I bite my lip as I stare at my friend, trying to judge her reaction to what I just said — is it surprise, or shock, or, as much as I hope it isn’t, disgust?

“…Bailey?” I ask hesitantly. “Did you hear — I, umm, I meant what I said. I’ve — I’ve always wished that I was a girl. Pl- please say something?” I bite my lip as Bailey looks at me, her mouth slightly ajar as she tries to find the words to reply. Please, I think to myself. Please be understanding, is that really too much to ask for?

“H- how,” Bailey stammers, sounding almost as anxious as I feel right now. “How- how l- long have you f- felt like th- this?” My whole body starts to decompress as a supportive smile spreads across my friend’s face, and within moments tears start flowing freely from my eyes. The next thing I know, Bailey is holding me tightly, not making a sound as I weep into her shoulder.

I don’t know how much time passes as I sob, but Bailey keeps her arms around me the whole time, only letting go and offering me a tissue once I'm able to breathe normally again.

“Th- this wasn’t wh- what I w- was expecting t- today,” Bailey says with a quiet, almost nervous giggle.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“You d- don’t need to ap- apologise,” Bailey says softly. “Th- this m- must have b- been so hard f- for you t- to say to me. I- I f- feel honoured that you c- could t- trust me with this.” Even though I left myself with no other choice but to trust you? I think to myself, before smiling and accepting Bailey’s words as the truth that they so obviously are.

“Thanks,” I whisper. “And I — I genuinely think I can trust you most of anyone I know. Heh, especially including my sisters.”

“A- are they t- transphobic?” Bailey asks.

“Not, like, openly,” I reply. “They — ugh.” I pause and take a deep breath before continuing — if my last ‘confession’ was difficult, this one will be a hundred times worse. “When we were kids — like, not just me, but my sisters too, we — ugh. They — they’d like to play games. Like, with me. They — and you have to realise that they’re both, like, at least ten years older than me, they’d — they’d like to, you know, dress me up. In their clothes, in their costumes and shit like that. They — not for, like, any fun on my part, they — umm...”

“B- bullied you,” Bailey interrupts, sighing and giving me another hug as my tears restart. “Y- you d- don’t have to c- continue if- if-”

“No, I — heh,” I sigh. “It feels good to talk, you know? But — yeah. My sisters, they — they certainly thought more about their own fun than mine, and it’s not like they, you know, beat me or anything, and certainly nothing, you know, pervy happened either, it was all for their fun rather than, like, ‘gratification’ or whatever.”

“H- how does that m- make it right, though?” Bailey asks, and I’m forced to concede that she has a point.

“…It doesn’t,” I reply. “It — I dunno. They eventually stopped doing it, anyway, and Sonia at least seems to have grown beyond it, but — yeah. It also means I haven’t had the chance to be ‘Lisa’ for years now.”

“D- do you th- think that this is wh- why you- why y- you want to be a g- girl?” Bailey asks, smiling as I shake my head.

“Would it matter if it did?” I reply with a snort. “But I — I don’t know. I talk to a counsellor regularly and they have their theories, but they’re not an expert on gender, they only talk to me about grief about my — my parents….” I let out another sad sigh as Bailey gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

“D- did they — d- don’t answer if y- you d- don’t want, b- but d- did-” Bailey stammers, clearly anxious about the question she wants to ask.

“Did my parents know about ‘Lisa?’ ” I interrupt. “No. They knew about my sisters’ ‘games,’ and punished them all the time, but it never stopped anything, heh. Well, until they died, anyway….” I smile as Bailey gives me another hug, though her simply being here, listening to me and not judging me, is worth more right now than all the hugs in the world.

“D- do you — do you still d- dress up?” Bailey asks, before nervously biting her lip. “F- from time to time, i- in your s- sister’s clothes?”

“No,” I reply with a sad sigh as I shake my head. “I — I wouldn’t dare, you never know if they’ll come back early, or want to video call me, or — ugh.”

“D- do you want to d- dress up?” Bailey asks.

“More than anything,” I sigh as I flop back into my seat. “Some days it’s all I can think about, especially when I’m surrounded by other girls.”

“N- no, I- I mean d- do you want to d- dress up... now?” Bailey asks, biting her lip nervously as I look at her confusedly.

“Well — yeah,” I reply, before frowning. “But I’m, like, a lot taller than you, your sister or even your mum. I have the same problem with my sisters, there’s no way any proper girls’ clothes would fit me-”

“I- I have s- some d- dresses that I- I think would f- fit,” Bailey interrupts as my heart almost skips a beat. “Y- you’re hardly f- fat, and I- I don’t w- wear t- tight clothes l- like Lily or t- the other g- girls, do I?”

“Well — no,” I reply, biting my lip as I ponder my next question. “If — if you don’t mind me asking, why — why do you wear loose clothing like that? You must be roasting in those tights and that cardigan?”

“I- I’m roasting b- because of the h- h- hair on my a- arms and l- legs,” Bailey replies, rolling up the sleeve of her cardigan to show the thin but dark hair on her arms. “I- I c- can’t shave because of d- dyspraxia. S- Same reason I c- can’t wear m- make-up or even f- fasten a b- bra behind me.” I smile sympathetically as my friend rolls her cardigan sleeve back down and her cheeks turn bright red — it had never occurred to me before that I’d never seen her bare arms or her bare legs. “S- some of the g- girls in PE c- class call me m- monkey g- g- girl because of m- my b- body hair.”

“That’s awful,” I say, making clear my disgust at their behaviour. “I hope Lily and the others stick up for you, at least?”

“A- always,” Bailey replies with a sad smile. “W- when they’re n- not playing on sc- school t- teams or being a m- million times b- better than me.”

“They are not ‘a million times better than you!’ ” I protest, not pausing even as my friend’s blushes deepen. “Okay, they are cool, but you’re worth just as much as any of them, if not more.”

“A- and still I w- wish I could b- be as p- pretty as them,” Bailey laments. “I- I even g- get make-up s- sets from my a- aunt for Ch- Christmas and b- birthday that I n- never use even th- though I r- really want to.” I bite my lip as Bailey's offer to me echoes in my mind — how ironic that she's offering me the chance to fulfil my greatest desire when she's unable to fulfil one of her own. How can anyone who knows this amazing girl have any criticism of her?

“Do you — do you want to?” I ask gently. “I mean, my — my hands are fine, I’m great at art, and drawing, I can — I can always try to apply your make-up, if you’d like?” An excited smile spreads across my friend face that I quickly mirror as she realises what I have in mind.

A short while later, Bailey — still trembling with nerves, as am I — opens the door to her bedroom and lets me in, and I can immediately tell what a big step this is for her, to let a relative stranger into her safest of all spaces. Her bedroom doesn’t contain anything I didn’t expect — the walls are covered in floral wallpaper, there’s a bed, obviously, chests of drawers, a wardrobe, a bookcase full of books and several plush toys sitting on small chairs throughout the room. It is, however, a far cry from my plain blue bedroom at home, and oddly, I almost feel more at home in this room than in my own.

My own excitement levels start rising when Bailey reaches into the bottom of her wardrobe and returns with a small, plain plastic tub containing all manner of fancy cosmetics — lipsticks, foundation, eyeliner pencils, mascara and some things I’ve never heard of before. As Bailey sorts through the cosmetics, it’s clear that she’s just as excited as I am.

“O- okay,” Bailey whispers, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. “I- I watch a lot of YouTube t- tutorials so I c- can talk you through wh- what to do first.” I feel myself also starting to shake with nerves as Bailey gently places two tubes of liquid foundation in my hands — it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that one tube is for her, and the other is for me. “A- are you s- sure you want t- to do th- this?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything in my life,” I reply, exchanging a nervous giggle with my friend.

I spend the next thirty minutes in an almost euphoric daze as Bailey talks me through the process of transforming her face from bare — but still pretty — to being just as glamourous as any girl I have ever seen. First was the foundation, followed by thick mascara on her eyelashes, dark eyeliner, a subtle bronze coloured eyeshadow, light blusher and finally light red lipstick. When Bailey puts her glasses back on and sees herself in the mirror for the first time, she almost weeps at the sight she thought she’d never see, before giving me a tight hug and thanking me over and over. And then, just when I thought the day couldn’t get any better… I repeat the process on my own face.

I know I don’t look even remotely feminine — I have a masculine jaw, wide cheekbones and thick eyebrows, and while my cheeks aren’t exactly stubbly, I have had to shave them many times already. And yet, with each cosmetic I apply, I see ‘Liam’ fade further and further into the background as ‘Lisa’ comes to the fore — not the ‘Lisa’ that was forced upon me by my sisters during my childhood, but the ‘real’ Lisa, the ‘Lisa’ I want to be. More specifically, the ‘Lisa’ I feel that I truly am on the inside. After I finish applying my lipstick and rearrange my hair into a more feminine style, I sit back and look at my face in the mirror and despite the fact that my make-up is light, it actually takes me a while to recognise the face as my own — but it then takes no time at all to recognise the face as belong to ‘Lisa.’ ”

“Oh — oh wow, L- Liam,” Bailey gasps as I turn around to face her. “Y- you look really p- pretty.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, blushing as I can’t help but glance at myself in the mirror once again — though I let out a sigh as I look downward toward my legs. “Maybe only pretty from the neck up, heh.”

“Well I- I h- have a s- solution for that,” Bailey says, giggling with nerves as she reaches into the back of her wardrobe and pulls out three dresses, all of which are clearly too big for her but would fit someone with a larger torso — someone like me, for example… “Th- these were g- going to go to a ch- charity shop as I- I was p- probably never going to g- grow into them, b- but — well….”

“Thanks,” I whisper as Bailey gently lays out the dresses on the bed next to me. I can’t help but gently stroke the fabric of the top one — despite the dress itself being relatively plain, long-sleeved and grey with a knee-length flared skirt, it feels smooth underneath my fingers — soft, delicate, even. It’s a far cry from the stiff jeans I’m wearing now, or even the plain but still comfortable black trousers I wear to school. And somehow, feels a lot more ‘welcoming’ than even the clothes my sisters dressed me up in when I was younger. I close my eyes as I imagine what it would feel like on my body before realising that thanks to my friend, I won’t have to imagine for much longer. “C- can I?”

“Of c- course,” Bailey replies, grinning widely as she stands up. “I’ll g- give you some p- privacy. Oh, a- and if you h- have the same p- problem with your l- legs, these are n- new, never b- been worn.” I giggle and nearly hyperventilate as my friend reaches into her drawer and pulls out an unopened packet of opaque black tights, handing them to me before leaving me alone in her room.

Realising that my time is limited, I immediately strip down to just my underpants, sighing at the sight of the wispy hairs on my legs before tingling with excitement as I remember that Bailey literally just handed me the solution to that problem. Taking care not to cause any snags with my fingernails, I open the packet and slowly remove one of the garments, marvelling at how they feel soft, smooth and yet coarse at the same time. These feelings are only amplified as I carefully stretch them over my legs, every inch of them tingling from the sensation of being not just covered, but encased until the waistband is clinging tightly to my navel.

After taking a deep breath to calm myself — and marvelling at how quickly the tights start to feel like a second skin — I pick up the dress, carefully pulling it over my head so as to not smudge my make-up before arranging the elasticated waistband over the top of my tights and letting the skirt fall over my thighs. As I look at myself in Bailey’s full-length mirror, I can’t help but gasp.

Thanks to my sisters, for my whole life I’ve associated femininity with a sense of feeling weak, helpless, powerless. No matter how much I craved it, no matter how much I wishes I was a girl, that association was always present in my mind to the point that I — and my counsellor, repeatedly — have questioned whether my feelings are genuine or some weird kind of Stockholm syndrome. And yet now, as I stand here and look at myself — or rather, ‘Lisa’ — I don’t feel weak. I don’t feel helpless and I certainly don’t feel powerless. I chose to put on these clothes and make-up, and they make me feel strong, confident, even proud of who I am. For the first time in a long while — certainly since my parents died — I feel like my life has a purpose, a direction.

A wide, genuine smile spreads across my face as I examine myself in the mirror, before rolling my eyes and remembering that I shouldn’t keep my friend waiting any longer, as she may be just as eager to see me as I was myself. However, when I step out of the room, Bailey is nowhere to be seen.

“…Bailey?” I ask, biting my lip as I suddenly become aware of how my normally deep voice is inappropriate for my current image. “Bailey?” I repeat myself, taking care to soften my voice, even if it is still deeper than all of my friends. “Wh- where are you?”

“D-downstairs,” my friend replies. Nervously, I pad down the stairs, musing at how different even the carpet on the stairs feels through the soles of my tights compared to my thick boys’ socks. I enter the living room with a smile on my face, though it soon fades when I see Bailey point her phone at me — and I hear the unmistakable sound of a photo being taken.

Immediately, my mind goes into overdrive. Was Bailey only pretending to accept me so she could lure me into a trap? Is this photo going to get spread throughout my class, throughout my school — will my sisters find out? Did Sonia or Melanie put her up to this? I have a hard time believing that someone as timid as Bailey would come up with a plan like this by herself, but she has an almost impossible time saying ‘no’ to other people, which just raises the question of how Sonia and Melanie found out about my wanting to be ‘Lisa’ in the first place, whether they listen in to my counselling sessions somehow….

“D- do you want me t- to s- send it to y- you?” Bailey asks with a wide, disingenuous grin on her face, derailing my runaway train of thought.

“Wh- what?” I ask, my legs shaking and my whole body starting to feel numb.

“Th- the ph- photo,” Bailey replies, somehow confused by my demeanour. “D- do you w- want me t- to send it t- to y- you?”

“Why — why did you even take it?” I ask as I’m overwhelmed by feelings of anger and panic. “Did someone put you up to it? Who are you going to send it to? Who-” I pause as I see tears start to trickle down my friend’s cheeks and it dawns on me that my paranoia is just that, and what I just said — well, ranted — undoubtedly did more harm than good.

“L- L- L- Liam,” Bailey stammers, clearly in a state of panic herself at my outburst. “I- I- I- I th- th- thought I w- w- was d- d- d- doing s- s- someth- thing n- n- nice and I- I-”

“I — I’m sorry,” I say, taking a deep breath as Bailey does the same, both of us taking several deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. “I — I overreacted, I — I’m sorry. I just — I’m not ready to share this secret with anyone else, so when I saw you taking a photo I panicked, and….”

“I — I’m s- sorry too,” Bailey says, her cheeks glowing bright red at her mistake. “C- can y- you f- f- forgive me?”

“Well… maybe if you send me that photo,” I reply, smiling as Bailey texts me the photo before instantly deleting it from her phone.

“I- I- I am s- sorry,” Bailey says with a long sigh as she calms down and sits down on the sofa, gesturing for me to sit next to her. “I- I g- get that th- this is s s- special d- day for you, L- Liam. I th- thought it w- would b- be a nice s- surprise, a m- memento to t- take away.”

“And it will be,” I say, giving me friend’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Just- maybe some warning next time, please?” I smile as my friend nods, her blushes and her tears quickly fading. “And I — I’m sorry again for snapping at you like that, especially when you’ve done one of the greatest favours anyone has ever done for me.”

“Th- thanks,” Bailey whispers.

“No, thank YOU,” I insist, smiling as my friend’s cheeks once again flush, though this time, at least, I know it’s for a good reason.

“So, h- how does it f- feel?” Bailey asks. “Th- the d- dress, I mean?”

“Honestly?” I reply. “It — it feels comfortable. Natural, like this — this is what I’m supposed to be. WHO I’m supposed to be.”

“B- but when y- you c- compare it to wh- when your s- sisters, th- they-” Bailey asks, making me sigh and shake my head — I know immediately what she’s getting at.

“There’s no comparison,” I interrupt. “That was a stupid game back then. This is me living a dream. This is me choosing to be the person I always wanted to be, choosing to be ‘Lisa.’ I’ll always be grateful to you for this.”

“Th- thanks,” Bailey says, a deservedly proud smile starting to spread across her face.

“Though I — I’m kinda at a loss, now,” I chuckle as my friend looks at me with confusion. “I mean, now that I’m dressed, now that I’m Lisa, what do I — what do we do? I mean, when Daisy used to come round here, or any of the other girls?”

“B- before Covid?” Bailey asks, smiling as I nod. “Heh, y- you’ve b- been an ho- honorary g- girl for s- so long I f- forget that y- you never hung out w- with us b- before C- Covid. A- and now y- you’re no l- longer an ho- honorary g- girl but a ‘p- proper’ one, I- I suppose.”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling as I smooth my dress over my knees. “I’m not sure how ‘proper’ I feel, but it- it’s more than usual, if that makes sense?”

“P- perfect sense,” Bailey says. “A- and you sh- should f- feel like a p- proper girl. Y- you certainly l- look like one. One — one of us, I m- mean.”

“A misfit?” I ask, smiling as Bailey blushes and shakes her head.

“N- not if you d- don’t want to be,” my friend replies.

“I’ll take it,” I say with a shrug. “Better to be a misfit girl than a boring, ordinary boy, right?”

“A- absolutely,” Bailey replies with a wide, toothy grin. “As for w- what we n- normally do when we h- hang out, w- we read, play b- board games, watch t- television, though all th- that’ll be on i- is the Olympics, ironically — heh.”

“Why — why is it ironic that the Olympics are on?” I ask. “Because they were delayed by Covid too?”

“Y- yeah, but- n- not r- really,” Bailey replies, before sighing and taking her phone out of her pocket. “I- it’s a l- long story, c- can I t- text, p- please?”

“Of course,” I reply, smiling supportively as we sit cross-legged facing each other on each end of the sofa. Moments later, my friend’s first message comes through.

‘The reason it’s ironic,’ Bailey types, ‘is because for the last week or so, Lily, Molly and the others have been getting up early or staying up late to watch the Olympic gymnastics competition.’ That would also explain why they’ve not been as available to chat, I think to myself as my friend continues typing. ‘They’re huge fans of Simone Biles from America and the Gadirova twins from Britain and I know Lily and Molly have filmed themselves in their back gardens practising some of their moves.’

‘Okay,’ I type as I bite my lip. ‘I’m not seeing how this is ironic though?’

‘It’s ironic because I’m huge fans of Simone Biles and the Gadirova twins as well,’ Bailey says, looking almost like she’s about to hyperventilate as she types — no wonder she wanted to text rather than say this out loud. ‘And of Lily and Molly and the other girls with actual talent. I've told you before that all my life, I wished I could be more like Tia, and also like Lily, Molly, Sabrina and the others too. I’d give anything to be able to be a gymnast like them, or be a ballerina, or even just not look stupid trying to do so.’

‘I know the feeling,’ I type with a sympathetic smile. ‘Have you ever tried?’

‘No point,’ Bailey types, shaking her head sadly. ‘With my dyspraxia I’d just end up making a fool of myself in front of everyone. The only consolation is that Daisy and Farah feel the same way, so I at least have two people to confide in. Well, three people now, I suppose.’

‘Absolutely,’ I type. ‘And I promise to keep Daisy and Farah’s secret as well, even if I’d rather you didn’t tell them about me for now.’

‘I won’t,’ Bailey types. ‘I promise.’

‘But have you never thought about asking to join maybe a private dance lesson, maybe something with just Lily and the other girls?’ I ask. ‘Sabrina’s sister teaches there, doesn’t she?’

‘Where’s the point?’ Bailey asks. ‘I’d still have to pay for the classroom and for the uniform, my parents would never agree to that, especially as I don’t stand any chance of doing it professionally. That’s why they stopped paying for my piano lessons when I was six and obviously never going to get any better at it.’

‘Who said anything about it being professional?’ I ask. ‘Why can’t it just be a hobby? I like playing basketball but I’m never going to be good enough even for the British leagues, let alone the NBA. Even if I was no good at being ‘Lisa’ it wouldn’t stop me. If you don’t like dancing, then sure, but like me sitting here right now wearing this, you’ll never know if you don’t try.’

‘I can make a good guess, though,’ Bailey retorts. ‘And it wouldn’t be fair if I got to do it but Daisy and Farah didn’t.’

‘That’s true,’ I concede. ‘But they’ve had disabled dancers on Strictly before, so I’m sure they could accommodate Daisy somehow, and I’m sure they wouldn’t discriminate against Farah for wearing a hijab, or wanting to wear a leotard with longer sleeves or a longer skirt.’

‘Maybe,’ Bailey types, though as she does, I can see her looking more and more sad.

‘I can drop the subject if you’d prefer?’ I type.

“P- please,” Bailey says out loud, smiling as I put my phone back on the coffee table. “I- I get that y- you want t- to help, but i- it’s just a s- silly d- dream, that’s all.”

“So is ‘Lisa Maxwell,’ ” I retort. “And hell, maybe I’d like to join the ‘private dance class’ too — just not without you, Daisy or Farah.”

“Y- you’d need to t- tell them about L- Lisa first, though,” Bailey reminds me.

“…True,” I mumble.

“I- I’m sure th- they’d both ac- accept you for who y- you really a- are,” Bailey reassures me, sliding closer to me and giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “Wh- when you’re r- ready to t- tell them.”

“ ‘When,’ not ‘if,’ ” I say determinedly. “And thanks, like, for everything today. Heh, I know how difficult it must’ve been for you to tell me what you did, and I promise, my lips are sealed.”

“Th- thanks,” Bailey whispers, before sighing sadly. “M- my parents and m- my s- sister will be b- back soon.” I bite my lip and try not to cry as I realise the implication of what my friend is saying.

“Yeah,” I mumble, taking a long look at my dress and my tights-covered knees and trying hard to memorise every single sensation I’m feeling right now. However, I’m forced to accept that my time as ‘Lisa’ must come to an end, and I follow my friend upstairs to her room. Before I enter to get changed, though, something Bailey said earlier springs back to mind.

“Bailey,” I ask hesitantly. “Earlier, when you said ‘this isn’t how I expected the day to go,’ what did you mean?” I pause as Bailey suddenly stops, her cheeks flushing yet again — clearly, I’ve asked a particularly sensitive question. “If — if you don’t want to answer, that’s okay, I don’t need-”

“N- no, i- it’s ok- kay,” Bailey interrupts, before taking a deep breath of her own. “T- today, I- I exp- pected that you’d c- come around, and I- I- I’d t- tell you that I- I r- really l- like you, a- as in ‘l- like’ like you, i- if you kn- know wh- what I m- mean.”

“…Oh,” I say, biting my lip at the revelation. I knew that Lily ‘liked’ liked me — or rather, Liam — but it didn’t really occur to me that the same could be said of Bailey too. Then again, other than Lily’s often overt flirting, I never think of myself as potentially being anyone’s boyfriend — especially not the 'boy' part. “…I’m not exactly boyfriend material dressed like this though, am I?”

“I- I’m o- okay with n- not having a b- boyfriend,” Bailey mumbles. “I- I was expecting y- you to s- say n- no to me anyw- way.”

“Wh- why were you expecting that?” I ask gently.

“L- like I’ve s- said a m- million t- times before, wh- why would anyo- one g- go out with m- me when th- they c- could go out with L- Lily, or M- Molly, or-” Bailey replies, her face falling as my heart starts to break for her.

“You — you are just as great as any of those girls,” I interrupt, gently squeezing my friend’s hand. “Just as cute and funny and clever, like I’m sure I’ve told you a million times before. And if I haven't, then I should have done.”

“Th- thanks,” Bailey whispers, looking down to hide her flushed her cheeks before looking up and locking eyes with me. Time seems to stand still as our heads move together hesitantly, almost imperceptibly slowly until our lips touch — just a gentle touch, light as a feather, but enough to make tiny tingles of electricity jump between us. Almost as quickly as we touched, we pull our heads away from each other, looking at each other almost like we’re in a state of shock.

“L- Li- Liam?” Bailey asks breathlessly.

“N- no, that’s the problem,” I sigh as I slump back against a wall. “I’m not ‘Liam,’ am I? Not dressed like this, anyway. And I don’t want to be ‘Liam,’ I want to be ‘Lisa,’ that’s who I really feel like I am on the inside, and what — what girl would want to be ‘Lisa’s girlfriend?” I sigh as Bailey continues to look at me, a supportive, almost tired-looking smile slowly spreading across her face.

“I- I would,” Bailey whispers. “I- heh. I- I don’t just l- like b- boys, I- heh. I- I always t- talk about L- Lily as I- I f- fancy her t- too. M- Molly too, and S- Sabrina- and B- B- Bryony….”

“Have — have you told any of your friends about this?” I ask softly, squeezing the bespectacled girl’s hand as she tries not to cry. “Have you told Daisy at least?”

“No,” Bailey whispers. “Sh- she’s st- straight so sh- she w- wouldn’t underst- stand. S- so are all the o- other g- girls- well, exc- cept B- Bryony, anyw- way….”

“And — and except me,” I whisper. “ ‘Liam’ or ‘Lisa,’ I only like girls too, and I — I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I — I’d like it if you were my girlfriend, Bailey. If — if you’re okay with me being your girlfriend too?” Again, our eyes lock, and again our heads move together until our lips touch, though this time, we don’t pull away, and it feels like every cell in my body lights up as I allow myself to be lost in the moment.

I, Lisa Maxwell — not Liam Maxwell, but Lisa — have not only found a friend who accepts me, but a girlfriend who accepts me. I’m stood here wearing make-up and a dress, and Bailey is still kissing me. Despite everything that happened throughout my life, from the torment I received as a child to my parents dying, I finally feel like I have a ‘win.’ Okay, it’s not a huge win — including my counsellor, now only two people know about ‘Lisa’ — but it’s a step in the right direction nonetheless.

However, this doesn’t stop my heart from breaking minutes later as I’m forced to remove the dress and the tights and scrub my face clean of all make-up, sighing as ‘Liam’s unmistakably male face once again stares back at me from the mirror. However, this time, I know that ‘Liam’s face is merely a mask, and that ‘Lisa’ is here waiting for me whenever I need her.

The same can also be said of Bailey, who gives me a gentle hug as I emerge from her room once again as ‘Liam.’ Her family returns a short while later, which I take as my cue to leave — though not before one last goodbye kiss to Bailey and the promise from her that I will get to be ‘Lisa’ again, and very soon. I head home on a high unlike any I've ever experienced before, which is immediately picked up on the second I walk through the front door.

“You had fun then, I take it?” Sonia asks.

“It was cool,” I reply with a shrug as I take off my jacket and trainers and sit down on the sofa, before immediately turning to my phone.

“Don’t let me distract you from your phone, then,” Sonia snorts as she goes back to watching television while I open up a new private chat with — and it still seems strange to be saying this — my girlfriend.

‘Hey Bailey,’ I type, smiling as the ‘typing’ notification comes up almost immediately after I send the message.

‘Hey Lisa,’ Bailey replies, warming my heart with her use of my preferred name, even if I do have to take extra care to make sure my sister can’t see my screen.

‘Thank you so much again for today,’ I type. ‘I genuinely have never had a day as good as this one.’

‘Thank you for being such a good friend and listening to me,’ Bailey replies. ‘And thank you for being such a good girlfriend too.’ I smile and try my hardest not to cry as I am acknowledged unambiguously as my girlfriend’s girlfriend — and not her boyfriend.

‘I can’t wait to be Lisa again,’ I type. ‘I think I’ll need cheering up after Friday.’

‘Any time you need me, I’ll be right here,’ Bailey replies.

‘I just wish I could do something as nice for you,’ I type. ‘I doubt you’ll be interested in wearing my jeans and playing basketball though.’

‘I’ll pass, thanks anyway,’ Bailey types with a ‘winking’ emoji. ‘I’m just glad I could help you, my grandfather had a favourite saying, ‘help people when you can, and pass on the help you receive yourself.’ ’

‘Wise words,’ I reply as I remember back to what Bailey said earlier about her dreams, and about Bryony’s recent semi-ostracism from the group, before realising that these are two problems that might have the same solution. I’ll need the help of one of my friends, of course, but if I know anything about the amazing group of girls I’m proud to call my friends, it’s that they’d do anything for each other — and I have no reason to believe that wouldn’t include me.

‘Brb,’ I type, before opening another new private chat window to another one of the girls.

‘Hey Sabrina,’ I type. ‘Your sister still helps out at the dance school, doesn’t she?’