"A whole week off!" Maisie squeaks in my ear as the bell rings to signify the end of the school day- and indeed, the end of this half of the term.

At least, it would be the end of the school day for me, were it not for the fact that when I arrive home, I immediately head up to my bedroom and exchange the itchy, clingy black tights and knee-length skirt I've worn all day for an even itchier, even clingier pair of pink tights and a black tank leotard, just as I've done every Tuesday and every Friday since the New Year began.

"Ugh," I spit as I adjust the leotard in a vain attempt to make my breasts comfortable within it. "My name is NOT Kayleigh-Ann, I am NOT a girl... Who am I fucking kidding?" I sigh as I cover up with a short, fashionable shirt dress and head downstairs to where my mum and dad are waiting with proud smiles on their faces.

"That's the look of someone who's going to try hard tonight, isn't it, Kayleigh-Ann?" Mum asks.

"Sure is!" I say, forcing a smile on my face as I scream internally.

"Because you missed out on Eliza Doolittle," mum reminds me for about the millionth time. "And the captaincy of the cheerleading squad, AND top 3 in your gymnastics competition..." Want to rub it in any further? I think to myself. "But I'm sure you'll try your hardest to get the lead role in Miss Fullerton's production, won't you, Kayleigh-Ann?"

"Of course!" I laugh, even though deep down, the last thing I want to do right now is do any dancing. Nonetheless, I know that's exactly what I must do- the more I disappoint my parents, the more 'depressed' mum gets, and the more 'depressed; mum gets, the more miserable my own life gets to the extent that I end up doing things I really shouldn't... Or rather, I would do, if I had any sharp instruments left in my room.

"Oh, and make sure you pin your hair back before we go to class," mum says, making me internally scream yet again. "Thank GOD it's finally growing back to its PROPER length." Of course, I have no choice but to obey, so for the next hour and a half, I have silver pins holding my shortish blonde hair back as I dance around my teacher's studio in an effort to earn the role my mother so desperately wants me to get.

Finally, the lesson comes to an end and I'm permitted to release my feet from the agonising pointe shoes they've been confined in for the past 45 minutes, but before I do so, I'm interrupted by a familiar grating voice.

"Oh. My. God!" Georgie squeaks as she sits down next to me and forces me into a hug. "You were SO gorgeous out there, you are SO getting the role of Christobel!"

"It's 'Christelle'," I correct my overexcited friend.

"Oh whatever," Georgie snorts. "Some French name beginning with 'C', who cares?"

"It's also, um, Mademoiselle Renou's middle name," Brooke says as she sits down next to us, causing Georgie to gasp in shock, before doubling over in a fit of giggles.

"Oh my god," Georgie gasps. "I didn't know, like, that French people even HAD middle names!" Dear god, I think to myself as I clench my teeth. Could you be anymore fucking irritating?

"Fun fact," Ella says as she sits down next to me and unties her tight blonde bun, "in Australia most people have at least four or five middle names!"

"Oh my god, really?" Georgie asks as I stifle a giggle.

"Seriously," Ella says with a look of utter sincerity on her face. "My dad's full name was Malcolm John Thomas Richard Rod Henry!" I bite my tongue to keep from laughing as Georgie's eyes go wide from the 'information'.

"Oh my god," Georgie breathes. "Wow, I feel, like, so smart for knowing that!"

"Anytime," Ella says, before we both burst into a fit of giggles as Georgie and Brooke head out of the changing room.

"Oh, you evil person," I giggle. "And 'John Thomas Richard Rod'? Were you trying to make me laugh?"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't," Ella says between her own giggles. "Christ, she annoys me. But, I guess, I gotta learn to live with her if I want to be friends with Abbey-Gayle, or with you..."

"You know, you don't HAVE to live with her," I say. "We could always, you know..."

"What," Ella asks, "break off and form our own Angel group?"

"Who said anything about an 'Angel group'?" I ask. "Why can't we be friends unless we're in some sort of bloody clique?"

"Well, friends, yes," Ella says. "Britain's next biggest supermodel, though..." ...And that's the end of that 'breakthrough', I think as I pull my dress back on and head out of the dance studio. Out of all of my 'Angel friends', Ella is by far the one I like the most- but even she seems to view friendship, especially our friendship, as just a means to be successful, just like the other three. Every time I think I can open up to her, she says something that just slams the door back in my face once again.

The only 'real' friend I have is the same young man who I kiss- to keep up appearances, of course- as I get into his car.

"Alright, mate?" Ollie asks, making me chuckle happily as I try to get comfortable in my dress.

"Every part of me apart from my damn feet," I sigh. "Had another pseudo-audition today, and I know that if I don't get this part, my mum's REALLY going to go through the roof... Wish there was just some way of, you know, telling her about what I REALLY want."

"...When you finally get your counsellor's meeting, then you'll get all the 'tools' you need," Ollie says, making me sigh and groan yet again.

"Whenever THAT will be," I sigh.

"Hey, if you'd gone to your counsellor sooner," Ollie says.

"Yes, yes, yes," I moan. "It's either an NHS waiting list or get my parents to pay for a private therapist, and we all know THAT'S not going to happen..."

"In the meantime," Ollie says, "you've got a whole day tomorrow of junk food and videogames to look forward to!"

"Absolute heaven," I giggle as we arrive back at my home. After giving Ollie another 'keeping up appearances' kiss, I head into my house, where, as per usual, mum is stood with an impatient look on her face.

"Well?" Mum asks. "Did you get the part?"

"We find out next Friday," I say, placating my mother for the time being.

"I do hope you get it," mum sighs as she turns to look at the photo display on our hallway wall. "It's been far too long since we last added a picture to this..." Despite my best efforts, I find myself staring at the photo display as well, and it takes all of my willpower not to scream in frustration at what I see.

Over twenty pictures cover the wall, ranging from when I was four years old and dressed in a frilly pink angel dress (which even then I thought was silly) to just a few months ago, the last time I won a medal (bronze, naturally) at a gymnastics competition. Every photo shows me either wearing a skin-tight gymnastics leotard, a ridiculous fluffy tutu or a fancy dress costume, and I hate every single one of them.

"Can I go and get changed now, please?" I ask, my back teeth grinding together at the sight of my mother looking wistfully at the photographs of the girl I used to be. Mum's curt nod does little to ease my stress as I head upstairs to change out of my dancewear, and within minutes, my stuffed giraffe's leg finds its way between my teeth as I scream away the rest of the evening.

When I wake up the following morning, however, I am in a much calmer, much more relaxed state, and not just because it's Saturday- but because I know that the make-up I apply to my face and the delicate, feminine clothing I pull on will not remain on me for long.

Sure enough, within fifteen minutes of arriving at Ollie's house, my face is scrubbed clean of make-up, my shorts and tights have been replaced with a pair of loose-fitting jeans, my trusty Arsenal baseball cap has been clamped to my head and my hands have been filled with a can of full-fat coke and a videogame controller.

"Relaxed?" Ollie asks as he plops down next to me on his bed.

"More than I've been all week," I giggle. "You really don't know how privileged you are to be a boy. No pressure to take care of your appearance..."

"Thanks, my ego needed that," Ollie says, making me laugh.

"You know what I mean!" I retort. "It'd take 'Ian' three minutes to get ready each morning. Shower, deodorant, done. It takes 'Kayleigh-Ann' well over twenty minutes, and that's AFTER cutting my hair short..."

"Speaking of," Ollie says, "do you reckon you'll do that again? It's kinda growing out already..."

"Like I'd get away with it twice," I sigh. "My grandmother actually keeps telling me off because it isn't growing back fast enough, as though I'm actually stunting its growth."

"This the same grandmother who thinks that Winston Churchill is still prime minister?" Ollie asks.

"More like- I dunno, who was prime minister in 1800 again?" I ask, making Ollie laugh.

"SO glad you're forbidding me from meeting her," Ollie laughs.

"As you're not eighteen for another two weeks, she'd probably yell at you for daring to wear long trousers instead of a sailor suit," I snort.

"God knows what her reaction would be if she discovered that we'd had sex," Ollie said, making my eyes go wide. "Not that we're going to, of course, but the rumours we're putting around-"

"-Are none of her concern," I say. "She'll never find out about them, anyway. She thinks telephones are the work of the devil, let alone smartphones and Facebook."

"'Boys and girls should play with conkers and listen to proper music'," Ollie says in a fake old lady voice that makes me laugh.

"Enough 'granny talk'," I say. "More 'grenade talk'!"

"Yes, sir!" Ollie mock-salutes, making me laugh again as we begin our marathon gaming session.

At the end of the afternoon, however, my heart feels heavy as I reapply my make-up and pull my shorts and my tights back on, knowing that my next 'Ian' session isn't going to be for several days.

I'm reminded of even worse news when I head downstairs and am greeted by the smiling face of Ollie (and Georgie)'s mother.

"Hello, Kayleigh-Ann," the middle-aged woman says in her usual friendly-but-cautious tone.

"Hi, Mrs. Powell," I reply. "Thank you for letting me stay..."

"That's quite alright," Ollie's mother says in a clipped tone. "What time will Ollie be picking you up tomorrow for your date?" I close my eyes as I'm reminded of the steps I must take to 'keep up appearances' with Ollie- as far as the world is concerned, I am his girlfriend, and that means that we occasionally have to go on dates- the most prominent of those occasions being tomorrow, the 14th of February.

Even worse is that despite tomorrow being a Sunday, the week after is half-term at school, so I have no restrictions on getting to bed early... Or even getting to bed in my own bed. I'm sixteen years old, which means I can legally have sex- and both my parents and Ollies' are going to think it's very weird if we don't, especially tomorrow.

"I- I think Ollie said he'd pick me up at around 7pm," I mumble. "We, um, don't know what time we'll be back."

"Well, I'm sure you'll have fun," Mrs. Powell says. I smile at the middle-aged woman as Ollie and I head out to his car, but to my surprise, it's Ollie who lets out the first sigh once we're buckled in and on the road.

"...Problem?" I ask.

"Other than mum being distraught at the thought of her quote-unquote little boy having a girl sleep in his bed overnight, no," Ollie snorts. "Especially considering how often my sister- my YOUNGER sister- sleeps over with her boyfriend."

"Maybe it's because I'm still in school, I dunno," I shrug. "Not like we're going to actually have any sex, anyway."

"Well- yeah," Ollie sighs, making me groan inwardly- it's very obvious that Ollie would prefer it if we weren't just pretending to have sex.

Fortunately, my extended 'Ian session'- and my parents being oddly calm this evening- means my giraffe stays out of my mouth as I climb into bed... Though it's in there the following evening as I prepare for my date.

I pull on my frilliest, laciest underwear, supposedly to 'entice' Ollie (not that he needs 'enticing')- my giraffe's leg finds its way between my teeth.

I apply a thick layer of make-up, transforming my face from 'androgynous girl' to 'beauty queen'- another leg ends up between my teeth.

A short, elegant dress- leg between teeth. My highest pair of heels- leg between teeth. Jewellery- leg between teeth. Perfume- leg between teeth. Nail polish- leg between teeth.

As I stare at my reflection in the mirror, my legs start shaking as my body is overwhelmed with feelings of anxiety and fear- fear that what I see before me is going to be what the rest of my life will entail. Being just a pretty face, a 'dolly' to play dress-up with- and worst of all, an object of desire, to be lusted over by men.

"Have fun on your date, Kayleigh-Ann," mum says with barely restrained contempt as I head out the front door. It's clear that even five months on, she disapproves of my relationship with Ollie- though she does at least respect me enough to allow me to continue it- though how much of that is grandma's doing, I don't know.

"Hey," Ollie says, greeting me with a long kiss as I sit down in his car, keeping the hem of my dress low so as not to flash my lacy black thong to the entire street. "You- you look nice..."

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"A- a hotel on the outskirts of the city," Ollie mumbles. "I, um, booked a room, we'll have dinner, then we'll, um, you know..."

"Get into separate beds and have a nice sleep?" I ask.

"Yeah, um, that," Ollie says. "I, uh, brought my iPad, in case you, you know, get bored..."

"Can we just get this over with, please?" I ask, trying my best to sound sympathetic to Ollie- not to mention appreciative of the effort and expense he's put in to keeping up our facade.

"Okay, I guess," Ollie sighs.

"Ollie..." I say softly. "I DO appreciate the effort you've gone to. And it's not like you won't find a girlfriend- a PROPER girlfriend- it just, you know, can't be me, that's all."

"I know," Ollie says. "If you want to get this over with... We'll do just that." I smile as Ollie drives us to our hotel, where we eat our fancy meal, and go through all the traditional 'couple' motions- linking hands, smiling at each other, looking into each other's eyes... And by the time we finally arrive back at our room, I'm so tense that the second the door is closed, I let out a long, tense scream, which startles Ollie into silence.

"Um, sorry, hehe!" I giggle as I sit down in front of the mirror and immediately set about removing all of my make-up.

"You- you do that a lot?" Ollie asks, sitting down on the bed and removing his shoes and tie.

"The more feminine I'm being, the tenser I get," I explain. "And just look at me right now, for god's sake... I'd give anything, literally anything just to pull on a pair of jeans and forget that dresses even existed!"

"That can be arranged," Ollie says, smirking as he retrieves more clothes from his overnight case- clothes that I immediately recognise as belonging to 'Ian'.

"You-" I gasp as Ollie lays the jeans and the t-shirt on the bed. "You did- aww, Ollie, you're awesome!"

"You're welcome," Ollie chuckles. "Mate!" I giggle excitedly, before stripping off my dress, not even caring that I'm baring my sexy underwear to Ollie.

It's not long before my face is make-up free, and after a quick trip into the room's en-suite bathroom, I am 'released' from my lacy underwear and clad only in the jeans and t-shirt I have come to associate with the happiest times of my life.

"Hello again, Ian!" Ollie laughs and I slump down onto the end of the bed. "Your- um, I mean, you, um, going commando?"

"Unless you've got a spare pair of boxers in that case," I laugh.

"Only my own," Ollie shrugs. "And that's kinda a bit more intimate than I know you want!"

"WAY more intimate," I chuckle. "Nah, it's okay, commando will do for now. Though I may have to expand 'Ian's clothes to include underwear soon!"

"You give me the cash, I'll give you the stash," Ollie laughs. "Kinda wish I'd brought my Xbox now... I'm kinda getting bored. Um, no offence..."

"Nah, none taken," I laugh. "You say you brought your iPad, though?"

"Yeah," Ollie says, fishing around inside his case for the tablet. "Not really got any games we can play together, though, unless you fancy Scrabble..."

"I can think of worse ways to spend an evening," I shrug.

"...I thought you were dyslexic?" Ollie asks.

"Only mildly," I say. "And people are often telling me that word games like Scrabble can help with that, help me construct the words properly..."

"Huh, okay then, I guess," Ollie says, handing me his iPad with the Scrabble app already open on it.

After three games- all of which Ollie wins, annoyingly- I go to put the iPad away, only for Ollie to stop me by grabbing my hand.

"Not giving up already?" Ollie teases.

"Mate, I'm really tired," I sigh. "And you're clearly better than me."

"Come on, one more game," Ollie chuckles. "How about we make it interesting?"

"...Define 'interesting', please?" I ask.

"I'll give you a 50 point head start," Ollie says. "You win, we go to bed. I win... You take off your clothes." My jaw drops at Ollie's request, and I actually have to replay the moment in my mind to be sure that I heard him correctly.

"Sorry, sorry," I say. "Have- are- are you actually pissed, right now?"

"What?" Ollie shrugs. "It IS Valentine's night, we ARE on a date..."

"You ARE pissed," I say, trying to push past Ollie. This is NOT a dare."

"Says the girl who flashed me her thong not long ago," Ollie says.

"BOY," I say.

"Kayleigh-Ann..." Ollie sighs. "What I'm trying to say is- how do you know you won't like sex if you never try it?"

"My name is NOT Kayleigh-Ann," I whisper, barely containing my anger. "I am NOT a girl. Ollie, seriously, drop this NOW."

"Do you really want to go your entire life without at least knowing what it's like?" Ollie asks, making my tension levels rise, even despite my male clothing.

"YES," I snap. "I don't really want to know what dog shit tastes like either, should I try that too just to see what it's like?"

"Are you really comparing me to dog shit?" Ollie asks. "It's biology, Kayleigh-Ann."

"IAN!" I yell. "My name IS Ian. I AM a boy!"

"The human body is designed to enjoy sex," Ollie says, squeezing one of my hands in his. "If you try it, you WILL like it."

"Is- was this your plan all along?" I ask, my tension giving way for panic. "To pretend to help me be Ian just to get me into bed?"

"No, of course not," Ollie says, but it's immediately clear that he's lying.

"Ollie, I- I'm really, really uncomfortable right now," I say as I start to hyperventilate. "You- please, please just stop this, please let's go to bed."

"Kayleigh-Ann-" Ollie says as he places a hand on my hip. This startles me so much that I literally jump back away from his touch, stumbling over the edge of the bed and hitting the back of my head on the windowsill.

"Oww..." I moan as the room starts to spin and my hearing grows distorted.

"Kayleigh-Ann?" Ollie asks, rushing over to where I'm sprawled on the floor. "Here, let me..."

"No," I moan, swatting Ollie's hands away from me. "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!"

"You're hurt," Ollie says. "Let me help..."

"Leave me alone!" I scream, throwing a punch that connects with the end of Ollie's nose. The effort of doing this proves too much, however, and I feel my eyes rolling backwards as the entire room grows dark and my body goes limp.

My senses slowly return to me one by one, first my hearing- dominated by a loud, repetitive beeping sound, then touch, letting me know I'm in bed. Smell and taste return next, assaulting my nose with the smell of disinfectant, and finally my eyes open, revealing the concerned faces of my parents- and the fact that I'm not in my bed at home.

"Kayleigh-Ann?" Mum asks with mild panic in her voice. "Can you hear me?"

"Nngh," I moan. "...Mum?"

"Oh, thank god you're alright," mum says.

"Where am I?" I ask, my vision still blurred and my head feeling like it weighs a ton.

"Charing Cross Hospital," mum says. "And don't worry, Ollie won't be coming anywhere near you ever again!"

"Um... Ollie?" I ask. "Wh- how did I get here? Where is he?"

"In custody," mum says with a proud smile. "After he knocked you out, he called us saying that you'd had an 'accident', but when we saw you sprawled on the bed in your dress we knew what had REALLY happened."

"Wait-" I say, concerned for Ollie's safety behind bars. "That's- it was- that wasn't-" My stammering abruptly stops, however, when I realise what my mother just said. "...My dress?"

"Yes," mum says. "It was weird that you were still wearing your dress but not your make-up..." But I WASN'T wearing my dress, that's the whole point- I was wearing 'Ian's clothes, and I certainly didn't change them myself, which means...

"Oh god," I breathe as a wave of panic washes over me. "Oh god, god no..." If I didn't change myself into my dress, the only person who could have done was Ollie... And as I wasn't wearing any underwear, that means he's seen- he's seen me-

"It's okay, Kayleigh-Ann," mum whispers, gently lowering me back into bed. "A policeman will be here soon to take a statement from you, but you need to rest first." I shiver as I lay back down and the entire night's events come flooding back to me- the argument, Ollie's advances, me tripping and falling... Depending on how long it was before Ollie called my parents, he could have done literally anything with me...

"I- I need to talk to Ollie," I say, as I suddenly remember the last thing that happened between me hitting my head and me passing out. "Did- was Ollie, you know, hurt when he was arrested?"

"I don't think so," mum says. "Why, did you try to fight back?"

"I-" I stammer. Yes, I punched him in the nose as hard as I could... And it didn't even so much as scratch him. Thank you very much, feeble, feminine arms...

Tears from in the corners of my eyes as I rub my thighs together, desperately trying to convince myself that Ollie didn't take advantage of my unconscious form. If only I'd been stronger, if only I'd been MALE, then I could've fought back, I could've withstood the blow to my head. Instead, I'm just a 'damsel in distress', a pathetic little GIRL who has to be rescued by her parents because she simply wasn't strong enough.

I bite my lip to keep myself from crying further, though it does little to prevent the tears from coming anyway.

"I just- I just want to go home," I blub.

"The doctors want to make sure you don't have a concussion," mum explains. "Once they're happy that you're okay, they'll let you come home. Though if you are concussed, we can kiss goodbye to the lead role in the ballet recital..." Even when I'm in a hospital bed, mum? I think to myself as I concentrate and try to will myself into being concussed.

"I have to go now, got to get to work," dad says, speaking for the first time since I regained consciousness. "I'll see you two later." I weakly wave as my father leaves, whilst mum remains at my bedside.

"It's a good thing it's half term this week, so you're not missing any school," mum says.

"If you say so," I say, making mum let out a genuine laugh.

"Get some rest, Kayleigh-Ann," mum says. "Would you like me to leave you your phone?"

"Please," I say, smiling as mum hands me my smartphone.

"Don't spend too much time on it in case you are concussed," mum advises. "The second you start feeling ill or dizzy-"

"Yes, I know," I say, making my mother briefly frown before she leaves me in peace. Immediately, I login to Facebook, and almost drop my phone in surprise when I see the name at the top of the 'online' list- the name 'Oliver Powell'. Mere seconds later, my phone pings to let me know I have a new message.

'Hi,' Ollie's message reads. 'Are you okay?'

'No thanks to you,' I type, before shaking my head and deleting the message.

'I'm in the hospital,' I type. 'Doctors think I might have a concussion.' Ollie's reply of a frowning emoticon makes me roll my eyes in frustration.

'I'm really sorry about last night,' Ollie types. 'I don't know what I was thinking... Can you forgive me?'

'You weren't thinking,' I reply. 'You were a horny idiot. I've said a hundred times that this 'relationship' isn't a real one, never will be a real one, and yet you pressured me for sex anyway.'

'I apologise a million times,' Ollie said. 'When you said 'no', I should've left it at that.' I shiver as I remember what my parents said about me being laid on the bed in my dress.

'So you stripped me naked anyway?' I ask, rolling my eyes as Ollie takes what seems like ages to write a reply.

'I couldn't let them find you in Ian's clothes,' Ollie replies. 'How would you have explained that?'

'As a sex game between us that got out of hand?' I reply. 'Our parents thought we were staying in a hotel so we could have sex, we could've said that they were your clothes and I was wearing them as foreplay or something. Ollie, I need to know, while I was unconscious, did you do anything?' I type and retype the final four words of my message a dozen times, desperately trying to find a better wording before giving in and sending the message anyway.

'Of course not,' comes the immediate reply. 'I swear, I honestly didn't do anything. Didn't even take any pictures.' I retch at the thought of Ollie taking a photo of my naked, unconscious form before crafting my reply.

'I believe you, even though I don't want to,' I reply, before closing the messenger window and opening up my Facebook profile, where I immediately change my relationship status to 'single'.

'Why did you just change your status?' Ollie types, making me groan with frustration.

'Because after last night, I never want to see you again,' I type. 'I thought you were a friend, thought you wanted to help me become Ian when all you wanted was to help yourself.'

'I'm still the only chance you'll have of ever becoming Ian,' Ollie types.

'Not anymore, you're not,' I type. 'That remark about taking pictures proves that. We're done. Goodbye, Ollie.' I toss my phone back onto the table next to my bed, before letting out a long sigh. As much as I can't afford to trust Ollie anymore, he wasn't entirely wrong when he said that he was my best chance of becoming 'Ian', but after what he did, the way he betrayed my trust...

I bite my lip yet again to hold back the tears as I realise that when I get dressed to leave the hospital, it will be in the clothes mum brought with her- which will inevitably consist of a tight, girly top and a short skirt. All of 'Ian's clothes are no longer accessible to me, as I stashed them at Ollie's house- I can't get them myself or ask Ollie to bring them over without rousing suspicion, and I certainly can't ask his sister to bring them to me... As of right now, Ian Freeman is effectively a dead man. It's time to face the facts- my name IS Kayleigh-Ann, and I AM a girl. I spend the next ten minutes laid on my back in the bed, tears flowing freely as I let this face sink in...

I return home a few hours later after the doctors declare me to be concussion-free, and as I predicted, on my legs are a pair of dark tights, hanging from my waist is a pleated grey miniskirt and covering my torso is a clingy, long-sleeved, low-cut khaki top. The second I step through the front door, I all but sprint up the stairs to my bedroom, where I bite down hard on my stuffed giraffe's leg and let out a long, angry scream. Why can't I just win, even if it's just the once...

The one consolation is that, as mum pointed out, it IS half term, so I have a week to get over my separation from Ollie, and by extension, my separation from 'Ian'- and I have a week to devise a way to 'get back together' with my alter ego...

"Kayleigh-Ann!" Mum yells from downstairs, snapping me out of my funk. "Come downstairs, the police officer's here to take your statement!" I sigh as I get off my bed, forcing a smile on my face as I head into the living room to find a uniformed police officer sat waiting for me.

"Hello, Miss Walker," the policewoman- a short, stout woman in her early fifties- says in a polite voice. "I'd just like to ask you a few questions about last night, if that's alright. Are you okay to speak to me now?"

"Kayleigh-Ann will answer any questions you have," mum says, before I have a chance to respond.

"...Yes," I mumble.

"Take your time," the policewoman says. "If you feel uncomfortable at any point and want to stop, just say. In your own words, please tell me what happened last night."

"Umm, me and Ollie..." I say hesitantly. "We'd- we'd booked a hotel room- well, he had. We, um, we were talking, he, um, he tried to-"

"Go on, Kayleigh-Ann," mum whispers softly as I hesitate. Clearly, mum wants me to drop Ollie in it- she's never liked him and is undoubtedly over the moon that we've split up- but the fact of the matter is that he didn't DO anything apart from strip me of my clothes. That's surely an offence of some kind, but how do I explain that I was wearing men's clothing? Mum's not going to buy the 'sex game' story...

"We were talking," I say. "I stood up, I tripped over the edge of the bed, I banged my head on the windowsill... That's all I remember."

"Don't you remember ANYTHING else, Kayleigh-Ann?" Mum asks, clearly disappointed in my refusal to implicate Ollie.

"...Nothing," I say. Except feebly trying to punch him, I think to myself.

"Is that enough to charge him?" Mum asks the policewoman.

"I don't want to press charges," I say firmly. "It was an accident."

"Kayleigh-Ann," the policewoman says in a calm voice. "There's no need to be afraid, you don't need to protect him. We can ensure that you never have contact with that boy ever again."

"I'm not protecting him," I say. "That really is all that happened."

"...If you insist," the policewoman says, also clearly disappointed by my lack of co-operation. "If you think of anything else you want to add to your statement, don't hesitate to call me- here's my contact details."

"Thank you," I say, taking the card from the policewoman as mum escorts her out of the house.

"Kayleigh-Ann," mum says sternly once the policewoman has left. "Why did you lie to a police officer? I thought I raised you better than that..."

"I didn't lie," I plead. "Ollie didn't lay a finger on me, we were talking, I tripped, I fell, I hit my head..."

"I watch TV shows every day about women who 'tripped' when they were arguing with their lovers," mum says. "I don't want you to become one of those women, Kayleigh-Ann. You can't physically defend yourself against a man like another man can. If you don't press charges against Ollie, than your next boyfriend will think that he can get away with whatever he wants."

"I don't want a 'next boyfriend'," I protest. "Ever!"

"That's only how you feel now," mum says. "In a few weeks you'll feel differently, and I have several friends who have young sons who I think you'll like a lot. They're not all footballers, or actors and I reckon if you take the time to get to know them-"

"Seriously!?" I ask mum. "I've only just split from Ollie and you're trying to set me up with another boy?" My heart sinks as mum holds her hand to her forehead, as I know what's inevitably going to come next...

"I need to lie down," mum says in an overly dramatic voice, before rushing upstairs to her bedroom. A short while later, I'm in my own room, screaming quietly into my pillow as I hear mum softly moan from the adjacent bedroom.

I remain in my room for the rest of the afternoon, not wanting to head downstairs even to quench my thirst as I'm that anxious about the inevitable 'follow-up' to mum's latest attack...

Sure enough, once dad returns from work, he immediately heads up to the master bedroom to check on mum... And five minutes later comes storming into my bedroom with a look of pure fury on his face.

"What the hell have you done now?" Dad growls. "Your mother is in that bedroom, barely able to move thanks to what you did!"

"Dad..." I moan. "I only got out of hospital a few hours ago!"

"And if your mother gets any worse that's where you'll go straight back to!" Dad yells, bringing tears to my eyes. "Consider yourself grounded for the rest of the half-term!"

"Fine by me!" I yell, tears now freely flowing. "I've got nowhere to go this week anyway..." I sob softly into my pillow, cursing my oestrogen-flooded body with every tear the trickles down my cheeks.

If I was stronger, I could stand up to dad, maybe even talk him down... The man is so weak-willed he barely qualifies as a man and certainly only barely qualifies as a father. The only time he and I have any contact is when he's punishing me for what I've supposedly done to mum, even though the two of them argue so often, arguments that are always louder and more vicious than anything I ever say to mum. Though oddly enough, mum and dad's arguments never cause mum to have one of her 'attacks'...

I stay in room for the rest of the day, skipping dinner despite having had very little to eat or drink since leaving the hospital. Naturally, dad doesn't even bother to check to see if I want anything, despite serving mum her dinner in bed. I probably wouldn't have eaten the vegan crap he would've made regardless, but either way, my stomach growls as I eventually climb under my bed sheets, and when I wake up the following morning, I'm so hungry I'm actually in pain, but when I sit down at the breakfast table, all dad does is stare at me with a look of utter contempt in his eyes.

"You know where the cereal is," my so-called father spits. "I hope you're ready to apologise for what you did to your mother."

"I didn't 'do' anything," I retort. "I've only just split from Ollie and already she was trying to set me up-"

"Save the excuses, Kayleigh-Ann," dad snorts. "I've had to take today off work to look after your mother. At this rate we might not even get a holiday this year, the way you're going." My right hand clenches into a fist as I pour my corn flakes into a bowl and cover them with my parents' preferred revolting soy milk, before choking them down as fast as I can and leaving the breakfast table without saying another word.

"Oh, and Kayleigh-Ann?" Dad says as I leave the kitchen. "Your grandmother's coming around this morning, so make sure you're dressed appropriately."

After spending a good quarter of an hour screaming away my frustrations with my giraffe's leg between my teeth, I find myself sat on the sofa, desperately trying not to fidget in my frilly pink dress, my itchy old white tights and my Mary-Jane shoes. I take a deep breath as a knock comes from our front door, followed by a familiar voice.

"Hello, Craig," grandma says, letting herself into the house. "Why hello, Kayleigh-Ann! My, don't you get prettier every time I see you! Where's Angela today, Craig?"

"In bed," dad says. "She's unwell again. Thanks to Kayleigh-Ann misbehaving."

"What?" Grandma asks, her previously sweet demeanour instantly changing to one of fury. "What have you done now, young lady?"

"Umm, I-" I stammer.

"Don't 'umm' at me!" Grandma snaps. "Tell me, now!"

"I- I wouldn't let mum set me up with a new boyfriend," I say meekly, hoping vainly that this feeble excuse will bring grandma around to my side.

"And why not?" Grandma asks, just as angry as before.

"Because- because I'd only just split up from Ollie," I say, trying not to mumble out of fear that grandma will scold me further.

"And is that any excuse to send your mother to her sick bed?" Grandma asks, making my insides so tense that I feel almost like my ribs are being crushed.

"No..."I say.

"She's grounded for a week," dad says- but only once it's clear that grandma has stopped talking.

"That hardly seems like enough of a punishment, for what she did," grandma scoffs.

"Kayleigh-Ann, you're grounded for two weeks," dad says, looking toward grandma for approval.

"That's still very lenient," grandma snorts.

"Three weeks," dad immediately says, making my eyes bulge through sheer frustration- especially as less than a minute later, mum walks down the stairs looking right as rain.

"Oh, hello Elaine," mum says, sitting down on the sofa as though nothing had ever been the matter with her. "I thought I heard your voice."

"Hello, Angela, it's good to see you're feeling better," grandma says, shooting a disapproving stare in my direction. I internally scream at the fact that out of everyone in the room, I seem to be the only person who can see through my mother's charade of 'depression'.

"I'll be fine after I see my counsellor tomorrow," mum says, and I grimace as I brace myself for grandma's inevitable retort.

"'Counsellors'," grandma scoffs. "We didn't have counsellors in my day, we just got on and did things! All these co-called 'counsellors' are good for is taking your money and telling what you already know- that there's nothing wrong with you and you just need to pull yourself together!" I literally bite my tongue to keep myself from screaming- not just as grandma's antiquated world view, but at the fact that if I'd said anything even remotely similar to mum, she'd be back upstairs again and I'd be grounded for another three centuries. When these words come out of grandma's mouth, however, mum simply laughs it off and offers her own retort.

Grandma stays for the next two hours- which feels like almost two million years- sharing her views on psychiatrists, depression, Britain's membership of the EU (which, surprise surprise, she is strongly against), Jeremy Corbyn and, of course, LGBT people. By the time she's left, I literally breathe a sigh of relief as I head upstairs to change into a pair of shorts.

"You may as well change into a pair of ballet tights, Kayleigh-Ann," mum says as I leave the living room.

"Umm... But my head still hurts, I can't go to ballet tonight," I plead, despite the risk that this will trigger another 'attack' for mum.

"The doctor says you don't have a concussion, so you're okay to dance," mum retorts.

"But- but-" I stammer. The one good thing about my head injury was that I thought I could use it to get out of ballet class, but now I have to go anyway?

"You may as well pull on your leotard as well while you're up there," mum says, making me scream internally. My scream quickly becomes external- albeit muffled by the leg of a stuffed toy- when I reach my room, and when I look in the mirror and see myself in my childish white tights and pink dress, something inside my brain snaps.

I stop screaming, my giraffe limply dropping to the floor, as I stare at my reflection and weep. I'm about to exchange a ridiculous pink dress and white tights for even clingier, sweatier pink tights and a skin-tight black leotard. Then, I'm going to tie a pair of satin pointe shoes to my feet and prance around a room for an hour in an effort to convince a woman I barely like that I want to dance in her production.

And this is what my life's going to be like every day from now, until the day I die. All I have to look forward to is misery and death... And I've had my fill of misery.

I search through my drawers, desperately looking for a pair of scissors, a knife or anything with a sharp blade that I can use to cut open my wrists and end the misery that is my existence. However, Grandma Jones was thorough when she cleaned out my drawers- I don't have a single thing in my room that could possibly break skin. I break down in floods of tears and sink to the floor, not caring that I'm creasing my dress, before something on my windowsill catches my eye.

Among all the ornaments on my windowsill is a large, heavy pebble that's been painted to resemble a fantasy cottage. I lift the stone in my hands, wincing at my lack of muscles as I strain under its weight. If I can't end my life, then I can at least end my commitment to ballet...

I take a deep breath as I place my foot on the side of my dresser and raise the stone above my head. Sure, this will hurt, but in the long run, it'll be worth it. I aim the stone at my outstretched toes and bring the stone down hard...

"Kayleigh-Ann?" Mum asks as she opens my bedroom door, causing my foot to slip off the dresser just as the rock goes clattering into it. "What- did- did you-why are- Kayleigh-Ann, did you just- did you just try to break your own foot?"

"No," I immediately protest, before my eyes uncontrollably fill with tears. "Yes..." My legs suddenly lose the ability to keep me upright and I sink to the floor, bawling my eyes out and screaming in pure anguish. Everything in my life is like it's been designed to screw me over. Being born female, having the parents that I do... And now, I can't even injure myself without it being ruined by my mother, who will inevitably have another 'episode' that will mean I'll be grounded until the end of the universe itself.

Much to my surprise, however, mum doesn't feign illness, or criticise me, or even shout at me. Instead, she kneels down on the floor beside me and gives me a long, tender hug... The likes of which I haven't felt in many, many years.

"Oh god, Kayleigh-Ann, I'm so sorry..." Mum sniffles, weeping genuine tears of her own. "How could I have been so blind not to see this? It's so obvious..." my breathing speeds up- has mum found out about Ian? Better yet, is she saying that she'll accept 'him'?

"You- you know about him?" I ask excitedly.

"Well of course I do," mum says, snorting out a laugh. "You've been going out with him for five months! And now you've split from him, your first ever break-up... " My heart sinks- obviously mum doesn't know about 'Ian', I've been too careful... But this is still the closest I've been to her in a very long time, and it feels so nice to just get a genuine motherly hug.

"And here I am, trying to set you up with another boy when your heart's still hurting," mum sighs. "I'm sorry, Kayleigh-Ann. Consider yourself not grounded." I sniffle as mum apologises to me for the first time ever in my life. Maybe things are finally starting to look up...

"Thank you," I whisper. "...Can I put my shorts back on now?"

"Of course you can!" Mum laughs. "And as you're not grounded, I'm going to get a treat for you. Wait right here, I know EXACTLY what will cheer you up!" I grin as I change into my shorts, leaving my legs tights-free, before climbing onto my bed to try to calm myself down.

My life isn't any better than it was before I tried to hurt myself. I'm still a girl, I still have crap parents and a psycho grandmother, and I'm still eventually going to have to put my dancewear back on... But at least my mum is finally beginning to see things from my perspective, finally beginning to treat me as an adult... Maybe one day, she'll even treat me as a man?

My heart sinks again half an hour later, though, when my 'treat' arrives... And it turns out to be Abbey-Gayle, Brooke, Georgie and Ella. Nonetheless, I force a smile on my face- a smile that becomes less and less forced when I see the actual physical treats the four of them care carrying, in the shape of cups of hot chocolate, a big, warm, fluffy blanket and Georgie's extensive make-up kit. The last item may be the least welcome thing in the world right now- but I guess it's the thought that counts.

"Oh my GOD!" Georgie sighs as she sits down, uninvited, on the edge of my bed. "Like, I SO can't believe my stupid brother!"

"Yeah, like, what a creep!" Brooke spits as she wraps the blanket around me. "Knocking you out like that..."

"He didn't 'knock me out', I just slipped, that's all," I say. "And no, he didn't 'do' anything whilst I was out." Apart from strip me naked, I think to myself.

"Well, either way, he'll regret what he did soon enough," Abbey-Gayle says smugly, making me pause.

"What- what exactly have you done?" I ask.

"Reuben, Andrew and Marley have invited him out for a 'drink'," the tall, dark-skinned girl says with a smug smile, referring to her, Brooke's and Georgie's boyfriends respectively.

"Let's just say you won't be the only person in London with a head injury tonight!" Ella says with an evil laugh as my eyes go wide in shock.

"No- no, really," I say as panic takes over. "You can't!"

"Oh relax," Brooke laughs. "They're just going to kick him around a bit, they've been told not to break any bones or really knock him out."

"Though, like, the creep TOTALLY deserves it!" Georgie snorts.

"Really, please, don't," I say. "He doesn't deserve it, really, please..."

"Oh- okay then, if you insist," Abbey-Gayle sighs as she composes a text message. "But you're making a mistake."

"Yeah," Brooke says. "You've got to let them know who's boss. Guys shouldn't ever take us girls for granted!"

"Damn right!" Ella laughs in her thick Australian accent. "Especially not super-sexy Angels like us, right?"

"Right!" The other girls all cheer.

"And besides," Brooke whispers in a sly voice. "You still got 'Ian', haven't you?" I roll my eyes as I remember the 'cover story' I told Brooke at the new year- the story that undoubtedly quickly got spread to the other four girls.

"...Not anymore," I sigh, prompting a group hug with me in the middle.

"Please tell me you at least got rid of HIM?" Abbey-Gayle asks, confirming my suspicions about Brooke's loose tongue.

"That was... a mutual thing," I sigh.

"Well we're going to do our best to make sure that you're not single for long," Abbey-Gayle says with a smug grin. "No super sexy, super girly Angel like you should be single at all, right girls?"

"Really, I just want to get over Ollie- and, I guess Ian- first," I say.

"And when you're done getting over them," Abbey-Gayle says, "you message me, and you will have your pick of any boy in London!"

"Any SINGLE boy," Brooke giggles, moving the topic of discussion on to gossip about the boyfriends of the other four girls- whom they all complain about despite the fact that they claim to love them- followed by Abbey-Gayle and Ella's modelling work and ending on the topic of tonight's ballet auditions.

"You'd better get ready, Kayleigh-Ann," Ella says as she reaches into my dancewear drawer- uninvited- and hands he a pair of tights and a clean leotard. "I know you're going to knock it out of the park tonight!"

"Ugh, I wish," I lie. "I'm still dizzy from Sunday night..."

"Like, so?" Georgie asks, earning a blank stare from me.

"So I can't really do any pirouettes," I explain. "I'll only get dizzier?"

"Like, I don't know how the brain works!" Georgie complains, a statement which forces Ella suppress a giggle.

"If I tried dancing some of the steps Mademoiselle Renou laid out, I'd probably fall flat on my arse," I snort.

"Ugh," Ella spits. "You know who apparently did that last year? Laura, the transgendered girl from our class."

"What, really?" Abbey-Gayle asks.

"Yeah," Ella says, snorting with laughter. "Apparently she also..." Ella mimes sticking her fingers down her throat and retching, prompting snorts of laughter from the other three girls as my heart sinks further. I knew that Abbey-Gayle, Brooke and Georgie could be utter bitches, but for Ella to mock the eating disorder of a fourteen year old girl... I really can't believe that I nearly confided in her about the 'real me'.

Pulling on the stretchy dancewear, especially in front of the other four girls, who don't even give me any privacy, considering the amount of times we've changed together, serves to remind me that I'm as far away from becoming 'Ian' as I ever was. Yes, I now have loving parents, but that love is clearly conditional on me being and remaining a girl. Yes, I have friends, but they're all girls, they'd stab me in the back the first chance they'd get if they thought it'd help their careers, or their love lives, or if they thought it'd be fun... I don't want 'friends' like that, I want a proper mate... Like I had with Ollie...

I sigh as I adjust my breasts in my leotard- two other things I'd be more than happy to live without- before covering up with my shorts and a pink, dance-themed t-shirt, grabbing my dance bag and leading the four girls downstairs.

"Hello girls!" Mum says with a wide smile. "I hope you all helped Kayleigh-Ann cheer up after her break-up?"

"We did our best, Mrs. Walker," Abbey-Gayle says. "Think this heart's going to take a bit more mending, though!"

"First break-ups are always hard," mum sighs. Even harder when you're breaking up with two guys at once, I self-pityingly think to myself before being led out to Abbey-Gayle's boyfriend's car. I frown as the dark-skinned girl spends several minutes making out with her boyfriend before allowing him to drive us to our dance class, though the frown only deepens when we eventually arrive there and I realise that I'm going to be spending the next hour dancing, whether I like it or not.

"Hi, Kayleigh-Ann," Miss Fullerton says with a concerned voice. "I understand you've been in hospital recently, do you think you'll be okay to dance tonight?" ...or maybe I won't have to dance, I think to myself.

"I- I don't know," I sigh, trying to keep myself from smiling too much. "I'm still feeling a little dizzy..."

"I'm not going to make you dance if you're not up to it," Miss Fullerton says, leading me toward the empty dance studio. "Could you could a couple of pirouettes for me now, please?"

"Umm, okay," I say, stripping off my shorts and my t-shirt and willing my fading dizziness to return. I do a couple of steps as Miss Fullerton instructs, and the second I land my foot, I allow myself to stumble sideways, causing Miss Fullerton to rush forward and steady me.

"Okay, you're not alright to dance tonight," Miss Fullerton sighs, and I try to hide my glee as I pull my shorts and my t-shirt back on. “I’m sorry, Kayleigh-Ann- I know how much you wanted this role.”

“I’m sure there are other girls who wanted it more,” I shrug. “I should- I should, um, call my mum, get her to pick me up.”

“Huh, okay,” Miss Fullerton says. “Sure you don’t want to stay and watch?” And sit around in clingy lycra for an hour? No thank you, I think to myself.

“I- I should rest up,” I say. “Try to get my strength back…”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Miss Fullerton sighs. “God knows I missed more than my fair share of ballet lessons when I was younger, thanks to my trips to hospital. You get yourself better, I’ll see you next week, okay?”

“Okay,” I say with a genuine smile. I barely restrain a fist pump as I head back out to Abbey-Gayle and the girls, who stare at me expectantly.

“Not happening,” I sigh, making all four girls groan in frustration.

“Oh, man…” Abbey-Gayle sighs. “Really thought this was gonna be your one, you know?”

“Maybe next time,” I shrug. “Gotta call my mum, get her to pick me up…”

“Sure,” Abbey-Gayle says as I head out of the studio and dial home.

“Hello?” Mum’s voice answers after one ring.

“Hi mum, it’s me,” I say. “I- I did a few steps for Miss Fullerton and nearly fell flat on my bum… I don’t think I’m gonna be able to dance tonight, or Friday.” I brace myself- despite mum’s ‘thawing’ earlier today, crushing her dreams of me being a ballerina might just undo everything…

“Oh…” Mum sighs. “You- you really don’t have any luck, do you, Kayleigh-Ann?”

“Umm, I guess not,” I say, surprised by mum’s willingness to put everything down to ‘luck’.

“First your head, and now your depression…” Mum sighs. “I should’ve known that when you inherited my talent for performing, you’d have got my artistic temperament too, and with it my depression… I’m so sorry I did that to you, Kayleigh-Ann.” …Sure, I think to myself. Let’s go with that. I open my mouth to respond, when I see Laura and her gang walk into the studio, all dressed and ready to dance, and an idea suddenly pops into my head.

“I- I think it would be good if I saw a counsellor to help me with my depression,” I say. Laura’s spoken before of seeing a counsellor for her transsexualism, and if I pitch it to mum this way, I can skip the waiting list for an NHS counsellor. “I know that grandma-“

“Don’t you worry about what that old hag thinks,” mum says, making me snort with laughter. “I’m seeing my counsellor tomorrow, you can come along and I’ll see if she can give you an assessment.” My heart beats faster with excitement at the prospect of someone I can open up to- and someone who won’t want me to ‘open up’ for them, unlike my so-called mate Ollie. However, mum will inevitably want to be in the same room when I have my assessment…

“Umm, could I have an assessment by myself?” I ask. “There are kinda things I’m not comfortable talking about in front of you…”

“What kind of things?” Mum scoffs. “…Oh, I see. Don’t worry, Kayleigh-Ann, I’ll see that you get a private assessment.”

“Thanks, mum,” I say with a grin. “Can you- can you come and pick me up, please? I’m kinda still dizzy, and it’s cold in the waiting area.”

“I’ll be right there,” mum says warmly.

The following day- clad in my shorts, a pair of thick tights and a clingy long-sleeved top, naturally- I find myself sat in front of a kindly-looking middle-aged woman, my heart beating faster than ever as I prepare to bare my soul.

“Hello, Kayleigh-Ann,” the woman says. “My name’s Doctor Alice Hall, today won’t be a formal counselling session, we’ll just be talking through your issues so we can establish exactly what help and counselling we can offer you to help you feel better.”

“I understand,” I say, fidgeting in my chair in my eagerness to spill my guts to the counsellor.

“From the form your mother filled in,” Dr Hall says, “it says that you’re having difficulty with depression and self-harm- can you tell me, please, how you feel when you get the urge to harm yourself?”

“…Frustrated,” I say, trying to remain calm. “Angry…”

“What is it about your life that frustrates you?” Dr Hall asks. Where do I start? I think to myself. Being forced to perform for uncaring parents; a psychotic grandmother who doesn’t recognise that I’m practically an adult; being drooled over by boys day in, day out; false, bitchy ‘friends’ who would stab in the back the first opportunity they got if they though it would benefit them; being betrayed by the person I thought was my best friend… No. I know EXACTLY where to start, what the root of all my problems is.

“…What frustrates me is,” I say, taking a deep breath. “…I wish I’d been born a boy.” Time seems to stand still as the counsellor digests what I’ve said and I panic, wondering whether or not what I said was heard by anyone else, whether or not I’m going to be outed to the whole world…

“How long have you felt like this?” Dr Hall asks, causing me to breathe a sigh of relief.

“At least since puberty,” I say. “The more I develop into a woman, the more- the more ‘wrong’ I feel. It’s like, I’m constantly fidgety, and when I have to do traditionally feminine things, like ballet, or gymnastics, I tense up, feel like I have to scream…”

“Have you told your parents about this?” Dr Hall asks.

“I- I can’t,” I sob. “Mum’s got it into her head that I’m going to be a big, famous movie star, dad doesn’t give a shit about me, he never has, my grandmother’s so conservative she makes Hitler look like Jeremy Corbyn and my other grandmother lives in Cardiff so I barely get to see her. I- I used to have a pretend boyfriend, someone I could pretend to be a boy with, but- but he just saw me as someone he could have sex with, so now I have no one, and I feel like I’m stuck like this, I’m trapped in this body, trapped in this life… I have actually thought of killing myself more than once, I’m that miserable.”

“If you’re having suicidal thoughts, then the ‘situation’ clearly is serious,” Dr Hall says. “I’m not qualified to diagnose gender dysphoria- the feeling that you were born the wrong gender- but I can certainly refer you on to a counsellor who can. The priority, however, has to be your self-harm and suicidal thoughts.”

“…I understand,” I say, disappointed that Dr Hall can’t diagnose me as transsexual but relieved that she is at least taking my feelings seriously.

“If gender dysphoria turns out to be the root cause of your depression, then by all means, we can recommend a course of treatment,” Dr Hall says. “However, first, I’d like to explore other avenues. I get teens in here all the time suffering from depression as their parents are forcing them to, as you say, ‘perform’- I’m sure you’ve heard of ‘stage mums’?”

“First hand,” I sigh. “Mum always wanted to be an actress but she could never make it, so I’m going to be the big superstar instead. They even planned my birth so that I’d be a millennial baby, I was born two days early and every birthday, I’m reminded that I should’ve been born on January 1st 2000.”

“It’s natural to want to rebel, especially in your teenage years,” Dr Hall says. “It’s possible that your escapism, by pretending to be a boy, is a part of the need to rebel, rather than the cause of it.”

“…I guess,” I sigh. “But when I’m dressed as Ian, everything just feels so… Right. It’s like I’m finally the person I was meant to be, I’m relaxed, I’m carefree… I’ve had a ‘catchphrase’, a ‘chant’ I’ve said to myself virtually every day since I turned thirteen. It goes ‘my name is NOT Kayleigh-Ann, I am NOT a girl’… I used to think that if I chanted that enough times, it’d eventually come true.”

“I see,” Dr Hall nods. “As I said, I’m not qualified to diagnose gender dysphoria, but I’ll get you an appointment with someone who can as soon as possible. However, even if you are diagnosed, there will be many hurdles to overcome before you can start living in the identity of your preferred gender.”

“I know,” I sigh. “I need to tell my parents, my friends… Ugh, my grandmother…”

“Coming out is one of the most stressful things a person can do, especially to family,” Dr Hall says softly. “I’m concerned that such stress may affect you negatively, especially if you’re self-harming.”

“…I understand,” I say, my disappointment plain in my voice.

“Ultimately, would you like to live life full-time as a man?” Dr Hall asks.

“I- I guess,” I say. “I’ve never really thought about it that way, never thought that I’d ever actually have that option. But I- I really don’t think I can live as a girl for much longer.”

“If you are diagnosed with gender dysphoria,” Dr Hall explains, “then if your counsellor feels it appropriate, they can prescribe you with hormone treatments that will chemically change you.”

“Testosterone?” I ask, excitement creeping into my voice.

“Yes,” Dr Hall confirms. “But only if they feel it would benefit you, and that can only happen if you’re in a stable emotional state.”

“My ‘instability’ is caused by me being the wrong gender,” I retort, my frustration increasing.

“If that’s determined to be the case, then hormone replacement therapy will be looked at more seriously,” Dr Hall says. “But as you’re still dependent on your parents, it can only happen with their permission, or once you legally become an adult.”

“You sound like my grandma,” I spit.

“I understand how frustrating this must be for you,” Dr Hall says. “But believe me when I say that I want to help you. My goal is to help you overcome your depression and tendency to self-harm. If that means referring you to someone who can prescribe testosterone, then that’s what I’ll do, but only if I’m convinced that that will be the best course of action.”

“So, basically, I have to wait it out?” I ask.

“If it’s any consolation,” Dr Hall says, “the procedure is a lot more complicated for children under the age of sixteen. And I will confess, when you came in here and I saw your date of birth, I honestly thought it would be exam stress. If I’d known that it was a transgender issue, I’d have immediately rearranged for you to see a gender issue specialist.”

“I couldn’t put that on my form without my mum seeing it,” I sigh. “And I can’t tell her without her going fully off the deep end. Or my dad. And certainly not any of my friends or either of my grandmothers.”

“A gender specialist can help you to come out to your parents,” Dr Hall says. “And I will make sure that you leave this appointment with a date and time to see someone to talk about your gender identity issues, I promise.”

“Thanks,” I say, slumping back in my chair as the topic of conversation turns back to my self-harm. I don’t truly know what I was expecting when I entered this meeting, and yet I feel disappointed. Sure, it feels good to finally bare my soul, to finally reveal the ‘true me’ to someone- especially someone I’ve never met before- but the fact of the matter is that next Monday, I’ll still be pulling on a pair of tights and a skirt to go to school, and the following day I’ll still squeeze my body into a skin-tight leotard in order to spend the evening dancing ballet.

A month later, I finally get my meeting with a gender dysphoria specialist called Dr Williamson, who takes over my ‘case’ from Dr Hall. The meeting goes virtually identically to my first meeting with Dr Hall- right down to focussing more on my depression than on my gender identity itself- and I leave not only without my desired diagnosis (Dr Williamson says it’ll take more sessions before I can receive that as she also wants to make sure that ‘Ian’ isn’t just a way of rebelling against my parents’ wishes), but with my body tied up in a tense knot as I return home to cover it in a pair of pink tights and a skin-tight black leotard, ready to dance the evening away.

My diagnosis isn’t the only thing I want that I lack- in the month since my separation from Ollie, I haven’t spoken to him once… Nor have I made any effort to find a replacement for him, meaning that Dr Williamson is the only person in whom I can confide- and even then, our meetings are only once every two weeks. I can’t tell any of my family about ‘Ian’, I can’t tell anyone at school for fear that my life will be made even more of a living hell, I certainly can’t tell Abbey-Gayle or any of her gang… It’s like for every step forward- seeing a counsellor- I take a step backward- losing my best mate.

When I arrive at the dance studio, however, I see a ray of hope smiling back at me in the shape of Laura White. She, like me, knows the pain of being forced to live as the wrong gender. She, like me, has suffered mental trauma as a result. And if she can overcome her obstacles to live the life they she wants, then so can I. And as much as losing the support of Ollie is a step backward, seeing Dr Williamson is a much, much bigger step forward.

I am determined. I WILL get that diagnosis. I WILL throw away my dancewear, my dresses and my make-up and never wear them again. I WILL get testosterone… And I WILL make my parents understand that I need to live my life the way I want, rather than the way they want.

I just wish that last part wasn’t the biggest obstacle of all…