It was quite an early start on Tuesday morning. I’d committed to myself that I was going to follow a normal school day routine, even though I’d be studying on my own. I’d not be doing myself any favours, if I allowed myself long lie ins or spent all morning watching You Tube.

I’d had a decent night’s sleep, after James had left at about 10pm last night; albeit after a bit of encouragement. We had gotten very comfortably snuggling on the sofa, and I think James was prepared to stay the night. I didn’t expect to see him today, as he was going to the gym, as usual on a Tuesday, with Martin and Mike.

On top of the study goals that I’d set myself for the day, number one priority was that I needed to speak to the college admissions office. I also wanted to go for a run; I had realised that I’d not done any exercise for about a week, and was starting to feel a bit lazy. I’d not fancied going to the gym with the others, like I had used to - assuming that the standing invitation was still open.

After making myself a cup of coffee, I studied from my Economics textbook for about an hour, before calling the college. I’d only be registering with them to sit the exams I had been planning on taking at school; I wasn’t going to be attending the college for any classes. After discussing further with my Mum, I wasn’t going to attend their exam revision courses.

“Good morning, Swinley College Admissions. Lyne speaking. How can I help you?” said the cheery voice that answered the phone.

“Morning. My name’s Sam Walker. I’m calling to register for some A-level exams.”

“Okay, Sam. I can help you with that. Do you know what exams you want to sit?”

“Great, thanks. Yes, I do. However, I’m transferring from a local school; they said they’d speak to someone at your end yesterday. Do you know if they did that?” I asked.

“Oh, that would make things a bit easier. I wasn’t in yesterday, as I only work Tuesday to Thursday. Let me just look into that. I’ll be back in two minutes. Just popping you on hold, Sam. Okay?”

I agreed to Lyne’s suggestion, and was put on hold. After less than a minute, Lyne returned.

“Hello, Sam, are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Thanks for waiting. Okay, yes, we received an email yesterday afternoon, that lists all the exams you’re currently registered for. It should simply be a case of getting you registered with us as a new student; we’ll then liaise with the examining body to get your exam centre changed. If that’s okay, we can get you registered now?”

“Thanks Lyne. Yes, please, if we can take care of it now, that would be great.”

“Brill. It shouldn’t take too long; just have to enter your details on our system. Just one moment, whilst my computer opens up the right screen. It’s been on a bit of a go slow this morning.”

“Okay,” I answered, just to fill the momentary silence.

“Ah, here we go. Finally loaded,” Lyne went on, as I could hear her typing, “So? Your full name, is Sam short for Samantha?” Lyne asked.

“Er, no, my full name is Samuel John Walker,” I felt embarrassed to correct her.

“Oh,” Lyne briefly paused, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. You’re just, erm, very softly spoken.” Lyne was clearly more embarrassed than me. “I’m so sorry, I should have realised with the email coming from King’s School. I don’t suppose they have many Samantha’s there!” she joked

“It’s okay, Lyne, it’s not a problem. It’s, erm, a bit complicated.”

Without going into my story from the past few weeks, I wanted to let Lyne know her mistaken assumption was completely understandable. I didn’t want this friendly, helpful lady feeling bad. I’d been exclusively using this voice for almost a week. I woke up using it; I was thinking using it and think I was also dreaming with it. I wasn’t even thinking about it, any more.

“That’s okay, Sam. Believe me, life often is!” Lyne went on, “Gender?”

“Male,” I answered, before surprising myself with my own confidence and then asking, “Can that potentially be changed at a later date?”

“Yes, of course, Sam,” Lyne answered, before continuing to work down the form she was completing, “What are your preferred pronouns?”

“Erm, I’m not entirely sure I understand,” I answered, although I was ninety-nine percent sure that I did.

“Oh, okay. Well, it’s what you want to be known by. Our form allows for he, she, they and other. However, I don’t think anyone has ever chosen ‘other’ though, I don’t know what that would be,” said Lyne, clearly smiling from the tone of her voice.

“Erm?” I mumbled.

“It can be completely independent of any other part of the form; if that helps?” suggested Lyne.

“Yes, it does, thanks,” I added, not knowing if Lyne had picked up on my concern that saying anything other than ‘he’ when the gender box had ‘male’ wouldn’t be allowed. “Can you put ‘she’,” I answered.

Lyne then went on to ask for my nationality, ethnicity, contact details, next of kin, educational history and some other much more random feeling details that I couldn’t imagine how a college would ever use.

“Okay, Sam, we’re all done with the form,” Lyne advised, “We’ll process this, and send you all of the on-boarding details in the next few days. If you don’t receive those by this time next week, please give us a call,” Lyne advised, pausing to get my acknowledgement, “You will need to come into the college for ten minutes or so to get an ID card arranged, but as you won’t be sitting your exams for about a month, you don’t need to do that urgently. I’d suggest either popping in a week before your first exam, or get it done sooner, if you want to use any of the college facilities. If that’s okay, I think we’re all done. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, thanks for all your help. And sorry for being so difficult.” I said.

“Not at all. You’re welcome. Have a lovely day. Bye bye, and good luck with your exams.”

I said goodbye to Lyne, and immediately went back to my studying. I had worked through a complete chapter of the textbook by midday; ‘The Determinants of Aggregate Demand.” This had left me well ahead of where I had expected and needed to be, and all of the topic material seemed to make sense. Given the good progress, I decided to take a longer break for lunch than I had planned. I’d take a quick run and a shower, in addition to walking Barney and getting some food.

From last Thursday’s shopping trip with Claire, I only had one set of gym wear. I dug that out of the wardrobe that I’d still not properly arranged. As I’d be running on the hard pavements of some quiet streets around the house, I wasn’t going to wear the fashion trainers that we had bought; I needed to wear my running shoes that I spotted were actually good colour match with my leggings and cropped vest top.

I then realised I wasn’t sure if this was what girls wore for running. I’d definitely seen similar outfits worn in the gym, but wasn’t sure if it were suitable. I couldn’t picture what women running wore. I then realised I was worrying, again. “Could I run in it?” I asked myself, and when I answered that it was, I logically reasoned it was indeed suitable. I’d remove my necklace and tie my hair back though; I didn’t want either of those flying in my face on each step.

Having not done any exercise for over a week, my legs took a while to get going and my breathing wasn’t as controlled as it should have been. After about five minutes, I had found my pace, and felt like I was pushing myself, albeit comfortably; I wasn’t in a race, after all.

Despite my hair being tied back, my high pony did swoosh from side to side. Unexpectedly, however, it wasn’t annoying or even distracting. In fact, along with my breathing pattern it acted like some kind of metronome, keeping my running pace steady. My boobs were a different matter. The supposed sports-bra that was built into the vest top was not doing its job. I don’t think it was just that the jiggling and bouncing whilst running was a new sensation to me; I felt like there was too much movement m. I wondered whether the top would be more effective with real boobs, as it obviously wouldn’t have been designed for this situation.

I finished my regular three-and-a-half mile circular route in just over thirty-three minutes; a little bit off my usual nine and a quarter minute mile time. Walking up the driveway back to the house, I was also more tired, and sweatier than usual; despite it being a relatively cool day. “That’s what happens, when you’re lazy for a week,” I told myself.

After downing a glass of tap water, I immediately took Barney out for his walk. It was about a five minute walk to get to the park, just up the main road towards town.

“Beeeep!” went a horn, as a van slowed as it went passed. “You can take me for a walk anytime, love!” shouted the vans passenger, before driving away.

“What does that even mean?!” I thought to myself. “Dickhead!” As I carried on the short walk to the park.

Once through the gates I let Barney off his lead, and he happily bounced off. He was well trained as a puppy, and knew he’d always respond to my calls.

“Hi there,” I heard someone say over my shoulder, “that’s a very handsome labrador you have there.”

I turned to see a middle-aged man enter the park gates behind me, with a german shepherd on a leash. A man, and dog, I’ve seen in this park countless times, over several years of walking Barney here.

“Hi. Thanks,” before turning back towards where Barney was, and walking towards him.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. Are you new to the area? I’m Tony, by the way,” said the man, causing me to stop and turn around.

“Sam. And no. I just don’t usually come here at this time,” I replied. Thinking to myself, “I usually come here at about 5pm nearly every day, at around the same time as you; and we have never even acknowledged each other before.” “I must go and make sure Barney isn’t getting into any trouble. Bye,” I said, walking off.

“Bye, Sam,” called Tony.

We stayed in the park for about ten minutes, allowing Barney to pick up all the smells he wanted to find, and play with some of the other more well-behaved dogs.

Walking back down the main road away from town, another van driver was keen for me to know he was a moron, wolf-whistling at me out of his open van window, as he waiting at a red light, on the opposite side of the road. “Need a lift somewhere, gorgeous?”

After drawing my gaze with the whistling noise, I had looked away immediately and now just ignored him, and carried on walking home.

“Stuck-up bitch!” he called out, as the lights changed to green. I continued to ignore him.

“Hmm?” I thought to myself. “Perhaps this is my fault? I am wearing a top with a bare midriff and figure hugging leggings.”

I reflected for one moment, “Nah! They’re just dickheads!” I concluded.

“Beep! Beep!” went my phone, less than two minutes after walking through the front door. It was James.

“Hey Babe! Hope you managed to get through the night without me? ;) XXX”

“Just about! It was touch and go for a while. But, I survived! XX”

“Good! Wish we could do that every night. I told my Mum you won’t be coming on Friday. She was cool. She does, want to say hi. Gave her your number. Hope that’s okay. XXX”

Whether it was okay or not, it was now done. It was however, fine. I had always got on with Emma and Alan. Although, I wasn’t living as a girl, and sleeping with their only son, at the time.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Do you know what she wants? XX”

“Not sure. Sorry. You having a good day? Managed to drag yourself out of bed, and change out of those funny, shrunken pyjamas yet? ;) XXX”

“Funny? You don’t think they’re cute? I’ve been up since seven-thirty, I’ll have you know! I need do get back to study now. Love you! XX”

“I think you’re cute. The pyjamas I can take or leave. Love you too! XXX”

I went back to studying. It was going to be an afternoon of contract law. Maths, Economics and Law. I had no idea what career I wanted, but had decided to study Economics with Law at university.

I was reminded that I had forgotten to put my phone on silent, when it beeped about half-an-hour later. As part of my study routine, I’d told myself that I’d only check my phone on breaks. I couldn’t, however, ignore it now I knew I had a message.

I picked it up off the desk, expecting it to be from an unknown number. I was expecting it to be from Emma. It wasn’t. It was from Ms Greenwood. Sarah.

“Hi Sam. I’ve heard you won’t be coming back to school. I was sorry to hear this. Are you free for a chat, and maybe a coffee? Say, 11am tomorrow? Let me know. X"