“I’m heading out now,” I say, grimacing in advance at the inevitable response.

“Kayleigh-Ann,” mum says in an obviously fake pained voice, “come here…” I roll my eyes, before heading into the living room and facing my mother, whose face is scrunched up in a look of pure disapproval.

“What is it?” I ask. “I don’t want to keep Ollie waiting…” I don’t want to keep Ian waiting, either, I think to myself.

“WHY are you going out with him?” Mum asks, barely restraining herself from spitting. “He’s a nerd…”

“I like him,” I say. “You wanted me to get a boyfriend, didn’t you?”

“A PROPER boyfriend,” mum retorts. “A footballer or a singer, not someone who spends all their time playing silly little games…”

“Ollie’s funny and kind,” I say. “He understands me better than anyone.” MUCH better, I think to myself.

“But he’s not POPULAR,” mum says. “If you want to be famous you need to be popular, and that won’t happen if you’re dating a nerd!”

"Mum- I- I like him," I say, silently cursing as mum holds her hand to her forehead- a sure sign that she's about to become 'depressed'.

"I need to lie down," mum says in an overly dramatic voice. "Craig, help me up the stairs..."

"Of course," dad says, jumping off the sofa the instant his name is called and leading mum up to her bedroom, but not before shooting me a VERY disapproving look. Clearly, in his eyes, I'm 100% to blame for mum's latest 'attack'.

"I'll be back just after 5," I shout after my parents, before mumbling under my breath. "Not that either of you give a shit..."

As I step out of the door, I wince as the cold autumn air hits my nylon-covered legs, though I can't help but smile at the knowledge that the tights that currently cover my legs won't be on there for long.

On the short walk to Ollie's house, I mentally 'prepare' myself. With each step I take, I leave 'Kayleigh-Ann' more and more behind me, and immerse myself more and more in the life of 'Ian'- the boy I've wanted to be my whole life.

Over the last couple of weeks, I've met up with Ollie twice, and on both occasions, I started and ended the day as a girl, but I lived the middle part as a boy- wearing the baggy jeans I 'stole' from Ollie at the start of the month, eating junk food, playing videogames and, most importantly, forgetting all about the stress and anxiety of 'Kayleigh-Ann's life. However, every time I pulled 'her' clothes back on, the stress and anxiety returned worse than ever, not least because of the nightmare that awaited me at home.

When I first told my parents that I had a boyfriend, they were ecstatic. They actually were happy- it was the first time in months that I'd seen mum smile (dad, of course, only cracked a smile after he saw that mum had 'given him permission'). When I said that he was seventeen and at college, they were over the moon.

...And then I showed them Ollie's Facebook page, on which was a picture of his obvious unathletic body, his bespectacled face and his list of interests that included videogames, model cars and Doctor Who. I was immediately ordered to break up with Ollie and get a 'proper' boyfriend, one who liked football or some other sport. My parents had decided that Ollie was the wrong boy for me even before they met him- in fact, even to this day they still haven't met him.

To make matters worse, my parents aren't the only people who disapprove of our relationship, as I'm reminded when I ring Ollie's doorbell and am greeted by my supposed fellow 'wannabe Angel', who stares at me with what would be an exasperated look if her expression wasn't so vacant.

"Ugh, you're here for, like, Ollie, aren't you?" Georgie sighs.

"Yes..." I say, frowning as Georgie dramatically rolls her eyes. "Any chance I could come in, please?"

"Like, whatever!" Georgie huffs as she steps aside and lets me head up the stairs to Ollie's room. I smile as I enter the room and the bespectacled boy stands up and approaches me, before extending his hand.

"Alright, mate?" Ollie says with a playful grin.

"Alright, mate!" I giggle in as masculine a manner as I can, shaking Ollie's hand. "Can you, um, give me a sec?"

"Sure," Ollie says, quietly exiting the room and leaving me to scrub away my make-up and exchange my trademark jean shorts and black tights for my treasured baggy jeans, a red crewneck t-shirt and my favourite baseball cap. I cough three times next to the wall (Ollie's bedroom is adjacent to the house's bathroom), and within seconds Ollie re-enters the room, laughing good-naturedly at my new look.

"Right, this make it easier to say 'alright, mate'!" Ollie laughs as he hands me an Xbox controller and we both crash onto the beanbag sofa at the foot of his bed.

"Your sister still disapproves of us," I say.

"She doesn't have the right to disapprove of anything until she learns how to spell 'disapprove'. Or any word with more than one syllable," Ollie snorts. "Don't get me wrong, I don't hate her... I just don't particularly like her that much, either."

"Bit harsh," I shrug. "She IS your sister, after all..."

"Oh, she WAS fun to be around," Ollie says. "We're only a year and a few months apart, so we used to do everything together, especially when we were at primary school... Then puberty happened."

"For you or for her?" I ask, making Ollie laugh.

"Ugh, for her," Ollie sighs. "She started puberty at around the same time Charlotte Hutchinson became famous and she just idolised her, did everything to try to be like her, including dyeing her hair blonde."

"I did wonder why you had dark brown hair when your sister was blonde and brown-eyed," I laugh.

"And as if that wasn't bad enough," Ollie sighs, "she's been telling our parents that we're up here having sex, even though you're underage... Pretty hypocritical for a girl who lost her virginity when she was fourteen."

"Fourteen!?" I ask, inadvertently raising my voice.

"Don't let her know I told you that!" Ollie hisses. "As far as our parents are concerned, she's still a virgin. She's only been sixteen for three months, for god's sake."

"Sorry, sorry," I mumble.

"And besides, we're not here to gossip," Ollie says. "Girls gossip, and- as I'm sure you'll agree- neither of us are girls. We are here to GAME."

"Indeed, neither of us are girls," I say. "My name is Ian Freeman, and I am a boy. Game on."

"Game on," Ollie concurs, starting a gaming session that lasts until late into the afternoon. Eventually, the time comes for me to once again become 'Kayleigh-Ann', making me moan with displeasure as Ollie leaves his bedroom and I reapply my make-up, before shivering as I stretch my nasty, itchy tights back up my legs. Once I'm fully female again, I cough three more times to let Ollie know he can re-enter his room.

"Until next time," Ollie says with a sad smile as I try to smile at him with my pink-coloured lips. I follow him out of the room as any boy would his best friend, but I let out a small gasp as Ollie suddenly reaches behind him and grabs my hand.

"Wh- what are you doing?" I ask, before following Ollie's eye line to where Georgie is stood outside her own bedroom, staring at us in her typical inscrutable way.

"Kiss me," Ollie whispers.

"What!?" I retort.

"She thinks you're my girlfriend," Ollie says. "Girlfriends and boyfriends kiss each other when they're about to go home." I turn my face away from Georgie so that she doesn't see me rolling my eyes, but Ollie's point is valid, and I lean into the young man's face, pressing my lips against his just long enough to satisfy Georgie's doubts (if she even has any doubts in the first place).

Before I kissed Ollie, I'd never kissed a boy before, and I'd hoped I'd never have to again, yet as I separate from the young man, I feel my heart start to beat faster, almost as though I'd enjoyed the kiss- and the reddening of Ollie's cheeks tells me that he more than enjoyed the kiss as well.

"I'll, um, see you later!" I laugh, trying not to stammer as Ollie reluctantly releases my hand.

"See you, um, Kayleigh-Ann!" Ollie giggles, before heading back into his bedroom. Before I reach the Powell's front door, I’m intercepted by Georgie, whose look of near-disgust has only intensified.

"I'm going out with your brother," I say defiantly. "Deal with it."

"Ugh, like, no?" Georgie snorts. "Like, eww!"

"What, am I not good enough for him?" I ask. I hadn't come here specifically looking for a fight with Georgie, but if she's going to insult me, I WILL respond...

"Uh, hello?" Georgie asks. "You're, like, a pavillion times too good for that nerd!"

"Wh- I'm sorry, what?" I ask.

"If you'd wanted a boyfriend, like, you could have just, you know, asked?" Georgie huffs. "You don't have to settle for Ollie just because he's pathetic and lonely, you know."

"He- he's your- that's a horrible way to talk about your brother!" I retort. "He's kind, he's sweet, he's sensitive..."

"Uh, hello?" Georgie asks again. "If you want, like, whatever you just said, you should, like, be a lesbian! Boys are supposed to be, you know, macho, and have great bodies..."

"Yeah, well I'm only fifteen," I say, a smug smile creeping onto my face. "It wouldn't be legal, or morally right for me to have sex when I'm underage, would it?" I internally sigh as my planned 'snipe' against Georgie sails straight over the blonde girl's head and she stares at me with a look of confusion on her face.

"Like, whatever," Georgie sighs. "See you Monday."

"Bye!" I say sarcastically, waving as Georgie shuts the door in my face. "Try not to trip over your own stupid fake eyelashes on your way back up the stairs..."

I have a frown on my face as I return home, the wind once again blowing against my nylon-covered legs. My frown only gets deeper as I open the front door of my house and come face to face with my father, who's staring at me with a look of utter disapproval.

"Your mother's in bed," dad says. "I hope you're proud of yourself." Ooh, look who's grown a pair, I sarcastically think to myself.

"All I did was go round to my boyfriend's," I retort. "That's not a crime."

"You took fifteen years of your mother raising you and threw it straight back in her face," dad says. "She told me to tell you that you're grounded for a week." Ah, so you didn't so much 'grow' a pair as you did borrow mum's, I think as I groan as dad's feeble attempts to discipline me.

"How is that even remotely fair?" I ask. "What does she expect me to do, just break up with Ollie because he's not enough like the meatheads mum keeps trying to push on me?"

"If your mother says a boy is appropriate for you, then he's appropriate for you," dad says. "And if she says that Ollie's inappropriate for you, then you WILL break up with him."

"I like him!" I plead as it dawns on me that if I'm grounded for a week, it'll inevitably eat into next Saturday's 'Ian time'. Even worse, if I'm grounded every time I see Ollie... 'Ian time' could get scarcer and scarcer.

"It doesn't matter what you like," dad says. "You need to do as your mum tells you. She knows what's best for you."

"Ugh, she-" I say, before flinching under dad's glare. The man may usually be utterly submissive and pathetic, but if I ever dare criticise mum in any way, he turns into a snarling, wild animal- something I'd prefer to avoid right now. "I'm going to my room. That is permitted when I'm 'grounded', isn't it?"

"Apologise to your mother!" Dad shouts after me as I stomp upstairs and, in defiance of his 'order', head straight into my room and collapse onto my bed. Seconds later, with the leg of my favourite stuffed giraffe in my mouth, I scream into my pillow, crying and yelling until all my stress is gone- or at least reduced to a (barely) tolerable level.

Once again, I find myself falling asleep to the sound of a blazing row from the adjacent bedroom, my mother having apparently recovered from her 'depression' enough to yell at dad until late into the night.

I'm woken up just after 7am by a loud banging on my bedroom door, followed by mum barging into the room uninvited, a look of pure fury on her face.

"Get out of bed!" Mum orders, watching impatiently as I throw back the covers and stand in front of her, my arms folded in a futile display of defiance. "As you're grounded, you'll be in charge of all the household chores for the next week. You can start by dusting the dining room- your grandmother's coming over to visit today." I almost smile at the news- unlike my parents, my grandmother has never shown me anything other than 100% unconditional love. Well, one of my grandmothers has, anyway...

"Grandma... Jones?" I ask, only for my heart to sink as my mother rolls her eyes at me.

"She's not going to come all the way from Cardiff just for a visit, is she?" Mum asks sarcastically. "It's your Grandma Walker who's coming over today. Now get dressed and get cleaning!"

"Yes, mum," I sigh as I head to the bathroom to shower.

"And Kayleigh-Ann?" Mum asks, causing me to stop and turn around. "You know I love you, and this is all for your own good, right?" It takes every ounce of my willpower not to roll my eyes right back at my mother, but somehow I force a smile onto my face.

"Thanks, mum," I say before showering. As Grandma Walker's coming round, I have no choice but to dress in probably my least favourite clothes of all- an old pair of white ballet tights, my Mary Jane shoes and a short, long-sleeved black dress with a Peter Pan collar. I look about seven years old once I've got the clothes on- not helped by me not wearing any make-up, the one positive thing about my attire- and I feel utterly ridiculous, but my grandmother is even more fearsome than my mother (despite her being my paternal grandmother), and I know that even the slightest lapse in my behaviour will result in a telling-off that will leave my ears ringing for days.

"Hi mum!" Dad says nervously as he answers the door for my grandmother.

"Hello Craig," grandma says in a curt voice. "Hello Angela. Hello Kayleigh-Ann, my, aren't you just a pretty little girl!" I force a smile onto my face as grandma gives my cheek a playful pinch, treating me as though I were a toddler even though I'm almost four inches taller than her.

"A little girl who thinks she can disobey her parents," mum says, causing me to wince even before I've sat down.

"What?" Grandma asks, her tone immediately turning angry. "Young lady, what have you been doing now?" I pause, waiting for mum to answer for me (as she usually does in cases like this), but when she and grandma just stand there staring at me with angry eyes, I realise that I'll have to answer her myself.

"I, um, I got a boyfriend," I stammer.

"An INAPPROPRIATE boyfriend," mum interjects before I have the chance to continue.

"Why?" Grandma asks. "What's wrong with him?" Good question, I think to myself.

"He's not even remotely her type," mum says. "He's a nerd, obsessed with silly little games and stupid space shows."

"And why did you think that he would be a good boyfriend for you, Kayleigh-Ann?" Grandma asks, dashing any hopes I had that she might take my side.

"I, um, I like him..." I mumble.

"Speak up!" Grandma commands.

"I like him," I say in a voice just barely louder than 'feeble'.

"Nonsense," grandma says. "You like the types of boy your mother and father tell you that you like." Of course I fucking do, I think as we sit down.

"Still," grandma continues, "it could be worse, at least she's not one of those awful lesbian people! I can't believe they let people like that get married, they should all be rounded up and kicked out of the country, that's what they should do to them! I didn't live through the war just to watch displays like that on the streets!" You were born in 1944, you old bag, I think, secretly biting my lip to keep myself from screaming.

Every time grandma comes over, the conversation inevitably turns to how her ultra-conservative views of the world are correct and how anyone who disagrees is fundamentally wrong. Of course, we're not told exactly WHY everyone else is wrong, we're just forced to grin and accept it. Over the summer holidays grandma actually grounded me for a week for merely mentioning Jeremy Corbyn's name. You read that right- GRANDMA grounded me. And, of course, my parents upheld the grounding, they're that scared of the old woman (dad in particular).

Of course, it's not just homosexuals and socialists that grandma hates- mum's deliberately kept it from her that I'm (supposedly) best friends with a Jamaican girl out of fear that grandma would ship me off to a nunnery, and if she found out that I was (supposedly) trying to get myself signed to a modelling agency owned by not just an immigrant, but a Nigerian immigrant, grandma would probably drop dead of a heart attack right then and there.

Grandma's biggest 'red button', however, is transgendered people- how could it have been anything else? Last year she was in hospital for a hip replacement, and she was placed on the same ward as an old lady whose granddaughter was transgendered, and naturally, grandma made it a point to make the poor girl's life a living hell every time she visited her grandmother. Every time grandma sees a newspaper article or a TV spot about Jamie-Lee Burke, or the girl from out of Heaven, her blood pressure rises to the point where I think she might actually explode.

"...Still can't believe they imprisoned that poor man, simply for making his SON wear clothes that a boy should wear!" Grandma snaps as I tune back in, my attention having wandered off during the old woman's previous rant. "If I see that CROSSDRESSER on the street I'll tan his backside so hard he won't be able to sit down for a week!" Assault on a minor, way to go, grandma... I think, my forced smile starting to waver after having to endure almost an hour of her latest tirade. She isn't saying anything we haven't already heard in previous visits, of course. Maybe she thinks that if she yells it enough, people will actually start to agree with her...

"Sit up!" Grandma suddenly snaps at me, causing me to let out a small yelp. "I thought your father was paying for ballet classes, don't they teach you posture there?"

"Sorry, grandma," I mumble, sitting up straight as grandma launches straight back into her tirade.

The old woman doesn't leave until after 3:30pm, by which point I and my parents are utterly exhausted from listening to her rants... Though that doesn't stop my mum from tearing into my dad the second the door is closed.

"When are you going to stand up to yourself?" Mum snaps, causing dad to recoil in fear. "You've let that woman walk over you your whole life, grow some backbone, for god's sake!" Yeah, god forbid someone should just roll over and do whatever their mother tells them to do, I think to myself. Obviously a real man should just roll over and do whatever his wife tells him to do... With my parents distracted, I take the opportunity to slip upstairs to my bedroom, where I exchange my juvenile attire for a loose t-shirt and a pair of shorts and try to relax on my bed, but the constant sound of my parents arguing downstairs means that my efforts are in vain, and soon I find myself on my knees in front of my mirror, baseball cap on my head and my eyes closed as I repeat the same phrase over and over again.

"My name is NOT Kayleigh-Ann," I whisper to myself. "I am NOT a girl. My name IS Ian. I AM a boy. My name is not Kayleigh-Ann..."

I repeat my 'mantra' over and over for at least twenty minutes as the argument subsides, before collapsing heavily on my bed. Any chance I have of relaxing is thwarted, though, as my mum lets herself into my room mere seconds after the end of the argument.

"Whatever chore it is, I'll do it, I promise," I tiredly moan.

"Why have you changed?" Mum asks, more out of confusion than out of anger.

"The dress is stupid," I sigh. "I feel, like, five when I wear it..."

"I know your grandmother is old-fashioned," mum says, "but she means well, she only wants the best for us."

"If she had her way, the population of England would be reduced to about fifty," I snort, making mum let out a genuine laugh. As much as we clash, as much as she seems hell bent on ruining my life, there are occasions when mum and I can actually act like mother and child, and 'comparing notes' about my grandmother is probably top of that list.

"Fifty sounds a bit high, if anything," mum laughs, before her face one again turns stern. "But she is right about Ollie. He's no good for you, and you'll be better off breaking up with him now than later down the line!"

"You've never even met him!" I retort. "He ticks so many of your 'boxes', he's older, he's 'connected' through his sister..."

"He's a NERD," mum says, anger creeping back into her voice. "I guarantee you that the second you turn sixteen, he'll be demanding sex from you every minute of every day. You know what those nerd types are like." Whereas if he was a footballer, you'd be insisting that I let him 'have' me, I think to myself. "You will find another boy you like, a BETTER boy."

"Promise you won't keep banging on at me about getting a boyfriend?" I ask, making mum roll her eyes.

"As long as you at least TRY to get along with any of the boys I set you up with!" Mum says.

"Deal," I say, even though I have absolutely zero intention of keeping up my end of the bargain.

"Now come on," mum says, handing me a stack of papers that makes me groan internally. "You need to practise if you're going to get the role of Eliza!" I force a smile on my face as I follow mum downstairs, where I spend the rest of the evening either doing homework, doing chores or practising my lines until I almost start to believe that I AM Eliza Doolittle.

For the umpteenth night in a row, I fall asleep with my stuffed giraffe's leg between my teeth, muffling my screams of frustration as I clamp my pillow over my head to muffle the yells of my parents from the adjacent bedroom.

My internal scream doesn't subside as I get up the following morning and pull on the dreaded itchy black tights and short navy blue skirt that makes up my school uniform, before heading downstairs to where my mum is already waiting for me, her palm upturned and outstretched.

"Hand it over," mum orders. "You're still grounded, young lady, and you know what that means!" I sigh as I pass mum my mobile phone, which she locks with a secret code, meaning that I'll only be able to use it to call home or the emergency services- no Facebook, no text messages, no nothing... Meaning I'll have no way of communicating with Ollie for the rest of the week.

I do my usual trick of immersing myself in my work at school as a way of distracting myself from my worries, but even that has limited success as we get to lunch and, as always, I find myself stood with my 'friends' from the cheerleading squad.

"Ugh, that sucks that you got grounded simply for having a boyfriend," Maisie- my 'rival' for cheer captain- says. "I mean, Ollie sounds like a nice guy."

"He IS a bit of a nerd," I say, less out of genuine criticism and more to 'test the waters' to see how the rest of the girls respond.

"So what?" Tillie- Maisie's best friend- snorts. "Just means he has a hobby that you don't share with him."

"Yeah," Maisie interjects. "I mean, you like him, right?"

"Yeah," I respond.

"And he likes you, right?" Maisie asks, smiling as I nod. "Well then, like, so what if he's a nerd? As long as he knows to put you first, that's all you could hope for in a guy, right? Have you kissed him yet?"

"...Yes," I say in a shy voice.

"...And?" Tillie asks expectantly.

"'And'... He's okay," I shrug, making the other girls let out a collective 'ooh' that causes my cheeks to redden.

"Aww, don't be so shy!" Maisie giggles, giving me a quick hug. "I mean, you're sixteen in December, aren't you?"

"The 30th, yeah," I say.

"Soo..." Maisie asks. "Are you and Ollie going to... Well, you know?"

"We haven't talked about it," I say.

"Well don't keep him waiting too long," Tillie says. "Mine and Will's parents won't let us even be alone together until we're both sixteen, and god! That's, like, six months away..."

"Yeah," Maisie advises. "I mean, you keep him waiting too long and he'll swap you for swapping Star Wars toys with his friends!"

"Ooh," Portia- another member of the cheer squad- interjects. "Speaking of 'swapping', I got a whole stack of make-up at the weekend that I'm never going to wear, how about we have a swap meet tonight?"

"That sounds so cool!" Maisie giggles. "Kayleigh-Ann, up for a little make-up swapping?" I'd rather eat the make-up I think to myself, before I force a sad- yet somehow also smug- smile onto my face.

"I'd love to, but I'm grounded, remember?" I say.

"Ah, that sucks," Maisie sighs. "We can always wait until next week, I guess." My smug smile remains on my face as I head back to class after lunch- who'd have known that being grounded would actually have some positives?

...One of which is additional time at home for 'Ian time', even if said time will be by myself. Whilst most of 'Ian's clothes are at Ollie's house, I do keep a spare pair of jeans and a t-shirt hidden in the back of my wardrobe in case of 'emergency'. When I arrive home, however, my heart sinks when I see four familiar faces sat on my sofa- the faces belonging to Abbey-Gayle, Brooke, Georgie and Ella.

"Um, I thought I was grounded?" I say to mum, who simply flashes me a smug smile in response.

"That just means you can't go round to their houses," mum says. "It doesn't mean they can't come round here, and you need to become a part of this group if you're to be rich and famous!" Perfect, I think to myself as I force a smile on my face and sit down opposite the girls.

"Hey, Kayleigh-Ann!" Abbey-Gayle says with a smug grin. "Nice skirt!"

"Oh, leave her alone," Brooke laughs. "Like you've never worn a school uniform before!"

"Though she could, like, you know, pull it up a bit," Georgie says, irritating me within seconds by referring to me as though I wasn't even here. "Like, show some leg! As long as my STUPID brother doesn't see it!" I bite my lip to stop myself from calling Georgie a hypocrite, even though the insult would bounce right off her thick skull as there's no way she'd even know what a hypocrite was.

"Ugh," Abbey-Gayle spits. "You know, Like, Reuben actually invited Ollie along for a boy's night? Like, he's trying to make him 'part of the gang'?"

"Ewww!" Georgie over-dramatically responds. "Like, eww? I don't want him hanging out with my Marley and turning HIM into a nerd as well!"

"Or, you know, your boyfriends could have a positive effect on Ollie?" I interrupt, making Abbey-Gayle and Georgie stare at me like I'd just wet myself.

"You don't know anything about boys," Abbey-Gayle says dismissively.

"Yeah," Georgie laughs. "Or, like, you'd NEVER have gone out with Ollie!" I bite my tongue yet again as an endless string of swear words fills my brain and I feel myself getting angrier and angrier as Abbey-Gayle and Georgie continue putting Ollie down, with Brooke contributing the occasional word of encouragement. Ella remains silent throughout the 'character assassination', looking as uncomfortable as I am with the whole situation.

The girls remain at my house for another two hours before Brooke father picks them all up, finally freeing me to change out of my nasty school uniform and into a pair of comfortable shorts, but I barely get two steps up the staircase before I'm stopped by my mother.

"Your friends are right," mum says, making me scream internally. "Ollie IS wrong for you."

"I still like him, though," I retort.

"Georgie's offered to set you up with one of her boyfriend's friends," mum says. "You should break up with Ollie now and get it over with." I let out a small groan as mum takes my smartphone out of my coat pocket and unlocks it before handing it to me.

"...What, by text?" I ask, making mum scowl.

"Don't get sarcastic with me, young lady," my mother spits. "Send him a text now explaining that you don't want to be his girlfriend anymore. The sooner you end it, the sooner you can get a REAL boyfriend!" I scowl at my mother, before composing a text message to Ollie. What mum doesn't realise, though, is that the text message reads 'ignore the next text- I'm being forced to send it by mum'. I then delete the text from my 'sent' folder and compose a second text message that reads 'I'm sorry, but it'd be best if we didn't go out any more. Goodbye, K-A'. I show the sent text to my mother, who stoically nods at it before relocking my phone and stuffing it in her handbag.

"You'll have that back tomorrow morning before school," mum says. "Now go upstairs and get changed, we have lines to rehearse!" I stoically nod myself, before heading upstairs and changing into my trusty denim shorts, though I stare longingly at the baggy jeans at the back of my wardrobe and wonder when I'll ever get to wear them again...

My second school day of the week goes no better than the first- yet again, I'm forced to endure every boy at school staring at my nylon-covered legs and the company of my cheer team at break and lunch. What makes today worse, however, is what when I arrive home, I immediately march up to my bedroom and exchange my school uniform for a pair of nasty, clingy pink tights and a suffocatingly stretchy black leotard, before tying my blonde hair back into a bun, grabbing my dance bag and heading back downstairs to eat dinner, before mum ferries me to my first ballet lesson of the week- and my second encounter in as many days with Abbey-Gayle and her gang. Well, the gang minus Ella (who's still on Miss Fullerton's waiting list)- the only one I can tolerate.

An hour of dancing later- during which I'm constantly on edge thanks to my mother and my teacher's piercing gaze- I peel off my sweaty leotard and clingy tights and pull on my trusty shorts and a grey, girly t-shirt (which is still the most androgynous girl's t-shirt I own), before collapsing down onto the passenger seat of mum's car. As we drive home, however, it's obvious that something big is distracting my mother, who normally critiques my dancing all the way home (despite not having any formal dance training herself), but who today is eerily silent. When we arrive home, I immediately find out why.

"Why do you always lie to me?" Mum asks the second the front door is closed.

"I- I'm sorry?" I ask.

"Damned right you're sorry!" Mum yells, her eyes filled with a greater fury than I've ever seen. "You ungrateful, lying, selfish little shit!"

"Mu-mum?" I ask, actually quivering with fear at the older woman's rage.

"Did you really think I wouldn't know about the second message you sent to Ollie?" Mum asks. "What did it say, 'ignore the previous message'? Hmm?"

"I- I didn't send a message," I lie, though the feebleness of my voice immediately gives me away.

"STOP LYING!" Mum bellows, causing me to stumble backwards and land hard on my backside on the stairs. "Twenty pence, Kayleigh-Ann! That's how much your phone's credit went down yesterday! Enough for TWO text messages, not one! And don't try to claim you made a call, I know damned well that you didn't!"

"You- you're so paranoid about me that you check my phone's credit?" I ask, aghast that my so-called mother would stoop to such lows.

"Well it turns out I'm right not to trust you, aren't I?" Mum sneers, causing my blood to boil. "Consider yourself grounded for a month!" A month without Ollie... Or any way to contact him... Or any chance of any 'Ian time'... My mind snaps. The consequences are already as bad as they're going to get. I literally have nothing left to lose. It's time for the truth.

"You're the worst fucking mother ever!" I screech, catching my mother completely by surprise. "You don't care about me, all you care about is having some famous daughter you can show off to your friends, someone who succeeded everywhere you failed! Well guess what, quote-unquote mother: I hate ballet! I hate acting, I hate cheerleading, I hate gymnastics, I hate everything and I HATE YOU!" I almost feel guilty as the colour starts to drain from my mother's face, only to back away in fear as her rage returns, stronger than before. I actually, for a brief second, believe that she'll physically attack me as she approaches me with a look of pure hatred etched onto her face.

"You ungrateful little cunt!" Mum screams in my face, bringing tears to my eyes. "Everything we've done for you, all the time and money we spent on you, and you have the nerve to talk to me like that? I. AM. YOUR. MOTHER!"

"Then fucking well act like it instead of my slave driver!" I screech, my voice wobbling as the adrenaline thins in my blood. A second later, my resolve shatters as dad comes out of the living room, a look of confusion on his usual placid face.

"What the hell's going on?" Dad asks mum.

"Craig..." Mum says as she holds her hand up to her head- a sure giveaway that she's about to have another 'episode'.

"What the hell did you do?" Dad asks me, causing me to slowly retreat up the stairs. "Answer me!"

"I- um- I-" I stammer.

"Room! Now!" Dad bellows, and I retreat to my room, where I immediately burst into tears. Whatever I hoped to accomplish by yelling at mum, it obviously didn't work. All I know for certain is that I've made matters infinitely worse. I'll be grounded so long I'll be lucky if I'll be allowed to attend my own retirement party.

I don't know how much time passes as I cry, all I know is that with every tear I shed, I feel worse and worse. If the ground swallowed me up right now, I'd be cheering, and I don't even lift my head off the pillow as my bedroom door opens and dad comes barging in.

"Keep the noise down in here!" Dad yells, making me stare at him in disbelief. "Your mother's trying to rest and your crying's distracting her!"

"Are- are you for real?" I blub, but all dad can do is scowl at me before slamming my door shut. The next few minutes pass in a haze. I don't know whether I'm crying, screaming or yelling, I don't know if I'm stood up, sat down or sprawled out on my bed. All I know is that when I eventually regain awareness of my surroundings, my bed has been pushed in front of my bedroom door... And I'm holding a sharp pair of tailor's scissors in my hand.

In slow motion, I turn the scissors so that the point of the blade is pointing toward my wrist, and I slowly bring them down, wincing as the blade punctures the top layer of skin and a small trickle of blood begins to run down my forearm.

"No," I whisper to myself, pulling the scissors out of my arm before they can do any more damage. I look to my left, looking straight into my full length mirror at the distraught, demolished girl that I am right now.

"My name is NOT Kayleigh-Ann," I whisper to myself as I kneel down in front of my mirror, my scissors still in my left hand. "I am NOT a girl. My name IS Ian Freeman. I AM a boy. My name is NOT Kayleigh-Ann..." I slowly untie my ballerina's bun and let my long blonde hair hang free, before grabbing a handful of hair in my right hand. There's no possible way I can get in any more trouble than I am right now. If today is going to be the last day of my life... I want to be who I REALLY am. I sigh as I feel the scissors snap shut, before staring in near disbelief at the almost foot-long lock of hair in my right hand, and the soft tuft on my head where the hair used to be.

Twenty minutes later, there isn't a single hair left on my head that's longer than an inch. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, and for the first time in a very long while, I actually start to feel positive about the future. My new hair isn't exactly tidy, but it is short, and that's the most important thing.

"My name IS Ian Freeman," I whisper, before climbing into bed, leaving my old hair in a pile in the middle of the floor. "I AM a boy."

I wake up the following morning and smile as I run my fingers through my soft, tufty hair, before the realisation of what I've done dawns on me. Last night, I was of the opinion that things couldn't possibly get any worse. This morning, it looks like I'm going to put that to the test- not just here, but at school as well. My uniform feels even more foreign than ever as I slowly ease it on, before looking at my reflection in the mirror. I still have a 'cute' face that is unmistakably that of a girl's, even despite the hair, but if you look closely enough, my face just might, might belong to a boy. I take one last look at the discarded pile of hair on my floor before sliding my bed back to its normal position and heading downstairs, where my parents look at me with looks of pure shock on their faces.

"Morning!" I say with deliberately fake cheerfulness.

"What- what have- why- you- what- why-" mum stammers as I run my fingers through my short hair.

"Want to finish your sentence?" I ask mum, who looks like she's seen a ghost.

"What on Earth have you done to your hair!?" Dad says in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I cut it," I say. "Do you like it?"

"Do I-" dad says, before falling into the same state of shock as mum.

"...Do you really respect me so little that you'd mutilate yourself like this?" Mum asks in a defeated voice. "Consider yourself grounded until you're eighteen. What you do then is your problem, I don't care anymore. Craig, come on."

"Wh- where are you going?" I ask as mum and dad leave the house. "How am I meant to get to school?"

"Walk," mum coldly says, before slamming the front door and getting in dad's car, the two of them driving away without saying so much as goodbye. Whilst I'd normally be happy to see them go, this time all I feel is empty. If only I'd listened to mum, if only I'd genuinely broken up with Ollie, then I wouldn't be in this mess... However, as I look at my reflection in the mirror, I'm filled with a sense of determination. 'Ian' wouldn't simply roll over and condemn himself to a life of misery. 'Ian' would stand up for himself, he'd say the things his parents didn't want to hear and he'd make them see that they were in the wrong.

I end up catching the bus to school, barely arriving in time for form, where my new look gets a lot of attention- but mostly positive attention.

"Wow, Kayleigh-Ann!" Tillie giggles as I allow her to gently stroke my hair. "That looks so cool! Did you do it yourself?"

"Yep!" I say happily. "Like it?"

"I love it!" Tillie says. At lunch, the rest of the cheerleading team agrees with Tillie, each one taking a turn stroking my hair before photographing me for Facebook. As I can't currently access Facebook on my phone, I'm going to have to wait until I get home to find out the reaction of my so-called posse... Assuming I'll be allowed to return home at all. When the bell rings to signify the end of the school day, my mum is nowhere to be seen in the car park. I wait for ten minutes, but neither of my parents arrive, leaving me to wonder just how badly I must have offended them that they'd so brazenly abandon their parental duties.

Nervously, I reach into my pocket for my mobile phone, which is still locked from the previous day, meaning the only number I can call is home- and that's the number I dial. I gasp as the phone is answered after two rings, and the familiar Welsh accent of my mother speaks down the phone.

"Hello?" Mum asks, causing me to involuntarily gulp.

"M-mum?" I whisper.

"You know where the bus stop is," mum spits, before slamming the phone down on me and bringing tears to my eyes. I blink back the tears- 'Ian' wouldn't cry, after all- before heading to the bus stop, but I pause long before reaching the stop. If I head home, all I'll be facing is yet more grief, yet more punishment, more abuse... Though if my parents were THAT serious about grounding me, they wouldn't have left me at school to rot, would they? It may be that they're finally beginning to respect me as an independent person- but I'd clearly be a person they don't like very much. But what other option do I have? If Grandma Walker sees me with my hair, she'd try to horsewhip me through the street, call me a 'dyke' or worse. There's only one person I can turn to now.

I switch off my phone- my parents clearly don't want to talk to me, and the feeling's mutual- and head to the nearest tube station. Less than half an hour later, I'm stood in the vast concourse of London's Paddington Station, and two and a half hours (and fifty pounds of my 'cosmetics fund') later, I'm stood in front of a sign that reads 'Caerdydd Canolog'- Cardiff Central Station. It only takes another twenty minutes to walk to my ultimate destination, but I'm already exhausted, and as much as 'Ian's strength is driving me forward, I can't stop the tears that are welling in my eyes.

"Just a second," the old woman says as I wearily knock on her door. "I'll be right there..." I smile as the door opens and I stare into the warm, friendly face of my grandmother- Grandma Jones, my mother's mother- but the tears soon flow from my eyes once again. Without saying a word, Grandma wraps her arms around me and gives me a tight hug, before leading me into her living room and placing a hot, comforting cup of tea in my hands.

"Kayleigh-Ann..." Grandma whispers. "Why- why are you here? What's got you so worked up that you have to run away from home?"

"I hate my life," I whisper, making grandma hug me once again.

"Oh, now don't say that!" Grandma says. "Whatever your parents have done to you this time, it can't be that bad, surely? Did they make you get your hair cut like that?"

"No, I did this myself," I say.

"Well it looks very, very nice," grandma says. "Even if you do look a bit boyish!" So much for telling you the truth, I think as I sigh internally. As kind as she is, even Grandma Jones has her limits, and being transgendered is certainly one of them- and I can't risk losing her support.

"Thanks," I sigh. "How- how did you know I'd run away?"

"You're wearing your school uniform, for starters," Grandma says. "It's just gone 6:30, so you've obviously come straight to Cardiff from school, which means your mum didn't take you home... She must be worried sick."

"I doubt it," I spit.

"Oh, now don't say that!" Grandma says. "You know she truly does love you and care for you, right?"

"Then why does she push me too hard?" I moan. "It's like, if I'm not perfect at everything, I'm a failure in her eyes. She actually takes it personally if I'm not Eliza Doolittle, or captain of the cheerleading squad... I hate cheerleading."

"Have you actually told your mother this?" Grandma asks.

"She wouldn't listen," I moan.

"But have you told her anyway?" Grandma asks, making me look at the floor in shame.

"I may... I may have shouted it," I mumble.

"Nothing that needed saying ever needed shouting!" Grandma states in her wise, Welsh voice. "Now call your parents, let them know you're safe. You didn't tell them you were coming here, did you?"

"No," I sigh as grandma hands me her phone. "I just- I just needed someone to love me."

"Well you'll never NOT get that here, Kayleigh-Ann," grandma says, giving me another hug as I frown. Kayleigh-Ann may always be welcome in this house... I doubt that 'Ian' would be. My hands shake as I dial the London number for my parents' home, which answers after the first ring.

"Hello?" Mum asks, an air of panic in her voice. "Kayleigh-Ann? Is that you?"

"...It's me," I mumble, weeping as mum breathes an audible sigh of relief.

"Where the hell are you?" Mum yells. "Do you know how worried I am? Do you know how beside himself your father is?"

"I'm with grandma," I say.

"We'll already called your grandmother, she's worried sick too!" Mum shouts.

"I'm with Grandma JONES," I say. "In Cardiff."

"In Cardiff!?" Mum screeches, causing grandma to snatch the phone from my hands.

"Angela!" Grandma snaps in a quiet, clipped voice. "I did not raise you to talk to your offspring like that. No, I don't care what she did, if she's that upset that she's running to the other side of the country it means that you overreacted! No, you didn't run away when you were younger, because I allowed you to be your own person, I gave you a life you wouldn't want to run away from!" I smirk as my mother gets both barrels from my grandmother- the only person who can silence her. Before long, grandma hangs up the phone, and I wince slightly as I realise that both barrels are about to be turned toward me.

"Your mother tells me that you're having boy troubles, is that correct?" Grandma asks.

"The only 'trouble' I'm having with Ollie is that mum doesn't like him," I whisper.

"Has she met him?" Grandma asks.

"No!" I plead. "She's only ever seen pictures-"

"Well then she's in no position to judge, is she?" Grandma says. "Have you eaten dinner?"

"No," I say. "I, um, came straight here from school..."

"Then we'll get something from a drive-through on the way home," grandma says. "Put your coat back on- I'm driving you back to London."

"But- but it's, like, three hours to get back there," I protest. "Can't I stay here overnight?"

"And miss school tomorrow?" Grandma asks. "I think not. Put your coat on, Kayleigh-Ann."

"It'll be the middle of the night by the time you get back home," I argue, even though I know already that there's no way I'll be staying overnight at grandma's.

Sure enough, just after 10pm, I step through the front door of my London home and straight into a tight hug from my mum.

"Don't you ever dare do that to me again!" Mum screeches, before her voice calms under a withering glare from my grandmother. "Umm, uh, you should get ready for bed, um, you have school tomorrow, um... Welcome home."

"Thanks," I whisper as I head upstairs and strip off the uniform that's been on my body for almost fifteen hours. It feels so good to finally be able to peel my tights off my legs, as though they'd been suffocating, but can finally now breathe again. I rub my legs once the tights are off and wince at the feeling of small, bristly hairs covering them. Normally, like any other girl, I'd take a razor or some depilatory cream and remove the hairs, but one glance in my mirror at the short hair on my head reminds me of that which I've repeated to myself every day for months- my name is NOT Kayleigh-Ann, and I am NOT a girl.

As usual, I fall asleep to the sound of raised voices in other parts of the house, but only raised voice I can hear is that of my grandmother, and whilst it may sound like a telling off to my parents, to me it's as effective and as gentle as any lullaby. For once, my stuffed giraffe spends the night cuddled close to my chest, rather than between my teeth.

After waking up the next morning, I jump straight under the shower to wash away all of yesterday's stress, marvelling at how much quicker it is to dry my new super-short hair. For a brief, blissful moment, I can almost believe that I am indeed 'Ian'- the boy I always wanted to be- right up until I return to my room and pull on my bra and my panties, followed by the rest of my school uniform. Even this, however, doesn't keep the smile off my face as I walk downstairs to be greeted by a warm smile and a quick hug from my grandmother, who leads me to the kitchen table for breakfast.

"Kayleigh-Ann," grandma explains. "Your parents have agreed to take you and your boyfriend out for dinner tonight. They would like to meet Oliver, as would I."

"Um, but, um, tonight's my drama rehearsals," I say- even though the thought of spending the evening with Ollie (even if my parents are present) is about a million times more appealing than spending the evening pretending to be Eliza bloody Doolittle.

"Some things are more important," grandma says firmly. "And besides, your mother's agreed that the way you're feeling now, you're in no fit state to be acting, isn't that right, Angela?"

"That's right," mum says, barely hiding the disappointment in her voice.

"And besides," grandma whispers. "I saw that mark on your right wrist." The colour drains from my face as I realise what grandma's talking about- and how it must have made her feel to see it. "I trust I won't ever be seeing anything like that ever again, young lady?"

"You won't, I promise," I whisper. "I, um, I'm also in no fit state for gymnastics or cheer practice today..."

"Angela!" Grandma says. "Write a note for Kayleigh-Ann's teachers explaining that she won't be able to go to gymnastics or cheerleading today, please."

"But if she keeps missing sessions..." Mum protests, before withering under grandma's gaze. "...Fine." I let out a small giggle and give my grandmother a long hug as she laughs happily, before handing me my fully-unlocked smartphone. Grandma also drives me to school, explaining that she wants to spend as much time with me as possible whilst she's in London- not that I'm complaining, of course! I send several texts to Ollie, filling him in on the situation, before switching my phone to silent (as mandated by the school's rules) and heading into the building to yet more compliments about my hair.

When it's time for PE, I hand my teacher the note that was all but extorted from my mother, meaning that for the first time I can remember, I spend the lesson not leaping around the gymnasium in a skin-tight leotard, but instead sat at the side of the room in my uniform, finishing off homework. And it feels so, so much better. A short skirt and a pair of tights may be a pain, but they're nothing compared to having your torso encased in skin-tight lycra whilst your bare legs are exposed for all to see. Even the plain black shorts and white t-shirt worn by the girls who aren't on the gymnastics teams would be a vast improvement- especially as it's virtually identical to what the boys wear for PE.

The same applies for cheerleading practice at lunchtime. Even though I don't like to disappoint Maisie and her friends, being able to sit back and relax and watch is so, so much better than actually prancing around the field in the same short skirt and crop top as the other girls. Just a shame I won't be able to use this excuse again next week... Or for ballet tomorrow. But this one day, this one relaxing day is one of the best days I've had in a very, very long time- and it's all thanks to grandma.

It's grandma again who takes me home, escorting me up to my room the second we arrive before standing with her palm upturned and outstretched. As with mum on Monday, I know exactly what she's demanding.

"And you WON'T get these back until I can trust that you won't use them!" Grandma says as I hand her every pair of scissors in my room, along with my Stanley knife (for my pointe shoes) and my leg razor- which makes me laugh as I take off my tights and run my hand over my ever-lengthening leg hair.

"If you want to get rid of that, you can use depilatory cream like everyone else!" Grandma says. No chance of that, I think to myself with a chuckle. "Now go on, pick out a dress, you want to make a good impression on Oliver, don't you?"

"Yeah," I say as I open my closet and sigh at the display of feminine beauty inside. Every dress I own that'd be suitable for a dinner date simply screams 'girl'- as would any dress of any kind, I suppose. I eventually settle on a calf-length dress with a wide, flared skirt- not because it makes me look any prettier, but more because I can wear my trusty denim shorts underneath without them showing through the dress. It still feels awkward and uncomfortable as grandma drives me and my family to our 'date', but any feelings of discomfort leave my mind when I see Ollie for the first time in five days. I happily walk toward him, and it's all I can do not to give him a kiss right there in the middle of the restaurant- before I remember that as his supposed girlfriend, that's exactly what I'd be expected to do.

"Umm, we are supposed to kiss at this point, aren't we?" I whisper hesitantly to my 'boyfriend'.

"I think so," Ollie whispers back, before we share a quick kiss- much to the approval of my grandmother. As we sit down, I can't help but stare enviously at Ollie, dressed in his smart shirt and black trousers, and unlike my gallon of make-up, the only thing he has on his face is his smart glasses.

"Don't spend the whole of the meal ogling him," grandma teases, making me and Ollie blush.

"I, um, I do like your hair," Ollie says. "Very 'Ian'-y." I giggle happily as Ollie pays me the best compliment I could hope to receive, before we're both led to our table. For the next hour, my parents and my grandmother take turns grilling Ollie about his life, his family- including his sister, who my parents of course still adore- and his upcoming university studies. Grandma immediately adores Ollie, of course, to the point that she quickly starts calling him 'Ollie' instead of 'Oliver', and whilst I can tell from my mother's face that she's still unconvinced, by the time we leave the restaurant, even she's willing to accept that Ollie and I are a couple.

For the first time in a very long time, things in my life are looking up. Sure, I have to give Ollie another kiss as we depart, sure, my face is still covered in make-up, sure, tomorrow I'll get up and, as always, pull on my itchy school tights and short skirt, before changing in the evening into my stupid pink tights and nasty black leotard for ballet. But on the day after, on Saturday, it'll be different. I'll go round to Ollie's, scrub off all of my make-up and sit on his bed wearing the same baggy jeans and loose t-shirt every other boy wears every day of the week. And with my hair still short, I will truly be Ian, the boy I've longed to be. I'll play videogames, eat pizza and drink full-fat coke, and even better, I'll be doing this in the full knowledge that there's nothing my parents can do about it.

It's just a shame that the following Monday, I'll be right back where I started, pulling on my school skirt and school tights and being forced to be 'Kayleigh-Ann'...