runs. Instead of waiting for the ball to reach me I sprinted forward to pick it up and throw it in one fluid action. The ball flew in a low arc and broke the wicket. The defeated batsman stopped running and after staring at the shattered stumps in astonishment turned and walked away to greet his replacement.

There was the sound of applause and some cheering from the ranks of the year 10s.

"Great throw Celyn!" shouted Ceri from the crowd.

I walked over to receive the congratulations of the rest of the team and, after that had died down, then sought out Siá´n and had a quick chat with him. He nodded his head in agreement with my suggestion and then I returned to my position on the field.

A few minutes later an opportunity arose for Siá´n to put the plan into operation. He was bowling against the other member of year 12 who had been so successful against us for the last quarter of an hour. He threw up an easy looking ball. The batsman prepared for a mighty strike as the small red sphere slowly flew towards him. At the very last second the ball hit the ground and spun crazily towards the rapidly moving bat. As a result the cricket ball went straight up into the air falling down towards where I was standing.

I stood and prepared myself for a difficult catch but in a fraction of a second realised that the ball wasn't going to reach me. I quickly started running towards where I had anticipated the red sphere's descent to reach. As I neared the place where I thought I would be able to take the catch I realised I wasn't going to make it. I threw myself forward and, just before the ball hit the ground, I was able to get a hand in the way.

The loud slap of hardened leather on my hand was almost as bad a sound as it was a painful feeling.

This time the applause and the cheering of my year group was at a much higher level.

"Great catch Celyn, can't see much sign of post-operative trauma in the way you made up the ground though," said a familiar voice.

I looked up at my games teacher and his expression told me that he had seen me take part in the cricket game. I knew I was in so much deep doodly doo-dah.

"Celyn, I want you in the lesson tomorrow with your kit and no excuses!" insisted Mr Jones, with a strong note of exasperation in his voice.

Later on, after school was finished, I sat in my room feeling very depressed. I couldn't see anyway out of an impossible situation. How could I refuse to take part in the games lesson after the way Mr Jones had seen me taking part in the lunchtime game. On the other hand any games lesson would be full of potential pitfalls.

The worst of them having to get undressed and dressed in the vicinity of the boys in the male dressing room. How long before one of them noticed my different body shape and drew the obvious conclusion. I knew I was far from the only pupil who liked watching old episodes of Jerry Springer on cable.

I felt the vibration of my phone in my pocket announcing the arrival of a message. I quickly took it out and read it.

"r u ok?" was the message.

I looked at the name identity and noticed to my surprise it was my stalker. It had been over a week since he or she had last communicated with me, which I found to be an omission that was easy to be happy about.

I replied in a non-committedly way," not 2 bad and u?"

"u look upset 2day, what's up?" came a rapid response.

"got 2 do games 2morrow," I typed.

"why?" asked my stalker.

"Jones saw me play criket, I supposed 2 B unfit," I sent.

"Oops, tricky" was the quick reply.

I waited to see if there was any other comments from my mysterious text sender. After a minute or two of inactivity I put my phone down and busied myself with putting my school clothes either in my washing basket or in my wardrobe before changing into a comfortable loose t-shirt and shorts. There was a sudden vibration from my phone. It was a message from Siá´n.

"Great play today, u coming to club on Sat?"

I carefully considered the appropriate reply to my friend's suggestion of rejoining the local cricket club and finally typed," maybe, c how I feel."

Another vibration indicated a further message but it wasn't from Siá´n.

"Tell them u've Klinefelter," suggested my stalker.

"?" I responded, puzzled by the reference.

"google it," came the explanation.

I turned on my laptop and spent the next fifteen minutes or so investigating the syndrome. It seemed like a possible temporary solution to my problems. It would have enough of an explanation for my perceived bodily changes without hinting at the complete nature of my gender alteration. It would give me an excuse not to change in the changing room.

There was one thing that worried me though. The extent of knowledge of my stalker about my condition.

"good idea, how u know so much bout me?" I sent.

There was a delay before there was a enigmatic reply," can't say in text."

I was a little irritated at the reticence my stalker to relieve his or her source of information even though he or she had claimed to want to help.

"Then meet me to tell me then!" I sent angrily.

There was another delay before the phone vibrated again.

"Yes, but one condition," was the reply.

"What's that?" I asked, wondering at the meaning behind such a phrase.

"You come as a girl," was the completely unexpected reply.

"Why?" I asked, failing to think of a possible reason for such request.

"For my security," was the final puzzling explanation.

*year 10 UK = 9th Grade USA