---

 
I sat on the wooding fence looking out over the reed beds and out across the river, the cool evening breeze rippling my skirt. I pulled my shawl tighter round my shoulders. The sun would soon set, and reluctantly I considered that it was time to leave. I like it here, alone, down by the river. I can be who I want to be and just detach myself from the day-to-day misery that life can be at times. I try to come here at least three times a week.

I started to walk back towards home. As I did so, my mobile phone beeped at me denoting a text message had been received. “Dad Home. Plan B. S”. I quickly texted back, “OK ETA 5”.

The message was from Susan, letting me know that my father had already arrived home, and that therefore she would meet me on the footpath at the end of the road with my spare set of cloths so that I could change before I go inside. You see, despite what I am wearing, I am not a girl, well not by the traditional definition at least. My name is David Palmer; I am a 14-year-old boy, most of the time. At the moment, I’m Jennifer Palmer, my own ‘twin’ sister.

It’s starting to get quite dark now as I come up the footpath towards the back of the housing estate. I see Susan waiting for me with a rucksack. She is slightly off the path, almost hidden in the undergrowth.

Susan Potter is my cousin, and is only a month older than I am. She is also my best friend and the only person who knows about my dual identities. The footpaths and alleys around our neighbourhood and down towards the river don’t get much foot traffic. There’s an occasional dog walker, but nobody I know. Our immediate neighbours are all older couples and don’t tend to use the alleys. I can therefore slip in and out without too much risk, especially once it starts to get dark.

“Here, put these on”, says Susan as she passes me a tracksuit. I quickly pull the leggings on. The legs are stretchy enough that I can put them on without taking my trainers off. I pull them up underneath my skirt. I then remove the skirt and shawl and hand them to Susan, swapping them for the zip up top. I put it on and zip it up to the top to hide the blouse I am wearing.

Turning to Susan I say. “Thanks Susan, Dad must have finished work early again. I swear he is deliberately coming home at odd times to try and catch me out.”

“Jenny, you’re paranoid.” she replied.

“It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you.” I state.

“Come on. I will walk you home.” Susan turns and starts up the footpath. “I have told my folks that I need to cross reference some home work with you, so that I am not expected back for half an hour.”

We walk together. The footpath emerges on the road behind ours. We cross the road and go down another alleyway opposite.

We live on the same street, a small cul-de-sac of twenty houses. Susan lives at number 1, where the cul-de-sac emerges onto the main street. I live down the other end of the short road at number 11. This particular alleyway runs past the side of my house before emerging onto our road. There is a gate giving access into my back garden, which we quickly slip through without being seen from the road. I lock the gate behind us and we cross the garden and go in the back door into the kitchen. My father is checking the casserole in our slow cooker. He greets us as we come in, and after exchanging short pleasantries, Susan and I retreat to my bedroom for some privacy.

I change cloths again, removing all my girl cloths and replacing them with appropriately male attire of jeans and shirt. While I change, Susan checks my answers to my algebra homework. After twenty minutes, Susan leaves and returns home, happy her homework is ready for submission. That’s her payment for keeping me out of trouble. She helps me be Jenny in return for help with homework, chores, or anything else she needs. We are effectively sisters, and would do anything for each other, but trying to keep the flow of favours balanced makes me less guilty for her help and support.

I joined my father, John, for dinner. It’s just the two of us. I never knew my mother, Alice; she died before I was born. I know that sounds silly, but unfortunately it’s true. My Parents were visiting a travelling fair. They were stood watching a temporarily constructed rollercoaster when one of the cars came loose and flew off the track. Several people were killed and many were injured. Both my mother was hit in the head by a piece of flying metalwork. Paramedics were on the scene within minutes and she was airlifted to hospital as quickly as possible. My mother was pronounced brain dead on arrival. I was delivered by emergency c-section one and a half months premature.

We moved to this present home when I was three, so that we would be close to my Aunt Janice and Uncle Richard. Janice is my father’s sister, and is the closest thing to a mother that I have. We are a close family, being a single parent wasn’t easy for my father, so my upbringing was shared with my Aunt and Uncle.

Susan and I are regarded more as brother and sister, rather than cousins. That’s why my father didn’t have issue with me having a girl in my bedroom while I got changed earlier. It’s the same at Susan’s house. I have been in her room loads of times while she has changed. When we go on holiday, we often share a hotel room or a tent. The adults did talk to us a few years ago when we started to reach puberty about if it was appropriate. However we both have the same opinion and insisted that the was no way were we attracted to each other in that way, it would be gross, and that we both respected each other’s privacy and had no problems if we caught the odd glances at each other naked.

I spent the evening watching TV with my father, before retiring to bed.

I didn’t sleep very well, waking up several times during the night. I kept dreaming I was walking around the cold deserted streets of town dressed in pink silk pyjamas. It was nighttime, but due to there being a full moon, there was enough light to see. It all seemed realistic, too realistic. I had to really concentrate and tell myself that I wasn’t sleep walking, it wasn’t real, and that I don’t own a pair of pink silk pyjamas. My actual pyjamas are satin in texture but pale blue. They are as close to girly as I dare go, although if I thought I could get away with it, I would love the pink silk.

I woke up very tired. I felt like I really had been walking round the town all night.

I persuaded Dad to give me a lift to school this morning. I didn’t feel like riding my bike this morning. It would mean a long walk home, rather than a quick cycle ride. We live about two miles from the school, about a forty-minute walk. I don’t mind walking, and often go strolling for miles along the riverbank.

The main problem was going to be I wouldn’t be able to get away from school quickly, which would make me a potential target for bullies. Usually Susan and I leave as quickly a possibly on our bikes so that we don’t run into trouble.

I have always been small for my age, one of the side effects I think of being born premature. Also being girlish in behaviour and appearance does make me a target for harassment. I try not to act girly, but it just comes too naturally for me. Hence, I am regarded by most of the school to be a sissy. Most of the jibes and insults are like water off a ducks back. I just ignore them, or play along with the jokes and it doesn’t bother me. It does get me down sometimes, but usually a bit of Jenny time soon cures my blues.

Things started to deteriorate mid morning. It started with a headache. My concentration was low and I almost got in trouble during my history class for lack of attention. It was getting close to lunchtime and I was beginning to feel ill. I started to have double vision. Not just normal double vision where you get the same image twice, one slightly offset from the other. This was weird. The second image would drift off and I would be looking at things from a different angle. It was like one eye was in my head and the other eye was drifting around the room. At one point, it seemed like I was looking at the back of my own head.

I closed my eyes and took some long slow breaths. The double vision was making me dizzy. Having closed my eyes I suddenly found myself looking down at the room from the ceiling. I sit at the front of the class as I am short sighted and so it is easier to read the board. I could see myself from above and saw the teacher turn and look at me. She put her hands on her hips and then shouted at me to pay attention. Instantly my vision snapped back to normal and I opened my eyes, to see her standing looking at me, with her hands on her hips.

“Sorry Mrs Hargreaves, I came over dizzy.” She looked at me suspiciously, and then continued with the lesson.

The lesson ended ten minutes later. The double vision was gone, but I now had a pounding migraine and my body was beginning to ache. With some difficulty I managed to stand, still slightly dizzy. With the help of Tracy, a friend who happens to sit next to me in this class, I was able to stagger to the front office and lay down in the first aid room.

The school nurse took my temperature and talked to me about my symptoms. Satisfied that I wasn’t trying to put one over her she let me lay down in the darkened room while the school office phoned my aunt and asked her to come and pick me up. My aunt Janice only works on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday mornings. Today being a Friday meant that she would be at home.

Lying down in the darkened room with my eyes closed I began to hallucinate. I dreamt I was floating above my aunt’s house. I saw her come out and get in her car. She was wearing a blue dress and white cardigan. I don’t recognise the cardigan. It’s a white knitted material and has three silver buttons going down the front. The buttons start about half way down giving it a very long V-neck, however it wasn’t done up but instead hanging open. A series of beautiful blue flowers are embroidered onto the front. I assume they must be blue bells. I watch from above as the car drives to the school.

On arrival, my aunt gets out of the car and I see her come in the front door and speak to the receptionist. I don’t hear what they say but I see her point my aunt down the corridor towards me. At this point, I hear my name being called and I wake up. I sit up just as Aunt Janice comes into the room and switches the light on.

She is exactly how I just pictured her in the blue dress, and white cardigan with blue flowers.

“You look awfully pale; it looks like you have just seen a ghost.” My aunt jokes with me as I slowly swing my legs off the bed onto the floor.

“I feel like one.” I reply.

Susan met us at the office and handed me my bag. While I have been lying down, she has retrieved the rest of my books from my locker. Tracy had taken my key, found her, and let her know I was ill.

After speaking with the office staff and signing me out as sick for the afternoon, we left and drove home. As soon as we were in the car, I took some headache tablets. On the way, I asked Aunt Janice if that was a new cardigan.

“Yes, I bought it this morning at Fashion Wheel on Kirby Street. They have a sale on at the moment and it was half price.” She replied.

What was happening to me? How could I possibly know what my aunt would be wearing when she came through that door? She wasn’t even dressed when we left for school this morning. I saw her wave from the window as we picked Susan up and she was still in her dressing gown. I seriously need some rest. I have read about experiments done by the CIA about people claiming to be able to view things remotely. I couldn’t possibly have seen her drive here; I had to be imagining this?

We arrive at my home and my aunt escorts me to my bedroom. I lay on the bed in the darkened room. She asks me if I am feeling better. I assure her that my dizziness has gone and the headache is starting to disappear. With some reluctance, my aunt agrees to return to her ironing and leave me to sleep it off. She is only a few doors down and will come back and check on me later.

A short while after she has gone I get up and go to the toilet.

I walk back through to my bedroom and collapse onto my bed. Well my body collapses onto the bed, but somehow I am also still standing next to the bed looking at my body falling down in front of me.

---

 
First, I am somehow seeing things that are out of sight, now I am having a full on out of body experience.

This is ridiculous. I decide that I must be hallucinating. Perhaps I never woke up this morning. I give up trying to reason this out. Let’s just go with the flow.

I look down at myself lying on the bed. The position I have fallen in does not look comfortable. My body is laying face down with my left leg and arm hanging off the side. I pick them up and turn myself over so I am lying on my back. However, I remember from my first aid training that isn’t the best position and put myself into the recovery position so that I am led on my side. That way my tongue can’t block my airways and I can’t easily roll over.

I turn round and pick up the chair that is in the corner of my room. I move it next to the bed and sit down, smoothing my skirt underneath me as I do so. Up until this point I haven’t really been analysing what is going on, however two questions have suddenly come into my head. Firstly, if this is an out of body experience, how can I have physically moved an object? Secondly, and more importantly, the body on the bed is definitely David. My black hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. I am wearing my black school pants, white shirt and navy blue sweater.

I look down at myself. Not the body on the bed, but the body I currently seem to inhabit sitting on a chair next to the bed. I am wearing a red dress with short sleeves that come half way down to my elbows. It has a V-neck showing off my cleavage. I can see the edge of my red bra. I also appear to have breasts. I know Susan is a B cup and these look to be about the same size. Looking past my chest, I have a wide white plastic belt around my slim waist. I am not normally that thin, in fact I could be described as a bit chubby. The dress comes down to my knees. Below are my legs sticking out with small white socks and red Mary-Jane type shoes. My legs are hairless and thinner than normal and the shoes look to be smaller than I would normally wear.

I stand and walk to the mirror I have on my wall. I am mesmerised by my reflection. I have long red hair coming down past my shoulders. My face is rounder and my nose is a smaller, button like even. My cheeks are slightly red from very light freckles. I might not be the prettiest kid in town but there is no denying I’m cute.

I smile at the face in the mirror, it's Jenny smiling back at me, just how I always pictured her to be.

As I gaze at my reflection, I see the reflection of the body on the bed behind me start to shake. I spin round and suddenly my whole body feels like it is on fire. I am instantly sucked back into my body. I can feel myself shaking uncontrollably as pain shoots through every inch of me. I can’t move. I am led on my right side with my left hand on the bed in front of my face. I watch as my hand starts to change shape. My skin ripples across the back of my hand as my fingers get longer and my hand thinner. My nails grow out by about half an inch in less than a second. I start to hyperventilate, as the pain gets even more intense. Then everything goes black.

I wake up, breathing deeply. The pain has gone. My headache and dizziness from earlier are also absent. I can feel sweat dripping from my forehead onto the pillow. I roll over onto my back and look across at my alarm clock. It’s reading 2:07 and there is a dot in the corner denoting its afternoon. Aunt Janice left me at around a quarter to one. I must have been blacked out for at least an hour, if not more.

I feel strange. My trousers feel extra tight around my hips, but loose around my waist. I can feel a weight on my chest. I sit up and look down at myself. There are two lumps protruding from my chest that look suspiciously like breasts. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice my long red hair fall from round the side of my head and I can feel it on my shoulders. I take a handful and examine it. It’s definitely attached to my head, as I can feel it when I pull on it. It’s also longer and redder than it was before.

I lie back down and close my eyes. I must be dreaming. I pinch my left leg to make sure. Ouch, that hurt! I reach up and feel my chest. I pinch my right breast. Yes, it’s real. I put my hand down my underwear. I am definitely female. I spend several pleasurable minutes tracing the new shapes down there with my finger.

I open my eyes and sit up. My chair is stood next to the bed, not in the corner. I get up and cautiously move to my mirror, slightly unsteady on my feet. My balance seems to be slightly off. I also seem to be taller and thinner than before. I look in the mirror and see Jennifer staring back. It’s the same face as before, only this time my hair is a mess and I am wearing the white shirt and blue sweater from school.

I look round and see the chair next to the bed. I pull it over and sit down, while looking in the mirror. I try to reason out what has just happened to me. I grab a large chocolate bar from my bedside cabinet; I keep some there for emergencies, and start to eat. I am suddenly very hungry. It would appear I temporarily left my body. Then my body spontaneously changed itself from male to female. That must have taken some energy; I guess that’s why I’m now so hungry.

Several things spring to mind. Cogito ergo sum/I think therefore I am. The only thing that I can be certain of is that I exist; my senses could be lying to me. However somehow I don’t think that is the case. Sherlock Holmes springs to mind. “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”. As stupid and impossible as it sounds it would appear that I am indeed awake, that I am now physically female, and this chocolate is tasting even nicer than usual. I grab another bar and continue munching.

So, if I accept that I have changed sex, do I also accept that I have the ability to leave my body? I have heard of many stories reporting out of body experiences, and there are numerous ghost stories. However most reports do not include the ghost being able to move things, unless you count poltergeists, but don’t they usually just throw things?

The only words that I can think of that describes what I experienced would be ‘astral projection’. Leaving my body and projecting it elsewhere. I suppose that makes sense with the remote viewing thing that was happening earlier. I mean while projected you must be able to see and hear the surroundings round your projection, right? Perhaps it’s possible to semi-project, so that you can see and hear what is going on elsewhere without having a physical form present.

I finish off a third bar of chocolate. My hunger has now receded. I then realise just how much chocolate I have eaten, three half-inch thick bars, each measuring a good ten by four inches. Not good, I have a wonderful waistline now, I best not do that too often or it won’t last very long.

I lie back down on the bed and take a nap, as I am still feeling tired from my sudden change.

As I am dozing, I hear the back door open. Aunt Janice must be back. My double vision returns and I see Aunt Janice coming through the back door carrying a number of shirts. They look freshly ironed and are already on hangers. We tend to do our own washing, however auntie helps with some of the ironing. I do a lot of my own washing. Well I don’t want anybody to stumble upon my alternative wardrobe.

I quickly decide I don’t want her so see me like this, at least not yet. Too much explaining to do and I haven’t gotten used to the idea yet myself. I quickly roll off my bed so that I am lying on the floor between the bed and the wall.

My bed is against the wall underneath my bedroom window. Below the window, there is a radiator, so I don’t have the bed pushed up tight against the wall. Instead, there is about a foot between the wall and bed. The bed is quite tall, almost as tall as my computer desk. It has a solid base with drawers in it. This means that laying between the bed and wall I am hidden from anybody coming into the room.

I hear my aunt climb the stairs and go into my father’s room to hang up his shirts in his wardrobe. She will likely be in here in a minute. Crap! Once she sees I am not in my room she is going to wonder where I am. I should have made a dash for the bathroom, but there is now no way of getting there without risking being seen. Unless?

I shut my eyes and concentrate on visualising being in the bathroom. I can hear my aunt coming out of the other bedroom. I suddenly find myself standing in the bathroom. I glance down at myself. I am back to being in the red dress. I reach out and try to flush the toilet. My hand goes straight through the handle. I try again and the same thing happens. I was solid earlier! I moved the chair across bedroom! Why can’t I be solid now?

I take a deep breath and try again. This time it works. I turn the handle and flush the toilet. I have successfully notified auntie where I am without needing to speak. This is only a temporary solution, but it will buy me a minute or two. I walk to the sink and turn on the tap. I can at least pretend to wash my hands for a while.

I look in the mirror above the sink. I am back to how I was earlier. My hair is neat and tidy and I am again wearing the red dress. It would be really cool to own a dress like this one, but I have never been able to buy one. My opportunities for shopping are limited and I am, correction was, only just passable. I am OK from a distance, but don’t like risking it up close. Most of the clothes I have Susan bought for me, while I watched and pretended to be just along for the ride.

I wonder if the small number of girls’ clothes I have will fit me. I try hard to visualise myself in the skirt and blouse I wore to the river yesterday. The reflection in the mirror changes, the red dress being replaced by the cream blouse and green skirt. I look down. My projected self is now wearing the same clothes; it’s not just the reflection in the mirror. I can change my appearance; I’m not stuck with the default manifestation.

If I can change how I look, does that mean I can pretend to be my old self? Is there a limit to what I can achieve?

I look in the mirror again and concentrate hard on visualising my old appearance. I close my eyes and I can feel myself change shape. I look again in the mirror and my old self looks back at me. I look down and see the school uniform on my body.

I turn off the tap and face the door. I have to go present myself to my aunt. I hope that I sound like the old me. In fact, I have no idea what the new me will sound like, as I haven’t said anything aloud yet. I will just have to assume that the voice will match the visual appearance. Hell I don’t know if I can even be seen. Just because I can see myself in the mirror doesn’t necessarily mean I’m not invisible to everybody else.

I will just have to improvise and hope for the best. I step out of the bathroom just as my aunt comes out from hanging some shirts in my wardrobe. The wardrobes are near the door at the other end of the room from the bed, behind which my new body is hidden.

“How are you feeling?” my aunt asks.

Well she can see me at least. “A lot better, the dizziness has left and the migraine has almost vanished. I’m mainly just a bit tired. I have been asleep since you left.”

“OK, I will leave you to rest. I have left some clean shirts in your cupboard. I will send Susan over later with some pizza. I am going out in a little while. I am meeting up with Janet, Helen and Lucy from the gym. It's Helen’s birthday and we have arranged to meet up for a meal down town.”

So far so good, it would appear Aunt Janice hasn’t noticed anything wrong. Which must mean I look and sound like my old self?

I see my aunt out and watch her walk down the road. I relax and find myself back in my body. I manage to un-wedge myself from my hiding position and climb over the bed.

---

 
The clothes I am wearing are damp from my sweating, and no longer fit me very well, so I decide to strip off. I want to get a good look at my new body anyway.

I begin to explore my body with my hands. I feel my smooth skin and shapely body enjoying the touch of my new hands. It also helps that my eyes aren’t limited to being in my head. Instead, I find myself examining every inch of my body from only a few inches way. I get views that would normally be impossible and it isn’t long before I have familiarised myself with my new form.

All this touching and caressing of my new body has gotten me rather excited and I wonder how far I can take this out of body exploring. I lie on my bed and close my eyes. Moments later, I am stood next to the bed looking at my body lying next to me. I lie down beside myself and start exploring my nipples with my tongue. The sensations are electrifying. I am now highly aroused and I find it difficult to keep my concentration. As I stimulate my body, the sensation distracts me and my projected self begins to fade. I can feel myself falling back into my body and I have to concentrate hard on being outside of myself.

It seems projecting out of my body is similar to going to sleep. While I am projecting elsewhere, I lose control of my body and it falls asleep. Too much outside stimulus and my body wakes up, and the projection disappears. The remote viewing thing is like daydreaming. I don’t lose control of my body but only have limited perception. I can see and hear, but can’t touch feel or smell. In order to do them as well I have to project out of my body, in which case it falls asleep.

After a number of tries, I realised that I am not going to be able to give myself a blowjob and resort to more traditional forms of stimulation in order to bring myself to climax, multiple times.

After a good three quarters of an hour of self-exploration, including a very pleasurable shower in the bathroom, I decide I should get dressed again as Susan will no doubt come round to see me after school. Most of my clothes aren’t going to fit me very well any more.

I grab a pair of panties. The only time I wear male underwear is when I have gym class twice a week. The rest of the time I wear panties, however they are always plain white with no decoration, and could almost be classed as unisex.

I do own a bra. It’s a training one and no way is it going to fit. That’s going to have to be the first thing I buy. I will have to sort that out tomorrow. I forgo the bra and opt for a t-shirt. With my expanded chest, what is usually slightly baggy is now a lot tighter. I also grab the skirt I was wearing yesterday and slip it on. It’s a mid length green skirt with pleats at the rear. The waist is elasticised so although I am a different size it still fits.

I look at the clock and see that there is only five minutes of lessons left before the school day finishes.

I wonder how far this remote viewing works. I saw my Aunt leaving home from school, so I should be able to see into the school. I close my eyes and look into the distance. A vision of my classroom, where I should have been this afternoon, appears and I can see the students watching the teacher. I’m only seeing the room; I can’t hear what is going on.

I try to focus on listening to what is being said. The sounds are distant and I can’t quite make them out. As I focus on the sound, my vision becomes blurred. It is also very tiring.

I must be near the limit of range. I visualise a spot half way between school and home. I can now see and hear more clearly but it still requires effort. I pick a point three quarters of the way to school and try again. This time the vision is burred and the sound muffled, but not as much as at school.

I then try projection. I pick a number of spots where I can’t be seen between here and the school. I then try appearing at each of them. The further I try to go the more difficult it becomes. Past a certain point, I can no longer maintain a solid form, and effectively become a ghost again. Further still and I start to become transparent in appearance.

By plotting the points on a map, I am able to determine the range of my abilities. It seems I can see up to two miles away. To be able to clearly see and hear I need to be within a mile of the target. I can project an image up to half a mile, but for effective interaction with the environment, I need to be within a quarter mile.

The greater the distance the more the effort needed, therefore I can assume that the length of time I can maintain my projection is going to be inversely proportional to the distance.

If I want to attend school on Monday, and actually be recognised as a student, the only method is to project myself there. However, I am going to have to be somewhere nearby in order to be functional and maintain the projection.

I have no idea how long I can maintain a projection. The school day is six and a half hours. We start school at five to nine in the morning and last lesson ends at half past three in the afternoon. Our school day starts with a fifteen-minute period of homeroom, followed immediately with two, one-hour lessons. We have a twenty minute break, another hour lesson, an hour for dinner, then another two one-hour lessons in the afternoon. That means I will have to project myself for at least five and a quarter hours, at an absolute minimum. It’s debatable whether all that time would need to be as a solid form or if some time could be spent ghosting, which seems to take less energy.

I would need to be solid moving between classes in order to carry my books. During lessons, I would need to be solid in order to write, but the rest of the time, I could potentially be less than solid.

I wondered if perhaps just my hand could be solid and not the rest of my body. A short experiment later and it appears that I can vary my density between different parts of my body.

My experimentation has also yielded another useful discovery. It takes a lot of effort to change form and little effort to maintain it. This means I actively have to concentrate to change form. A stray thought isn’t going to mean I suddenly end up naked in the middle of the room, which is at least somewhat reassuring.

I spend the next half an hour practicing my projection skills. The more I try, the more control I have over my abilities, and the less the likelihood of accidentally changing form.

Halfway through my session, I have to recharge by drinking some lemonade and eating a bacon sandwich.

It appears that constantly using my powers requires many extra calories. At least I won’t have to worry about getting fat. In fact, I am likely to have the opposite problem. If I push myself too far I could collapse into a diabetic coma. I suppose if I really wanted to project for a long time I could hook myself up to a glucose drip for constant provision of fuel. Unfortunately, I don’t have the equipment or skill to do that.

I decide to do one more test before Susan turns up. I go to the fridge, take out a small carrot and peel it. I get a glass of water and head out into the back garden. We have a metal table and chair set out on a patio there. I set the glass down and balance the carrot on top. I sit at the table and lean forward. Once I am happy that I am not going to fall, I activate my astral projection, letting my body go to sleep slumped over the table.

I am now standing next to the table. I check that my body is OK, and not going to fall. It definitely seems like my body is asleep. I pick up the carrot and try to eat it. I am able to swallow it without any problem. I then drink the water. Again, I don’t have a problem doing this. I can eat and drink while projected. The next question is what happens when the projection ends.

I walk round so I am standing directly in front of my body and switch off the projection. I wake up from my out of body experience and look up just in time to see a wet chewed up carrot fall and hit the patio.

I get up and walk over to where my projected self was standing. There is a small puddle of water on the ground and the bits of carrot have splattered themselves into a pretty pattern on the brickwork. While an interesting way of making abstract art, I think eating and drinking while projecting is definitely something to be avoided, otherwise it could get very messy.

While I wait for Susan to turn up, I decide to start going through my wardrobe working out which of my clothes will fit this new body. I hope that most of my shirts, t-shirts and sweaters should fit OK, even if they will look tomboyish. The pants might not fit very well. With any luck, my Jeans will be acceptable. Most of them are stretch fit so shouldn’t cause a problem. I can always wear a belt. I need at least one outfit to wear shopping so that I can buy more.

Just before four o’clock, I hear the doorbell ring. I lie on the bed and take a quick look to see who it is with remote vision. Susan is standing at the door. She has changed out of her school clothes and is wearing blue jeans and a hello kitty t-shirt. She is carrying a supermarket pizza box, and her school bag, a pink rucksack, is hung over her shoulder.

Moments later, I am answering the door as David. I have projected myself wearing a pair of black chinos and a white shirt.

I let her in and she carries the pizza through to the Kitchen. “Mom gave me this; we can cook it and have it later, if you feel up to eating. You look a lot better than you did earlier.”

I giggle to myself, which causes Susan to give me a suspicious look. “I’m starving, I haven’t lost my appetite. If fact I am more hungry than normal.”

“You look awfully happy and relaxed for someone who is supposed to be sick. You’re not pulling a fast one are you?” Susan accuses me.

“Certainly not, I was genuinely ill”, I reply, “but I must admit I am feeling brilliant now. Being ill is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” I know I am grinning from ear to ear, but I can’t help it.

Susan looks at me puzzled. “I have never seen you looking so pleased to be sick before.” She pauses for a moment thinking, then a smile appears before she asks “you haven’t by chance just discovered you are intersexed and the headache was the onset of period pains?”

This was a standard joke between us. It was quite possible that I may have been intersex. I was showing signs of gynomastasia, but it was perhaps more wishful thinking than actual reality. I did have a slightly sensitive chest, and being slightly overweight meant there was something to get hold of, but not enough to be seen as way out of the ordinary. I did get a few comments from the boys while getting changed for gym class, but it wasn’t serious enough yet for me to need to see a doctor or be excluded.

I decided to string Susan along a bit before the big reveal. “No, it’s not my time of the month yet, however I am willing to bet it will be within the next four weeks.” I didn’t know for certain, but from my experiments earlier, it was a good bet that I was fully functional. “I am not sure what the medical term is, or if there even is one, but I seem to have undergone a spontaneous change of sex.”

“Yeah, right!” She didn’t look convinced. “Prove it, drop those panties.” Therefore, I did. The look of absolute surprise on her face when the person before her suddenly changed from a fully clothed, black haired young man, to a naked, buxom, red haired, freckled face girl was well worth seeing.

“How? What? Shit!” Susan was at a loss for words. She doesn’t normally swear, so I know I had shocked her. I turned back into David again, took her hand and led her to the nearest chair.

“Sorry about that, but I didn’t think you would believe me, as what I need to tell you sounds so unreal that I still half expect to wake up and find this is all a dream.” I explained all that had happened to me during the day, although I did leave out details of some of my self-exploration. Although it’s a given that everybody masturbates, nobody will ever admit it, me included.

Once I had finished explaining my change and that I can project my image, I led Susan upstairs to where I was lying on the bed. I then let my projection of David fade. Returning to my body, I woke up and looked at Susan, who was now staring at me in amazement.

Susan sat down on the bed beside me, still slightly in shock. I sat up and hugged her. She put her arms around me, returning the hug. We spent the next ten minutes with our chins on each other’s shoulders wrapped in a tight hug. Susan whispered in my ear “Congratulations Jenny, I don’t know how this happened but I am pleased for you, sister.” With that, we both started crying.

---

 

After we have recovered from our joint emotional outburst, we decide that it is getting late enough to get dinner ready. Susan had brought over a supermarket pizza that we can warm up in the oven and have between us. Dad works late on Fridays, so it will be just the two of us for most of the evening. I can’t practically eat as David any more. I have already proved how messy and pointless that would be. I will be dining as Jenny in my new body. I certainly do not want to try to eat the same food twice, which is a simply disgusting idea.

Telling Susan about my new self isn’t really an issue for me. I confided my dual identity to her years ago. Telling the rest of my family scares me. I don’t know how they will react, especially as what has happened to me is a scientific impossibility, at least by common knowledge. I certainly don’t know of, nor can find, any other instances. I don’t want to become a lab rat; a freak show to be prodded, poked, and studied.

I would try to keep this a secret for as long as possible, although I expect that the chances of discovery are high. Perhaps discovery is a bad way of putting it. Nobody is likely to believe that Jenny and David are the same person unless I specifically prove it.

I have two main problems. The first is hiding Jennifer while David is around. I can’t just put my body in a cupboard and leave it there for a week. I still need to eat, drink, go to the loo, etc. I also need to be close to where I am projecting. Therefore, in order for David to go to school, Jennifer will also need to go in order to be in range for projection.

The second problem is the limitations of what I can do while projecting. I can’t eat or drink, at least not without creating a big mess later. That means family meals are out. I haven’t found out the length of time I can stay projected, but I am certain it can’t be indefinitely. I need to work that one out soon.

While we wait for the pizza to cook we go though my entire wardrobe working out exactly what clothes fit me, which I can sensibly wear with my new body, and in what I am lacking.

I am a different shape now. Apart from the obvious anatomical differences, less down below, more up top, my body is different in other ways. Previously I was slightly plump, I am now slim. I am a few inches taller than before. My head is the same size, but my torso has shrunk and my legs have expanded. I now have long sexy legs. My hands are longer and thinner than before. My feet are also a smaller size.

Practically, this means that although most of my shirts and sweaters will fit fine, some are a bit tight round the top. I will need to get new pants. I find that some of my jeans are OK, although they will need the legs turned down. Luckily, there is enough material to do this to a couple of them.

I get the sewing box out and with Susan’s assistance, we manage to lengthen the jeans to fit my new legs.

I therefore make a shopping list of what I will need to get. Firstly, I need some new bras. I also would like to get some new panties. I will need some shoes and trainers. I can get by with what I have by wearing extra pairs of socks, but really, they are too loose to be comfortable. I have always felt more comfortable in skirts and dresses, so I think I will buy some of them rather than anything with legs in, except nylons of course. I will need some of those.

After we have eaten our pizza and followed it up with some apple pie and ice cream that I found in the freezer, we decide that we will spend the rest of the evening watching movies. I decide that this is a good time to test my projection skill, especially as my father will be home soon anyway. I go and lie on my bed and project myself back down to Susan.

We start watching movies at around 6pm. It’s initially Jennifer and Susan curled up on the couch. That is until shortly after half eight when my father gets home and joins David and Susan in watching a rerun of The Simpson’s Movie. Susan heads home at around half ten and I head on up to bed shortly afterwards. I have managed just over four and a half hours straight projection and I am absolutely knackered.

I won’t need to project for that long at school. I can break it down in to a series of two-hour stints with short rests and refuels in-between. I am now confident that I can make going to school on Monday work.

I sneak across the hall to use the bathroom while my father is downstairs. I am now getting better control over the remote viewing. It is still tricky to do with my eyes open as it gives me double vision, but if I close my eyes, it becomes easier. I keep an eye on my father while I sneak about upstairs in my new body. I don’t think I could easily explain a girl in blue pyjamas sneaking in and out of my bedroom.

The next morning I do some careful juggling of personalities. While my father uses the bathroom, I quickly go downstairs and get my breakfast. I make sure I am back in my room before he emerges.

Then while he is downstairs having breakfast himself I sneak into the bathroom. Checking that he is still in the kitchen drinking coffee using remote viewing, I sneak down and out the front door. I quickly hide in the drive behind his car and my projection goes back in the front door carrying the post and newspaper. After depositing these with dad I leave by the back door and collect my bike from the garage, wheeling it down the drive past the kitchen window as David, until out of sight of my father but not yet in sight of our neighbours. I then lean the bike against the wall, return to my body, get on my bike and cycle down the road before I am spotted.

Susan is waiting for me at the end of the road and we swiftly head off into town. We stop off at a public toilet block so that I can quickly slip inside and put on a bra I have borrowed from Susan. She sneaked one out of the house for me to use while shopping. We thought it would look odd if I went shopping without a bra. It didn’t fit very well, but it was better than nothing.

We head straight to Platterns department store. It’s a local family-run company and it’s where my Uncle, Susan’s father, works. He is in the home ware department and is their carpet and curtain fitter. Both Susan and I have worked there before as well. While we have been too young to lend a hand on the shop floor, we have assisted behind the scenes during summer break to earn a bit of extra pocket money. Last Christmas we both participated as elves in Santa’s grotto.

Normally they can’t find teenage boys willing to dress up in the costumes. Because most of the time the roles were fulfilled by girls, and the costumes get used for several years before being replaced, they ended up being rather feminine in appearance. So much so that when I volunteered, and was dressed in one of the costumes from the previous year, I ended up looking like a young girl.

I was secretly delighted by this, much to Susan’s amusement. My family and the shop’s management were initially concerned by my appearance; however, I assured them it wasn’t a problem and it didn’t bother me. In fact, it became a shop-wide joke. Some of the staff were running a betting syndicate on how many times I would be called miss instead of mister. I played up my girlishness, and made myself look as much like Susan as possible. In the end, I think most customers assumed I was a girl. My uncle won the bet as he came closest with the percentage of male versus female pronouns used by customers. He reckoned 94% of the pronouns would be feminine: it was actually 92.5% when counted.

Because we are classed informally as employees, we are allowed to leave our bikes in the bike rack in the staff compound, which is a lot more secure than leaving them on public display.

We head into the store and up into the lingerie department. We go and find Maureen to fit me with a new bra. Maureen is a nice older lady. She is actually in her seventies and should have retired ages ago, but she still works part time on weekends when the shop is at its busiest. Susan introduces me as a friend of hers. I of course already know Maureen, but she has never met the new Jenny before.

Maureen may be a busybody and fond of a bit of gossip, but she is very good at what she does and is very discreet with customers’ particulars. I explain that it’s been a while since I had a proper fitting and feel I’m overdue for another one. She soon has me measured and I pick out a couple of nice bras. I also buy a sports bra and a strapless bra while I am at it. Maureen lets me use Susan’s store card to get the family discount, and allows me to wear one of the bras out of the store. I feel a lot more comfortable in a properly fitting bra.

Four bras isn’t a large number for constant wear, but I can’t afford to spend too much money, as my funds are limited. I also think that it would look suspicious to buy too many in one go.

I was always too frightened to shop properly in the past. I certainly couldn’t use this store as I was too well known. My new body gives me confidence to do what I want without risk of discovery. There is no way I can be mistaken for David, and I am physically female, so I can’t be accused of being a boy in drag. Well, I suppose I could be accused of being a boy, but now I can act offended and prove otherwise if necessary.

Platterns also carries an excellent selection of school wear, so I make sure to pick up a couple of school skirts while I am there. I can re-use my boy’s tops and sweaters. I also make sure to get some socks and a pair of black school shoes while I am there.

Having gotten this much we head to the staff car park and deposit our purchases into my uncle’s car. Susan carries a spare key for just this purpose. Uncle Richard is out fitting some curtains this morning so we haven’t seen him, but he knows that Susan is shopping with friends, so it won’t come as a surprise to find a trunk full of shopping.

It isn’t long before I have spent all my available cash. I can’t risk using my debit card in this store as too many of the staff know David. Although I could probably get away with it elsewhere, the name on the card reads D. A. Palmer, not David A. Palmer, my middle name being Andrew.

In order to continue shopping I would need to withdraw some savings from the bank. We head down the street to our local branch. I won’t need to go to the counter as I can withdraw using one of the ATMs. Rather than queue up outside at the single ATM in the wall we enter the bank. There are several machines inside and I feel a lot less vulnerable.

The main customer-accessible floor space of the bank is square. The entrance is on the front left. When you enter the bank, the queues for the counters are directly ahead of you. The counters are down the left hand wall. To the right are a number of cash machines for both depositing and withdrawing money. In the back right, there is the customer service desk and seating for those with appointments in the offices in the rear.

There are several people ahead of us so it takes several minutes to withdraw the extra funds I need to continue. We are just about to leave the bank when three armed men in face covering balaclavas storm in the front door shouting for everybody to get down.

---

 

The armed robbers act quickly and with purpose. To rob a busy main street bank on one of the busiest days of the week is nothing short of audacious.

All three are dressed in what appears to be army surplus desert camouflage gear. It’s all patterned in various shades of sandy colours. The bulkiness under their jackets seems to indicate that they are also wearing some sort of body armour underneath their outermost layer of clothing. Each is heavily armed.

The first man is carrying a pump action shotgun, the second an AK47 automatic rifle. The third man’s armed with a Desert Eagle semi-automatic pistol and is pulling a large suitcase on wheels. All three are carrying secondary pistols on their belts.

Mr. Shotgun rounds up the customers and staff in the room, and makes us lie down in the front corner of the bank, away from the main entrance. He then stands towards the rear, covering us with the shotgun and making sure that we all stay put. I guess he’s trying to keep away from the windows and use us a human shield in case the police try to shoot through the frontage.

Mr. AK47 covers the doorway, making sure nobody can enter from outside. He positions himself on one side of the door so that he has a clean shot out of the bank, but his body is hidden behind the doorframe for protection from outside.

Mr. Suitcase proceeds to the rear where there is a security door leading to the secure area behind the counter. He takes something out of the case and places it onto the reinforced door. By this time, all the cashiers have ducked down below their desks and alarms are ringing throughout the building. The raider then retreats to a distance before there is a flash and loud bang as the substance on the door explodes.

The security door swings open allowing the man to enter the area behind the counter. He then proceeds to threaten the staff and make them load cash into rucksacks that he produces from the case.

Although I am lying face down on the floor like everybody else, I’m the only person with a good view of what’s happening, due to my unique abilities.

I hear sirens outside and can see police taking up positions around the bank. The street outside is cleared and armed SWAT teams assemble nearby. Snipers make their way to vantage points on nearby buildings.

The thieves seem in no rush to get out of the bank. In fact, the person covering the door even remarks at how slowly the police have responded. It appears that they have planned for a hostage situation, rather than attempting to get away before the police arrive. This doesn’t look good. If they try to leave the bank with hostages, there’s a good chance people are going to be hurt.

I keep watch for what the police are doing outside the bank. It looks like they are going to wait for the criminals to come out before taking action. One of the staff must have been able to get a message to the police, as they know that there are three gunmen inside. However, they can only see two through the windows.

I also hear some of the instructions to the snipers. Although they can see inside, they can’t risk taking a shot. The glass frontage of the bank is reinforced and resistant to bullets. The windows won’t stop a sniper’s bullet, but will slow it down, altering its trajectory. Any shots through the glass would be likely to fall short and injure the hostages.

Mr. Suitcase is in the rear and appears to be talking on the phone to a police negotiator while forcing staff to fill bags with money.

These people look extremely organised. There is no hint of panic and they are remaining calm and focused. I have no doubt the robbers are in control of this situation and not the police. It is looking increasingly likely that they are going to leave surrounded by hostages, a strategy highly likely to get somebody injured or killed. The suitcase is now open on the floor and I’m able to see what else is inside. There appears to be explosives, and what I assume is a dead man trigger. I don’t like how this situation is unfolding.

For some reason a certain song about Spiderman comes to mind. Ode to a Superhero, by Weird Al Yankovic.

I analyse the situation carefully, then make a decision to use my powers to intervene.

My first action is to project myself behind the man with the shotgun. I have chosen the appearance of a female police officer, Olivia Benson off the TV series Law and Order: SVU. A male officer may be more intimidating, but why choose male when I can be a women instead, especially one who can kick ass? I am dressed in black jeans, blue blouse and black leather jacket. A police badge is attached to my belt. The only thing missing is a gun. I can only project in one place at a time, so I can’t simulate a bullet. Besides which I have never shot a gun, so the chances of being able to hit a target are remote.

By appearing behind the person with the shotgun, I am out of sight of both outlaws in the room. I quickly move round to his side grabbing the shotgun and thrusting it upwards into his face. This has two advantages. Firstly, the gun is no longer pointed towards the hostages, including me, and secondly, it gives him a nice bloody nose. I also strike a blow onto his neck with my other hand while kneeing him in the groin for good measure.

He drops to the floor half-conscious and in pain. I grab and throw the shotgun away into the rear corner of the bank. I bend down and take his pistol from his belt. I turn my attention to the second gunman while the first rolls around on the floor incapacitated.

Surprised at hearing his companion being attacked Mr AK47 swings round to face me. He sees me remove the pistol, and as soon as I am stood up, he opens fire. I am prepared for this. As long as the bullets are heading in my direction and not at anybody else, I’m happy.

The bullets travel straight through me, making a mess of the plaster and brickwork behind where I’m standing. I grin menacingly at the gunman and walk slowly toward him. He continues to unload the full clip into me. All the time I can see the fear building in his eyes.

“I’m a ghost, but the gun is real.” I raise the gun and point it at his head from only a foot away. I calmly state: “You can either leave now or join me in the afterlife, your choice.” He turns and runs straight out the front door into the path of several armed police officers who promptly arrest him.

I feel a bullet pass through my head from the rear of the bank, and the glass door in front of me shatters.

“Very clever, now drop the gun and stay where I can see you. If you try anything, I will start killing people. You may be immune to bullets, but everybody else isn’t.” I turn to see the final gunman holding his pistol to the bank manager’s head. The manager also has a device strapped to him with wires linked to a trigger the gunman is holding in his left hand.

The gunman has a mobile phone in his breast pocket with a wire going to a hands free headset. He is talking to both the police and me. “I don’t know what is going on here, but I don’t believe in ghosts, especially as Mariska Hargitay isn’t dead. Any more tricks and someone’s going to get hurt.”

I gently put the gun down at my feet.

The gunman calls out to the ex-shotgun guy, “Hey, numbskull, are you awake over there?” I look across at the person lying on the floor. It would appear some of the bullets fired through me dislodged a pot plant off a shelf and it has landed on his head. He is at the very least out for the count, if not more severely injured.

I weigh up my options. The trigger on the dead man device is large enough for both our hands to hold. I can grab it below where it’s currently being held and prevent its activation. My primary problem is the gun. There’s nothing I can do while it’s against the hostage’s head. I can re-project myself across the room in an instant, but even with the element of surprise I am not confident of being able to knock the pistol far enough to stop him shooting the manager in the head. I am also stuck at what to do afterwards.

The armed man orders the bank staff out from behind the counter. There are five of them, each with a rucksack. He tells them to surround him. I am instructed to join the hostages in the corner, which I do. As I walk over to the window, I gradually make myself more transparent so that by the time I have reached my destination I am hardly visible. He watches me carefully as I do so, saying nothing but eyeing me suspiciously.

Keeping a careful watch on me, he leaves the bank surrounded by hostages. The manager leads the group, still attached to the bomb and with a pistol a few inches behind his head.

I quickly remote view the position of each police sniper. At least one of them has a good shot, but none of them will be able to shoot unless the dead man trigger can be neutralised. I take a deep breath and pray that what I am about to do won’t make the situation worse. At least there’s now only one dead man trigger instead of the original three.

I wait until the police snipers have a clear shot, then I instantly appear directly in front of the outlaw. I take hold of the trigger with my right hand making sure to keep a tight grip while simultaneously grabbing his right wrist, the one holding his firearm, with my left hand. I pull his pistol arm downwards and to the side so any shots will hit the ground.

I realise I can’t maintain this struggle for long so I yell at the top of my voice “Shoot him!” As I do so I drop to my knees maintaining a tight grip on both the trigger and his wrist. I hear a loud crack and see the man’s head explode above me. His hand releases the trigger. I let go of his arm and grab the trigger with both hands as his body crumples to the ground. As the only thing solid about me is my hands, his body falls through mine. I am left kneeling on the street through the dead body, holding the bomb trigger.

A police officer dressed in SWAT body armour dashes over. “Here, take this before I fade away.” I carefully hand over the device to the astonished police officer. Once I am satisfied that he has a tight hold of it, I slowly fade out of sight so not to surprise him.

I return to my body inside the bank and sit up as several SWAT team members enter the building. One goes over to the unconscious shotgun owner and carefully checks his pulse by putting a finger on his neck. He then calls for a medic while handcuffing him. Another comes over to us and asks if anybody is injured. Nobody answers. Looking around, no one else seems to be hurt. Several more SWAT personnel head into the back of the bank. We are then quickly led outside via an emergency exit to the rear, and taken a short way down the street into a wine bar that the police have temporarily requisitioned.

Susan and I are holding hands. When nobody is looking, she squeezes my hand. I look at her and she raises her eyebrow in a questioning fashion. I nod at her. I whisper to Susan to go ahead and say exactly what she saw, just don’t let on that I’m the ghostly figure.

A couple of paramedics and several police detectives come into the bar and address us. The paramedics check each of us out in turn to make sure we are all right. The police then start interviewing each of us in turn. Because we are both classed as minors, the police ask that our parents to be present when we give our statements. Susan is allowed to phone her mother. As I don’t have an adult who knows me, I ask if I can give my statement alone. As I am only giving a witness statement, and am not being read my rights, I am told I will be able to do so without parental supervision.

It is going to take at least twenty minutes for my Aunt to arrive so we sit in a corner of the bar where we are not likely to be disturbed. I position myself so that I can project without it being obvious that I am asleep.

I decide to take the opportunity to speak to the senior officer. First, I project myself across town into the Public Library. They have free to use internet terminals and I quickly sign up for a new gmail account.

With remote vision, I locate the senior officer in one of the rooms nearby. He’s giving instructions to two other officers. I project the same appearance I used in the bank in ghost form so that I am semi-transparent.

“Excuse me,” I say to the surprise of the officers. “I believe you may want a statement from me.”

“Um, yes, of course,” the senior officer responds, recognising me from my brief appearance on the street. One of the other officers grabs a pad and pen ready to take notes. The third pulls a Dictaphone out of his pocket and starts recording the conversation.

“First, I am not a ghost, but a person with unique gifts of astral projection and remote viewing. I was nearby and saw the gunmen enter. I am in a trance close by. I don’t want to identify myself, as I don’t want to end up being dissected in some secret government laboratory.” I keep my identity and whereabouts deliberately vague. “I intervened as I could see that they were organised and ready to take hostages.”

I relate the earlier events in as much detail as I possibly can. The officers question me about my actions and I answer them truthfully, but refuse to identify myself further. I give them the email address I have just created before ending the interrogation by vanishing.

My Aunt Janice and my father arrive. I’m introduced as Jennifer, a friend of Susan’s. It feels very weird treating my own family as strangers. One of the detectives calls Susan to be questioned, and she heads into another room with Aunt Janice. I am called in to be interviewed shortly afterwards.

First, I am asked for my name. I reply, “I am commonly called Jennifer Palmer, however do you need my full legal name?” I am told that it is indeed required. “David Andrew Palmer", I answer, looking her directly in the eye. She looks at me slightly surprised.

“Despite my appearance I am legally male. The reason I declined having my father present is that he is unaware of my female persona. I would appreciate if this information was kept on a need to know basis, it could have implications for my safety. There are a lot of bigots about,” I respond.

The police officer nods and then asks for my date of birth and address, which I give. I am then invited to speak about what I saw happen. I begin to relate how I would have expected to see and hear the events had I not been the one doing the heroics.

“I had just finished using the ATM when three individuals dressed in army surplus clothing entered the building. I could not see their faces as they were covered. They instructed everybody present to get down on the floor at the front of the building in the opposite corner from the door. I did as instructed.” I pause so that the officer can catch up with the notes she is taking. “The man with the shotgun positioned himself along the right side wall and kept watch. The rifleman stood near the entrance and the third person headed towards the back of the room. I didn’t see much else as I kept my face to the floor until your officers came in, however I can tell you what I heard.”

The officer nods for me to continue. “By this time, a number of alarms were ringing, so I couldn’t hear everything that was going on. I heard a loud bang followed by the sound of a door being kicked open. There was some shouting and screaming, but I couldn’t make out what was said. I assume this was coming from behind the counter. I heard a couple of thwacks and what might have been a bone breaking, quickly followed by someone falling to the floor, from the direction of the right rear corner of the bank.”

I pause again before continuing. “The sound of gunfire came from the main entrance. It continued for several seconds. A female voice then said ‘I’m a ghost, but the gun is real, you can either leave now or join me in the afterlife, your choice’.”

“Were those the exact words spoken?” the officer asked.

“Yes, I remember then clearly,” I reply.

“What happened next?” The officer asks.

“I heard someone barge through the front door and run off. There was then another gunshot from somewhere to the rear of the bank and the sound of breaking glass from the direction of the door. A male voice then said ‘Very clever, now drop the gun and stay where I can see you. If you try anything, I will start killing people’.”

“You are certain that is what was said?” The police officer asked.

“Yes,” I confirm. Satisfied the police officer asks me to continue. “The male voice then said something else, but he was speaking more softly and I couldn’t hear what he said over the background noise. He then shouted ‘hey, numbskull, are you awake over there?’ to which he didn’t get a reply. He then shouted ‘right, move it’ and I heard a number of people walk out the front door. I heard the female voice shout ‘shoot him’ and there was a gunshot. I then heard a number of people running into the bank and shouts of ‘armed police’. It is at this point I finally look up to see your SWAT officers and we were taken out of the bank.”

“Thank you, Miss Palmer,” the police officer states. “That is a very clear and concise statement. If we need anything further, we will be in contact. I will get this typed up for you to sign.” With that, she rises from her seat and leaves me alone in the interview room. It’s actually a side room off the bar used for private parties.

We are then allowed to leave, and the four of us head outside. The street in front of the bank is still blocked off, so we have to take a diversion down a back street to head back towards Platterns department store.

My father then asks where David is, as he thought I would be with Susan. I quickly think of an excuse. “He is currently playing computer games with my younger brother.”

“Oh, I thought I recognised his bike chained to Susan’s in the bike rack,” he replies.

“David let me borrow his bike as mine had a flat tyre. He and my brother were going to take a look at it while Susan and I are out shopping.” That seems to be a satisfactory explanation.

We call back at the department store and retrieve our shopping from the trunk of my uncle’s car. We drop the back seats down and load the bikes in instead. My aunt leaves a message on my uncle’s phone regarding bringing the bikes home.

We all then proceed to travel back home in my father’s car. I’m asked where I live and give a vague response, “Just a few roads away from Susan. You can drop me by the Red Lion on the way through.” The Red Lion is our local bar, it’s based on a traditional English public house.

I have another reason for being dropped here, one that I think Susan realises. She smiles at me when I say it, so I assume she knows what I am going to do. There are a number of back alleys around the estate, one of which leads down the side of the Red Lion to the street behind ours. From there I can get down the alley to our back gate.

Luckily, neither adult insists on meeting my family and they let me get out where requested. As soon as the car starts to drive off, I sprint down the alley towards home. As I come through the back gate, I hear a car turning round in the end of the road. I quickly unlock the back door and dart through the kitchen as I hear it reversing up the driveway. I head straight to my bedroom and dive down the other side of the bed.

By the time my father comes in the back door, David is putting the kettle on to make some coffee.

“Coffee?” I ask.

“No thanks, Janice is making me some,” he replies. “You’re back, I thought that you had gone out with Susan.”

“She and Jenny were planning on doing some shopping and while they did invite me and Steve to join them, we don’t feel comfortable hanging round the lingerie department.”

My father chuckles at that. He then turns serious and explains what had just happened at the bank. We both then head back down the street to my cousin’s house.

My aunt makes us some sandwiches for lunch. Susan and I manage to escape into the back garden to eat ours. I am able to temporarily return to my body and sneak down the back alley so that Susan can hand my sandwiches through a hole in the hedge. I quickly sneak them back home before projecting myself into her back garden again. I was keeping a close remote eye on my father and aunt the whole time to avoid being caught.

About mid afternoon, I leave with the excuse of finding out if Jennifer is all right after this morning’s heist. I go home and phone saying I have been invited to dinner, which gets me out of eating with my family. Not being able to eat as David is going to become awkward quickly.

With my father staying for dinner with my aunt, uncle, and cousin, it means I have the house to myself, although I have to keep an eye out for him coming home.

I eat the sandwiches from earlier and down a whole packet of chocolate chip cookies. All this projecting is making me exceedingly hungry. I find a microwavable meal in the back of the freezer for my dinner.

My father returns home mid evening and we spend the rest of the night watching TV. I retire to bed slightly earlier than usual, as I am extra tired from all the day’s activities. I am projecting my old image again, and I don’t want to run the risk of fading out.

I am woken up on Sunday morning by my father bringing me a cup of coffee.

---

 
I am fast asleep when my father enters my room on Sunday morning with a cup of coffee.

“Wake up...” He stops mid sentence and stares at me, not that I notice, as I am still only partially awake.

“Thanks dad,” I yawn and raise my head off the pillow to look at him. I notice that he is still holding the cup, rather than it being on my bedside cabinet, and that he has a shocked look on his face.

I brush some stray red hair out of my eyes and my brain kicks in as I realise what the problem is. I’m Jennifer, he’s expecting David. “Shit!” I exclaim beneath my breath. I close my eyes and lay back down on my pillow.

“I think I have some explaining to do,” I say from the doorway, behind my father. I have projected myself as my old male form. I am wearing a pair of pale blue satin pyjamas, the same as my body in bed. I walk round him and sit on the bed next to my sleeping form. My father puts the coffee down, grabs the chair from the corner of my room, and sits down next to the bed.

He crosses his arms and asks, “Well, why is Jennifer in your bed. Exactly what have you two been up to, and do her parents know where she is?” He’s playing angry, and although he is definitely not pleased, I get the feeling he’s getting some amusement out of my predicament.

I sigh and look down at the floor to collect my thoughts. I look across at my girl self lying in bed. I think for a moment about trying to pull off a scam, but I realise it would never work. I could try to pretend that Jennifer is my girlfriend, but that raises a whole host of problems. The biggest of which is that I can’t be in two places at the same time, so Jenny stays asleep while David is present. I decide it’s time to tell the truth, although that’s going to be less believable than sneaking a girlfriend into bed for rampant sex.

While still projecting as David I look at my father and lamely reply, “This isn’t what it looks like.” I quickly add, “The person lying in the bed is me. I know that doesn’t make sense, but just watch and keep an open mind.”

I morph my projected appearance to match my new body. I then climb on the bed and lay myself down into my own body so that my projection is now occupying the same space as my physical form. Ending my projection, I slowly sit up and look at my father. He is now looking even more shocked and confused than before, and is noticeably paler.

“I know this seems ridiculous, I can hardly believe it myself. I don’t know how or why this has happened to me, but it has.” I pick up my drink, take a sip, and place it back down. “If you want more proof I can do the astral projection again and bring my old self back temporarily. However, if I do that I won’t be able to drink my coffee. Well actually I could, but as soon as I return to my body the coffee would get left behind in mid air, and that’s kind of messy!”

I see a slight smirk on my father’s face as he pictures what that might look like. I grin widely. “I could demonstrate that if you like, although I’m not wasting this coffee, and it would have to be outside.” I throw the covers on back on my bed and get up. I dash downstairs to the kitchen calling “come on” to my father.

He follows me down, still slightly dazed, entering the kitchen as I’m filling a glass with water. I walk out into the back garden, and place it on the table. I sit down and as soon as I am comfortable, I project David standing next to me. I pick up the glass and drink the water down as quickly as I can.

My father is standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, watching me.

“Ready?” I ask. He nods and I disappear, this time making sure to keep watch via my remote vision. As soon as my projected body disappears, a glass full of water falls from the approximate position of where my stomach would have been, and hits the ground with an almighty splash. My father comes over and sits down opposite with his cup of coffee.

“I left mine upstairs didn’t I? I’ll go get it. Now don’t dare wake me up, unless you want coffee spilt all over the place!” I project myself back upstairs and grab my coffee and dressing gown. This time I project myself as I currently look.

Returning outside I place the coffee on the table, and then drape the gown over my physical shoulders. Ending the projection, I stand up, wrap the gown around myself then sit back down. The chair is made of metal and is cold on my posterior.

I sip my coffee and wait for my father to ponder my demonstration. We sit in silence drinking our coffees, enjoying the heat of the morning sun on the sides of our faces. I run my fingers through my hair. It’s slightly knotted after sleeping on it all night. I must get myself a decent hairbrush, I managed with a comb yesterday, but it was a struggle. My hair is now longer than I have ever been able to have it in the past, and would be more manageable by brush.

It’s at least ten minutes before my father says anything. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have thought it possible. I don‘t know how, but it is you. The way to play with your hair, how you hold your mug with your little finger stuck out, that crazy look in your eyes and wicked smile as you dreamt up that practical joke with the water, it’s all classic you, just in a different package.”

I explain Friday’s events to my father. “Since then I have been trying to come to terms with my change. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I wasn’t sure how you would react. I have been trying to hide what’s happened. I don’t want to be regarded as a freak, or poked and prodded like a lab rat in some horrid scientific institute.”

“At the bank yesterday people were talking about a ghost helping to rescue the hostages,” my father asks, “was that you?”

“Yes, it was,” I sigh, “I figured if all three robbers made it out of the bank, each with a set of hostages, then things were bound to turn bad. They seemed too prepared, even the police turning up didn’t bother them. I was worried that people could be injured or killed, myself included. Therefore, I used my abilities to try to take them out.” I explain in detail all the events of the previous day.

I try not to, but I start to cry. My father moves round beside me and gives me a hug. I lay my head on his shoulder, comforted by his warm embrace. Up until now, I have been suppressing all emotions to do with the shooting, but describing it has brought the trauma back again, and I have to let it out. I sit weeping on his shoulder for the next ten minutes while he comforts me.

After I recover from my emotional outburst, I notice how late in the morning it is. It’s already past 11 am. No wonder dad came and woke me up. I decide it’s about time I get dressed, and I need the bathroom anyway, so I head back inside.

I am back down 15 minutes later fully dressed. I have on some of my new underwear and one of the new bras. I am wearing a blue denim skirt. It’s the only other skirt I owned prior to yesterday. The green skirt I had worn last week is now in the wash. I’ve put on one of my white t-shirts, and a blue fleece jacket.

“I take it that’s why you went shopping yesterday,” my father says pointing to my skirt, “how many of your old clothes fit you now?”

“Actually the only things I was able to buy yesterday were some bras and a couple of school skirts. I had spent all my available cash. That’s why we went to the bank, so that I could withdraw some more funds. The original plan was to continue shopping for some other clothes,” I reply. “Most of my shirts and t-shirts are OK, but I have longer legs so a lot of my pants look too short. My hips and waist are also a different size. The larger pairs and those with stretch fit are all right, I can use a belt, but quite a few don’t fit very well.”

“You mean that you didn’t buy that skirt yesterday?” he asks.

“Ah, no,” I sheepishly reply. Well I might as well come clean now, “I bought this about three months ago. I may have only been a girl physically for a few days, but mentally and emotionally, I have always been one. Jenny has been my alter ego for quite a while.”

“That doesn’t actually surprise me,” he articulates, “I have suspected you might be a regular cross-dresser. I know that you like to dress up as a girl for costume parties and your choice of clothing has always been rather effeminate. There have been several occasions where I have seen odd pieces of clothing around the house. I never knew if they were yours, or just some of Susan’s that got muddled up in the wash. I never managed to catch you in the act though, despite several tries.”

“I’ve had a lot of close calls, I did wonder if you suspected. I usually dress up and go walk by the river. Several times I have had to do a quick change when you got home before me.” I giggle at some of the memories. I then relate the quick-change act I had to do on Thursday.

“You said you bought some school skirts yesterday,” he states. “Exactly what were you planning on doing in school tomorrow? I can’t believe you were just going to try turning up as a girl, especially as you were trying to hide your change from me.”

“You’re right. It has to be David who turns up to school tomorrow. However, you have already seen that I can still appear as David when I need too. There are however some limitations, apart from the obvious involving food and drink, I explain. “Ideally I could simply stay in my bedroom and project myself into the classroom; however, I have a limited range. The further I project, the more tiring it becomes, and the shorter time I can keep it up. I need to keep the distance to a minimum. I planned on hiding under the stage and projecting from there.”

Our school has a small theatre attached to it. Our drama department is one of the best in the state. At the front of the room is a stage. Half the room has stepped theatre seats, the other half is open space that can either be filled with chairs, or left empty and used as a classroom. It’s used for drama and dance classes. With the room full of chairs, there is just enough room to sit an entire year of the school. There are daily assemblies after morning roll call. Each day a different year attends.

The stage is three feet high. Underneath there is a semi-sunken room, although the ceiling is quite low at only six feet. There is a trap door in the middle of the stage, under which there is a lift. The trap door is kept locked most of the time for safety, and only gets used in actual productions. Because of the machinery down there, the room is kept locked nearly all the time. It’s used as a storeroom for the drama department and isn’t entered very often.

“The room below the stage is rarely visited. There is a door from the stairwell leading up to the art rooms. There is very little foot traffic in that area, so I should have opportunity to slip in unnoticed. The door has a Yale lock, so it can be opened from the inside without a key. They fitted one instead of a conventional lock a few years ago after someone was locked in there by accident. All I have to do is project myself inside and open the door.”

My father listens to my plan then sits back and thinks it through. Eventually, after much consideration, he gives me his opinion. “You can’t just turn up as Jenny, they would never believe you without proof. I can understand you not wanting to make this public, especially after the bank yesterday. Luckily the press haven’t picked up on the unusual aspects of this case.”

At least that’s one advantage. The last thing I need is too much publicity.

“If David were just to disappear that would also cause a lot of questions. It would be a lot easier if you could still attend as David, at least until the end of the school year,” he reasons, “the bit of the plan I don’t like is the hiding on school grounds. It’s a recipe for disaster. I think I may have a better solution, at least for a couple of weeks.”

I look at him quizzically as he continues. “There is an empty shop unit in that block of shops on Hamilton Road. The rear yard of the shop backs onto the side of the school football pitch. The owner has given up hope of renting it out. Nobody wants to open a small corner shop in the middle of a recession when there are already two other such shops and a supermarket nearby. My company is looking after the place, so I suspect I can get you access, if it’s close enough?”

“That’s brilliant!” I reply. “I can easily project myself from there, and I won’t have any risk of being disturbed and woken up.” I smile and then think carefully. “There is only one small issue I have left with my plan, which I haven’t sorted out. My projections are usually fully clothed, which makes changing for gym class difficult. I would have to project naked and put clothes on as normal, which takes a lot more effort to maintain. If the clothes are part of the projection then I don’t have to remain fully solid all the time, which actually takes less energy. The problem is I can’t project myself changing clothes. As soon as they leave contact with my body, they disappear into thin air. Besides which I don’t feel comfortable getting undressed in front of a load of boys, I never have done.”

“Leave that with me, I will see if I can come up with a solution. I may be able to find a way of getting you excluded on medical grounds,” my father answers, stroking his chin.

I suggest gynecomastia as a possible reason. I was actually developing the condition before my change, so it isn’t that far-fetched. The other way would to be to declare myself as transgendered, but I don’t really want to do that. Either way may require a medical professional to be involved. Having a medical could prove challenging, however at least I can exaggerate my symptoms.

We discuss letting Aunt Janice and Uncle Richard in on my secret. I’m slightly uneasy; however, they are very close family, so I reluctantly agree. However, that won’t be today as they are visiting some of Richard’s relatives. Aunt Janice is my father’s sister.

We decide that it would be a good idea to resume the aborted shopping trip, so after a quick lunch we depart. We head over to the next town so that there’s less chance of meeting anybody we know. It isn’t a problem for me, as nobody could possibly recognise me; however, it’s not so easy for my father. It would be awkward to meet people who know he has a son, not a daughter.

I have been shopping with my father loads of times, but shopping as a girl with him is certainly a new experience. It feels very strange at first, but after a while, my embarrassment disappears, and I really enjoy myself.

My father is very good with colours and is able to pick out matching outfits from memory without having to hold the items together. This comes in extremely useful when the items are in two different shops. Considering the age difference, he is also especially good at picking outfits that will look good, and are appropriate for my age. I never realised he has such a good fashion sense.

Shopping with father also brings the added benefit of credit cards. I am able to get a lot more than I would have relying on my funds alone. We don’t go overboard, but I now have a reasonable selection of skirts, leggings, jeans, dresses and tops from which to choose. I tend to go for the more frilly feminine fashions. I missed the little girl stage so I’m overcompensating now. At least that’s my excuse.

I buy more shoes, as my old ones don’t fit any more. These include sandals, slippers, trainers, and even a pair of hiking boots. I do like walking down by the river, and it can get a bit muddy at times.

We also purchase things that I hadn’t considered before. Firstly, I get my ears pierced, at my father’s suggestion. He reckons most teenage girls that he’s met have earrings. The majority of girls in my class do indeed have piercings. I opt for a small pair of gold starter studs. I also pick out a set of ruby earrings, as they match my hair and freckles.

We then head for the drugstore. With the help of one of the assistants, we buy a basic makeup kit. I’ve never been into using makeup, and instead prefer the natural look. Besides which it isn’t something that can be easily hidden. After trying several fragrances, we also chose a nice perfume that really suits me. It’s a smell that reminds me of strawberries. I also pick up some talc, soap, and shampoo in the same range.

While in the hair care aisle, I look at the stand containing hairbrushes. As I look for one I like, my dad whispers in my ear, “is it the bristles you are looking at or the handle? That aluminium brush has a nice long fat straight handle on it. It would comb your hair well as well.” I immediately blush bright red in embarrassment.

He then proceeds to wind me up some more by adding a small tub of Vaseline into the cart. I do indeed pick the aluminium brush, and nonchalantly place it in the cart, much to my father’s amusement. The alternative usage had crossed my mind when I first saw it.

I decide two can play that game, so we go over to the feminine hygiene products and I start to examine the various items on offer. Unfortunately, this doesn’t faze my father as much as I thought it would. He simply advises me on what products my mother used to use, and what he has seen his sister buy when she was my age.

I am probably more knowledgeable on the subject than most boys of my age are. Our school has a policy of explaining such products to both boys and girls during sex education lessons. They like to make the boys know exactly what the girls have to go through. This is to emphasise that it’s not a matter to be joked about, and any teasing of girls experiencing periods will not be tolerated. Following on from that particular lecture several of the girls decided to try to embarrass the boys up by openly discussing which products they found the most comfortable. That was until our teacher intervened and threatened to make the girls write an essay about their experiences and read it out in front of the class. The subject was instantly dropped.

After a couple of hours shopping in town, we head back to the car. With all the commotion yesterday, we haven’t done our usual weekly grocery shop, so our next stop is the supermarket to get some food.

The mention of food reminds me of how much I have been eating over the last few days. I explain this to my father and tell him about my theory about needing extra energy for my unusual abilities. He thinks that it sounds logical, although he’s slightly dismayed that the grocery bill is likely to rise.

My father had been a cross-country runner when younger and had competed at state level while at college, although he wasn’t fast enough to turn professional. One of the things he learnt was how to adjust your diet for energy input. We decide to approach this scientifically and we buy a stock of high-energy food that can easily be digested and won’t be likely to cause constipation, or the opposite.

We return home, and after putting everything away, we sort out my wardrobe. Removing the things I have identified as being no good, we make room for my new purchases. The two of us spend the evening watching TV, curled up on the couch.

I keep an eye out for when Susan and family return, something that is very easy to do with remote viewing.

“I hope you are not going to become a peeping tom with that ability of yours,” my father remarks. “I can imagine how tempting it can be to look into the girls’ changing room.”

“Just because that’s what you would do doesn’t mean I’m going to,” I reply, “Anyway, I don’t need to use remote viewing for that. I can walk into the changing rooms and watch in person, I’m a girl now. Now peering into the boys’ changing room is another matter. Mind you, I have seen all of them often enough not want to look at them again anyway.”

“I know I have never asked this before, and you can tell me to mind my own business if you don’t want to answer,” my father asks tenderly, “but what is your sexual orientation now? Has it changed along with your body?”

I sit and think for a while before responding, “Being confused over your gender rather distorts your outlook a bit. When looking at girls I’m jealous instead of anything else. The thought of gay sex between two men doesn’t appeal to me at all, however now that I am female the thought of going with a man doesn’t feel wrong, but then neither does being with a woman. I guess I can be classed as bisexual, but until I am actually attracted to somebody, I don’t know.”

“Well don’t be in a rush to find out. I really do not want to have to cope with you getting pregnant, as I have to assume you are now capable of doing. That doesn’t mean I would have approved of David sleeping around either, it does take two to tango,” he warns me sternly. I promise to be a good girl.

We wouldn’t normally have talked about such topics, but after all the revelations earlier today this new-found openness between us feels comforting. I’m a lot more relaxed than I have been in a long time and feel refreshed by our newly discovered closeness.

---

 
My cousins’ family arrives home around 10pm. I don’t actually speak to Susan this evening, as it’s getting late. However, I have left a note on her pillow to come across to my house half an hour earlier in the morning. Projecting into her room and writing a note is no problem. Although if needed we do have a key, so I could have done it the conventional way.

I make sure my alarm is set for Monday before going to sleep. I have set it to go off earlier at 7am instead of half past.

The alarm wakes me up, and I proceed to get out of bed. I head across into the bathroom and take a quick shower, amongst other activities, returning to my room wrapped in a bath towel and get dressed in my school clothes. Although I won’t actually be entering the school as a girl, I think I will look less conspicuous dressed the same as everybody else.

I start with a clean pair of panties. They are a new pair that I got yesterday. Although I have been wearing panties for a while, most of the ones I had could be considered unisex. You have to look hard to tell the difference. These ones are pale blue and have lacy bits around the edges. They also have less material around the sides, but still cover a lot of skin in case I accidentally show them off.

I put on one of my new white bras. I have been wearing a training bra once or twice a week for the last two years, so fastening it behind my back is no problem. Since my change, it’s actually easier, as I seem to be a little more flexible. It’s also very handy being able to remote view your own back.

I pick out one of my new navy blue skirts, step into it and zip it up. I then get a new white blouse out. Originally, I was going to keep wearing my old shirts, but my father has bought me some blouses instead. They are slightly different to my normal shirts in that the buttons are the other way round and the collars have rounded ends to them instead of being pointed. They also fit better as they are tailored for my shape, being wider at the chest and narrower at the waist rather than being straight.

I finish off by putting on my school sweater, socks and shoes. I make sure I have my watch on. It isn’t a very girlish model, as it’s a digital sports watch. However, it has countdown and alarm functions, and I will need these later.

I would normally clip my keys to my pants using one of the belt hoops. They are on a chain so I can keep them in my pocket. However, I no longer have that option, as the skirt doesn’t have pockets. I instead make sure they are attached to my school bag. I actually hope to be able to project a working key, as this will make life easier.

Heading into the kitchen, I get myself some breakfast cereal. There is already a cup of coffee waiting for me. While I was dressing, my father has disappeared into the bathroom.

Susan sneaks in the back door as I rinse my dish, cup and spoon in the sink.

“Where is Uncle John, his car is still in the drive?” she asks, concerned about me being seen by my father.

“Upstairs in the bathroom,” I reply, “don’t panic.”

I grab the hand towel and dry my hands. Just then, my father walks into the kitchen.

“Hi Susan, morning Jenny,” he greets us. “Jenny, I hope you and David got some sleep last night. I know it’s cramped in that single bed. If you are going to sleep over more often, then we may have to buy a bigger bed.”

Susan is at a loss for words. I decide to play along with my dad and add, “we managed to get some sleep eventually Mr Palmer. I hope my groaning didn’t keep you awake. I did try to keep the noise down, but it’s difficult to concentrate in the heat of the moment.”

Susan is now eyeing us both suspiciously. I don’t think she is buying the idea that my father would let his 14-year-old son have underage sex with his girlfriend.

My father laughs. “Come on, it’s time to get you three to school,” he says, picking up and finishing his half-full cup of coffee.

I choose to put Susan out of her misery. “It’s all right, Dad knows everything. He woke me up with a drink yesterday morning. He got a bit of a shock seeing a girl sleeping in his son’s bed. I decided to come clean.”

Susan signs with relief. “You two had me going for a minute there. Considering all the weirdness over the last few days I wasn’t sure what to believe.”

My father loads up a large cool box with items from the fridge then starts to head out to the car. As he gets to the back door, he pauses and calls out, “Jenny, you didn’t keep me awake last night, I was reading my book. You know you sound just like your mother did when reaching climax. Volume must run in the family. My sister was always quite loud, and if what she tells me is correct, Susan here can generate some decibels as well.” He then walks out the door chuckling before we have time to respond.

Both Susan and I colour up, speechless. I don’t know which of us is redder, and with my complexion, I have a head start. The trouble is, I was testing the hairbrush last night, and although I think I kept the noise down, I am now not sure if he is joking or serious.

We load the car up with the cool box, our bikes, an old garden sun lounger, and some blankets. It’s a tight squeeze to get two bikes in, but we manage with half the rear seat folded down.

While we drive, I fill Susan in on the slight change of plan regarding my location, and yesterday’s events. We arrive at the shop units on Hamilton Road. There are four units with customer parking at the front, and loading space at the rear. We drive round the back and up to the loading door for the empty unit. There are two doors going inside from the rear. The first is a normal width door, which my father unlocks and opens. The other is a larger roller door for bringing in stock.

The open door leads in to a small corridor heading to the back of the main shop floor. To our left is a small stock room that the other external door accesses. On the right is a small office. The main shop floor fills most of the unit’s area. It’s empty apart from a counter near the main entrance where a till would normally be placed. All the other fixtures and fittings are missing.

We enter the office. In the corner is a stainless steel kitchen sink. My father runs some water to make sure that the supply is on. At the other end of the room, we find a door to a bathroom. There’s a counter with two small hand basins and two toilet cubicles, both identical except for the symbols on the doors.

The sun lounger is set up in the office for me to lie on. Also placed in the room is the cool box with my food supply, and some blankets in case I get cold, as there’s no heating switched on and I won’t be moving round much.

I lay down on the lounger, covering myself with a blanket. I can’t be seen from outside as the only windows are high level. The front of the shop has metal shutters covering the windows and door. The rear isn’t boarded up, but the windows are small and contain wired glass.

Susan and my father wait outside while I prepare myself. We are going to try to speak to the nurse. This means that I’ll need to be able to be examined if necessary. Projecting my old body into the room, but this time naked, I quickly check myself over to make sure I’m happy that the projection is foolproof. I enlarged my chest a fraction, something I have discussed with my father, before getting dressed and returning outside, locking the door behind me. There is another key inside. We called at my father’s office on the way home yesterday and picked up the keys. We stopped and got some extra keys made in one of the shops nearby.

We then drive round the corner to the school. Susan and I unload the bikes and deposit them in the bike shed while my father heads for the school office.

Shortly after roll call, the school nurse enters my homeroom and asks for me. I quickly gather my things and follow the nurse to her office. Everybody knew I had been off sick on Friday afternoon, so it isn’t unexpected when the nurse arrives. She often has a brief chat with students returning from time off sick.

We entered the nurse’s office and my father is sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk. I guess at what will happen next, if a parent is present, it usually means a full examination. The nurse is limited in what she can do without parental consent.

The nurse, Mrs Carter, a plump older woman, motions for me to sit in other chair before sitting down at her desk. “Your father tells me that you are becoming embarrassed about the way your body is developing and that this is causing a lot of anxiety about using the changing facilities, especially when you have to use the communal showers. He is concerned that the migraine attack last week could have been stress related and triggered by you having gym class that afternoon.”

I nod showing my embarrassment, and start to cry softly.

“Please climb onto the bed and remove your sweater and shirt so that I can examine you.”

I do as instructed. Underneath my shirt, I am wearing a silk camisole. At her questioning glance, I respond, “My chest, especially my nipples, can get quite sore by the end of the day, so I wear this on days I don’t have to change for gym.”

She then proceeds to examine my chest. I wince slightly at her touch. “Your chest is a little tender and larger than average. It doesn’t help that you are slightly overweight.” She finishes her examination and makes some notes on my file. “You appear to have the onset of a condition known as gynomastasia. You are developing breasts as a girl would. This can happen to boys going through puberty and usually rectifies itself after a while. Would you consent to a genital examination? I would like to check if everything is normal.”

I nod and dropped my pants and underwear. She proceeds to feel my gonads before returning to her desk to write more notes.

“Thank you, you can get dressed now.” I quickly put my clothes back on before she continues. “You seem to be underdeveloped for your age. It would appear that you have started puberty, but your body is giving mixed signals. You may be suffering from a hormone imbalance. I suggest you make an appointment with your doctor to get this investigated as soon as possible.”

She then takes my temperature and blood pressure. I am worried that this might not work, but it seems my projected form is able to generate heat to warm the thermometer, and my arm is solid enough to provide a reading.

“I can see why you are anxious while using the changing and shower facilities. I also see from your file that there have been several instances of bullying recently, noted by the coach.” The nurse concludes. “Your blood pressure is slightly high, possibly due to stress. I am therefore signing you out of P.E. lessons for the next fortnight. Please report to the front office during those periods instead of going to the sports halls.”

We thank her and leave the office. First lesson has already started so I’m provided with a note to explain my absence.

As we leave the nurse’s office, a woman in a smart business suit emerges from the Principal’s office.

“Thank you for your time, Mr Edwards,” she pronounces while shaking the principals hand.

“I am sorry I wasn’t able to help in your enquiries, Mrs Stapleton. If any of my students do go missing, I will let you know,” Mr Edwards replies as he shows her out of the front door.

I say farewell to my father before heading to my first lesson. On the way, I slip into the boys’ bathroom. It’s empty as expected during lessons.

The visitor to the school has caught my attention, so I spy on her with remote vision as she gets into her car, placing her briefcase onto the passenger seat. Once sat behind the wheel she reaches over an opens the case. Inside there are a number of files marked with a Homeland Security logo and confidential in big red letters. She pulls out a list of the local schools and makes a note next to our school’s entry of ‘no known candidates.’ The paperwork is returned to the briefcase, which is locked and placed under the front passenger seat. Mrs Stapleton then drives away.

I may be paranoid, but I get the feeling that it could be connected to the events at the weekend. Perhaps I’m not the only person to have experienced a sudden change of appearance and to manifest strange abilities. My decision to keep my change as secret as possible might turn out to be a wise one. If I’m being hunted, then it may be best to lie as low as possible.

I put my rucksack down on the counter and step into the middle of the room. I relax and let my projection become more ghostlike. My clothes fall to the floor through my body leaving me naked as I step away from them. I look down at myself and make my crotch change from male to female. My normal school attire then appears on my projected form.

Scooping up my discarded garments, they are quickly folded and put into a bag. Leaving the room, the clothes are deposited in my locker on the way to class. Most lockers are in our homerooms, however as my homeroom is one of the science labs, our lockers are in a nearby corridor instead.

Walking into the lesson five minutes late, I place the note on the teacher’s desk, and sit in my usual place. Mr Carpenter simply nods at my arrival and pauses while I take my seat. I assume one of my peers has told him that I was with the nurse.

Morning lessons progress as normal. At morning break, I go to the school library and leave my bag at the desk in the entrance. It’s a rule that all bags have to be left at the door. There are tables at the front for the purpose, overlooked by the librarian’s desk. I walk through the seating area, where a number of students are sat, and round behind one of the bookshelves. While nobody is looking, I vanish.

Back in the deserted shop, I get up from where I have been laying and stretch my legs. I quickly use the bathroom before returning to my seat and consuming a bar of chocolate, while also drinking a bottle of lemonade. This is followed by spending the next fifteen minutes dozing before my watch alarm beeps to denote my time is up. I quickly picture the school and look around remotely to find somewhere to appear. The library is too busy, but I find a spot beneath a stairwell to emerge from and appear there. I retrieve my bag before heading into my next lesson.

I use the same trick at lunchtime. We have a full hour for lunch, so I disappear as soon as I can. Once back in my body I eat my lunch, having worked up quite an appetite by projecting, and follow up by a half hour catnap. My watch wakes me up ten minutes before the end of the lunch period, allowing me to return to school feeling refreshed.

By the end of the day, I’m getting tired, but the situation is manageable. After classes are over I quickly meet up with Susan and we head out to the bike sheds. We try to get away as quickly as possible so we don’t get harassed. Once we have collected our bikes, we ride round to the empty shop. We wait for some kids to pass, and then sneak round the back. Once out of sight I get Susan to hold onto my bike while I cease projection. I grab the cool box and leave through the back door, making sure it is secure.

I meet Susan outside and fix the box to the back of my bike with the aid of some bungee cords. I have a wire rack over the back wheel, and although slightly large, the box can be secured.

My bike doesn’t have a high crossbar, which means it can be ridden while wearing a skirt. Strictly speaking, it is a girl’s bike, but it’s unisex enough to get away with. I climb on and start to ride home, having only ridden in a skirt a few times before, it feels odd, but strangely satisfying to do so.

I realise that I will need to adjust the seat and handle bar heights when I get home, as they don’t feel quite right. I know I have longer legs and I think my arms may be an inch or two shorter. It’s hard to tell, as the sleeves on my sweater have always been slightly long.

We split up at the end of our road and go to our homes. Having adjusted my bike, I head upstairs to change, ditching the school sweater and skirt, and hanging them up for tomorrow. I put on a sleeveless red denim top with built in mini-skirt that barely covers my derriere. I remove my socks and shoes and put on some thick red opaque pantyhose, so that I won’t be showing off my panties. I love the feel of the material tight against my legs.

Putting on my new fluffy slippers, I head back down to the kitchen table. I get my homework out of my school bag and settle down to work, being joined shortly afterwards by Susan. We spend the next hour and a half working through our homework. During that time, I put a casserole in to cook for myself and my father to consume later.

Susan is surprised when she sees what I’m wearing. She doesn’t think my father will approve, however I point out that he was with me when I bought it. In fact, he had suggested it in the first place!

When my father gets home, we discuss how things have gone and decide to play things by ear for the time being.

Tuesday morning Susan and I ride to school as normal, taking a detour so that I can switch bodies at the shop unit. I follow the same routine as the day before, projecting into school and discretely disappearing at recess and lunch to recharge my energy levels.

Wednesday morning is slightly different as I am due to have gym class. As everyone else disappears off to the changing rooms, I divert to the main office. Explaining to the secretary who I am and why I’m there, I’m instructed to report to the library instead. The librarian is expecting me and sets me to work cataloguing new books. The books require a barcode inside the front cover, which is then scanned and entered into the computer system.

Things were going fine until Wednesday lunchtime, when I hear one of my regular tormentors call out to me, “Hey, Daisy, have you been avoiding us?”

---

 

In the last few months, a couple of jerks have been giving me trouble. Dwain and Freddy, or Dimwit and Thicky as I prefer to call them, have been hassling me. First, they tried to blackmail me. When that didn’t work, they tried more violent tactics.

Unfortunately, they have photographic evidence of me in a dress. I have seen the photo, it was taken at a fancy dress party when I was eleven. I went as Alice in Wonderland. I was supposed to go as Robin Hood, however for some reason that nobody has ever worked out, Susan’s and my costumes somehow got switched and we were both fully dressed and running late before the ‘mistake’ was noticed by our parents.

Dimwit tried to blackmail me by threatening to show the photo to everybody. I told him to go ahead. That really pissed him off, especially since I did it in a loud voice in the middle of the canteen. That got the attention of several teachers eating at a table nearby and landed Dimwit in detention for attempted blackmail. They have both been on my case since then.

Openly admitting to several instances of cross-dressing at Halloween and various other costume parties does at least deflect away from my more serious reasons for cross-dressing.

Most of our classes are divided by ability level. I am in the higher-level classes for most subjects and these two troublemakers are in lower sets. Unfortunately, this doesn’t include geography, which is one of the few lessons I have with these idiots.

Tracy delayed me leaving the room at the end of the lesson, as she wanted to copy some of my notes. She has been late to school a couple of times in the past week, and has missed some classes. Tracy is lactose intolerant. She can only consume limited quantities of milk-based products before suffering with stomach upsets, nausea and diarrhoea. Her condition has been playing up recently causing her to be ill some mornings.

These two decided to wait behind and hassle me.

“Hey, Daisy, have you been avoiding us?” Dimwit asked.

“You owe us some lunch,” Thicky added.

At this point, I have my bag packed and I’m closer to the door than they are. I decide now would be a good time to make an exit. I dash out the door and down the hallway. Our teacher has disappeared and there are no adults about. It seems Dimwit and Thicky realise this and give chase. The geography classroom is close to the gym so I head in the direction of the coaches’ office, in the hope it will be occupied.

As I approach the office I quickly glance in through the wall, but the room is empty. The coaches are probably in the changing rooms evicting the students who are being slow to get dressed. I am about to run into the boys’ facilities when I have a better idea.

Instead of going into the boys’ changing room, I carry on past and enter into the girls’ room instead, figuring they won’t dare follow. For privacy, there are two doors to go through to reach the inner sanctum of the girl only zone. As soon as I pass the outer door, I morph my appearance into Susan.

I dash through the inner door and into the changing room interior. There are six girls still in the room in various stages of undress, along with Coach Sanders. Coming to a halt, I stand leaning against the wall to get my breath back.

Coach Sanders starts to ask, “What are you doing in...” but never finishes the sentence as Dimwit bursts into the room. The other girls weren’t bothered when I entered the room, but several of them scream as they madly tried to cover themselves up seeing a boy burst in.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” The coach yells at the top of her voice, which is very loud. It is very rare to hear one of the teachers swearing, so she must have been caught by surprise. “Get out and stand outside my office. Now!” Coach Sanders is a tall muscular woman, very athletic looking. The best description of her is scary, and that’s when she’s in a good mood. When angry she’s nothing short of terrifying.

Dimwit looks both shocked and scared as he suddenly realises exactly where he’s chased me. He looks across at me and is his eyes get even wider when he realises it’s Susan, not David, staring back at him. Dwain quickly retreats out the door as he’s bombarded with gym shoes and aerosol cans. Several girls have decided to throw things at him while shouting, “Pervert” and “Asshole.”

I turn back to Coach Sanders, “Sorry for barging in miss, but Dimwit and Thicky were chasing me. I never thought they would actually follow me in here though.”

“I take it Dimwit is Dwain Scott, who’s Thicky?” she asks.

“Freddy Forrester Miss Sanders,” I reply.

“Good nicknames,” she chuckles to herself, “why were they after you?”

“I think they may have mistaken me for my cousin, David Palmer. They have been bullying him lately. We do look alike, especially from behind. To be honest I didn’t stick around to find out.”

“I don’t blame you,” she replies, “leave those two to me. I can’t do much to Freddy, as I didn’t see him, but Dimwit Dwain is going to regret it.” The coach turns to the other girls still left in the room. “If you lot had actually gotten a move on instead of dawdling, Dwain wouldn’t have had anything to see. Now move it!”

The girls speed up what they are doing. Miss Sanders then walks to the door and holds it open for me. I go through and open the second door into the corridor. When we both enter the corridor, a very nervous Dwain is standing next to the office door, trembling. There is no sign of Freddy.

The coach opens the office door. “Mr Scott, take a seat. Thank you Miss Potter, you may go.” She follows Dwain into the office and closes the door.

I look round, the corridor is empty and nobody is watching. I quickly change projection to look like the real me, Jennifer, not David. I don’t want turn back into David, in case Freddy is still around waiting to jump me. Staying as Susan isn’t a good idea, I don’t want to meet anybody we know and I now need to speak to Susan. I need to let her know what’s just happened and two Susans would look suspicious.

I quickly locate Susan with my remote vision and head to the common room where she is sat talking with Tracy and Mary. I deposit my bag in my locker on the way. She spots me at the door and excuses herself. I turn and head outside before anybody else can get a good look at me. Susan follows me to a secluded location.

She asks, “What’s going on?” I explain the incident and Susan bursts out laughing, “Serves him right for being so stupid!”

We both have a good laugh at Dimwit’s expense. I just hope he won’t be stupid enough to try to take revenge.

Once we have calmed down, I cease my projection. After using the bathroom and eating some lunch, I take a snooze on my sun lounger. Five minutes before the end of lunch, I start remote viewing to scout for a location to appear. David emerges out from behind a bookshelf in the Library.

I head to my locker and retrieve my rucksack. After collecting my belongings, I hurry to my homeroom for afternoon registration, arriving just as the bell rings. Our teacher, Mr Francis, is already in the room. Thicky is sat by himself, as Dwain’s chair is empty. Freddy glares in my direction. He doesn’t look happy. As roll call is completed, Dwain’s name isn’t called.

A number of whispers start going round the room. It seems the grapevine has been working overtime in the past hour.

Mr Francis addresses the class, “For those of you wondering where Mr Scott is this afternoon, he has been temporarily suspended following a serious incident of inappropriate behaviour.”

When the bell rings, we head off to our next lesson. I make sure to stay in a group with some other girls and avoid Freddy.

The rest of the day passes without incident. I think Freddy has been warned to keep his distance. Dwain is due to return school tomorrow, but is going to have break, lunch, and after school detentions for the rest of the next five school days.

I arrive home tired but satisfied. I change into a denim skirt and head down to the kitchen as Susan arrives. We are settling down at the kitchen table when the front doorbell rings. I slump over in my chair and project David into the room. I proceed to the front door and answer it. Susan follows me through into the hall.

It is Audrey Pyke from number five. She frantically asks, “Have you seen Becky, she’s disappeared?” Rebecca is her nine-year-old daughter. “We had an argument and I sent her to her room an hour ago, but when I went to check on her she’d gone. I was hoping that she might be with one of you.”

“She’s not here,” Susan comes forward, “but we will help look for her if you like.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what to do! I thought about phoning the police, but I am not sure they would do anything this soon,” Mrs Pyke responds. “They would probably tell me to wait for her to come home by herself.”

“I assume you don’t have any idea where she may have headed?” I ask.

“Two thoughts, she is either with one of her friends, or she may be out walking along one of the paths. I do hope she’s sensible enough not to get lost or fall in the river.” Audrey is getting upset with worry. Becky is a sensible girl and knows to stay away from the river’s edge. Susan has taken her walking down there several times, so she knows where and where not to go.

“Why don’t you go home and wait for her there, phone round her friends to see if any of them know where she’s gone? We’ll look round the river and woods. She may have gone to one of the quiet spots to cool down. What’s she wearing?” I ask.

“A blue denim romper suit over a pale blue blouse, her hair is in twin plaits,” Mrs Pyke answers before dashing off home leaving us to search out her daughter. I shut the door and cease my projection, while Susan returns to the kitchen.

“I can cover the area quicker remotely. I can do a low level aerial search from the tree tops,” I tell Susan.

“OK,” Susan replies, “I will take my phone and head out down the usual path we take, phone me if you find her and I will meet up.”

Susan heads out the back door, across the garden, and out the back gate, disappearing down the alley towards the river. I head up to my bedroom, boot up my computer, and sit down. Closing my eyes, I start remotely viewing the surrounding area for signs of Becky. As I told Susan, I start soaring up and down the river valley at a fast running pace, looking down from about fifteen feet in the air, carefully listening for sounds of life. I quickly cover the open ground along the river edge. There is a band of marshland between the river and the woods, and it is easy to spot people from quite a way off. There is no sign of Becky, so I start a grid search of the woodland on the side of the valley.

After ten minutes, I pick up the sound of someone sobbing. Homing in on the noise, I see Becky laying face down at the bottom of a slope. Her left leg is obviously broken as it is bent in half, part way between her knee and ankle. I look directly down at the ground then zoom upwards as high as I can manage before my vision goes blurred. I have Google Earth running and cross-reference what I can see on screen with my remote vision. I am able to pinpoint the exact latitude and longitude.

I project myself as my father. I figure the emergency services will take me more seriously if I sound older. I call 911 on my cell phone and request an ambulance. I give the co-ordinates of where Becky can be found. I end the call pretending my phone is out of battery life. I make sure to turn off the phone.

Locating Susan and appearing on the path in front of her, I instruct her to turn round and head back to Mrs Pyke. I describe as accurately as possible what I can see and where Becky can be found. Susan runs back to our street to update Mrs Pyke on the situation.

I run to the kitchen and pour a glass of water. Fetching the container of sugar, I start pouring it in, stirring until no more sugar can be dissolved. I swallow the sickly substance as fast as possible. It tastes disgusting, but I figure I will need the extra energy a sugar high can provide.

I decide to project as David. Becky knows me, not Jenny, and it will prevent awkward questions later, especially as I have already said I have found her. I appear a few yards behind her and shout her name, quickly running up to where she is lying. Becky is lying face down at the bottom of a short slope. Her dungarees and panties are round her ankles, and her left leg is obviously broken. Her bare legs, bottom, and back are covered with scratches.

“What happened?” I ask, fearful that she may have been sexually assaulted.

“I needed a pee, so I left the path to find a spot where I wouldn’t be seen,” she sobs, “I saw this branch hanging over the slope. I pushed it with my foot and it seemed solid so I sat on it, using it as a toilet seat. I was in mid flow when the branch snapped and I tumbled backwards down the hill. My leg’s broken and I can’t move my right arm, it’s too painful.”

“Your left leg is definitely broken,” I tell her and she nods, “I’m going to feel your legs and arms to check for any other breaks.” She nods again and I carefully feel my way over her body. I also try to look through her body with my remote vision; however, I wasn’t able to see inside of her. My remote vision isn’t capable of seeing inside solid objects and I don’t have x-ray vision. I can only see what I would normally be able to see if I was standing in the location being remote viewed.

“I think you may have dislocated your right shoulder. I can’t feel any other breaks, and there is no sign of blood, so I think you will be OK,” I reassure her, “Help is on the way, we simply have to wait for it to get here.”

I have deliberately projected myself wearing a thick fleece jacket, figuring I would need to keep Becky warm. She is half-naked, and the evening breeze is turning cold. If it leaves contact with my body then it will fade out of existence, however I have a plan on how to use it. The thermometer the nurse used shows that my projected form can produce a degree of warmth. I carefully lay down beside Becky and wrap my fleece round her back. I hope the fleece and my projected body heat will keep her warm. I am optimistic that they have the same thermal properties as the real thing.

Although I can’t project in two places, I can still remote view another location while projecting. Actually I can remote view many places at the same time, however this isn’t very practical, as having multiple visions and sounds coming at me is too confusing, and gives me a migraine, so normally I only concentrate on one place at a time.

I look back to our street and see Susan talking with her parents and Mrs Pyke. They get into my uncle’s car and head round to the nearest access point into the woods. They arrive just after the ambulance. The paramedics grab their medical gear and a stretcher and Susan leads them in a quick jog. The paramedics have GPS, but Susan is more familiar with the terrain and can show them the quickest route. I am also not sure how accurate my co-ordinates are. I hope that they are within a hundred yards.

I whisper in Becky’s ear, “Help will be here soon”. She murmurs an answer, but is rapidly falling asleep. I am aware that this is not a good idea, so make her wake up again. Knowing Becky is a big Abba fan since the film ‘Mamma Mia’ came out, I start singing Abba songs and make Becky join in with me.

I’m starting to tire myself, as I have been projecting all day, and I’m trying to maintain the best projection I can while being near the limit of my range. I suddenly feel something brush my lips and I can taste honey. Realising that there is nothing here in the woods to cause that, I remotely view my bedroom. My father is sat by my bed smearing honey in my mouth. I can’t control my body and a projection at the same time, but I figure I can perhaps rapidly switch between the two. While concentrating hard on maintaining the projection I manage to make my body swallow the honey in my mouth, without fully fading out.

Becky is now half-asleep and doesn’t seem to notice anything. My father continues to dip his finger in the honey and I quickly begin sucking it off his finger. I immediately feel recharged, and after a minute of sucking, I am feeling much stronger.

I can hear the rescue party calling to me. I start shouting as loudly as I can. I lock onto them with my remote viewing and start shouting instructions as to which direction to turn. I see them reach the top of the slope and I call them down. There are two paramedics, Susan, Uncle Richard, and Audrey Pyke. The two paramedics, Dave and Jim, tell everyone else to remain at the top of the slope and they carefully slide down the incline.

I am still lying down with my fleece round Becky, both to keep her warm, and shield her modesty. I quickly explain the situation, and my assessment of her condition. A warm blanket is draped across Becky’s back and legs and I get up and sit nearby. The paramedics hand me a tinfoil blanket and tell me to wrap it around myself. They are concerned that I could also be chilled from lying on the ground. The medics fix neck and back braces on Becky, then the broken leg is carefully set in a splint. Becky is turned over onto her back on top of the stretcher. Becky’s shoes are taken off, and the remains of her torn and dirty clothes removed.

The medics shine light in her eyes, and take measurements of temperature and blood pressure. Becky is now drifting in and out of consciousness. A drip is fitted and an oxygen mask placed over her face. One of the paramedics is carrying a small oxygen bottle on his back. They call up to the other adults at the top of the slope to find another way down, that they can then use to carry Becky out without needed to climb steep slopes. I point them in the direction of a route that can be used. I have had time to scout remotely the quickest path out of here while waiting for them to reach us.

The stretcher is a light canvas one with two metal rods. Jim takes the front with Audrey Pyke, down by Becky’s feet, and Dave takes the other end with Uncle Richard. Susan is given the drip to carry. She walks alongside, holding the stretcher in one hand and the drip in the other making sure Becky is all right. Between them, they carry Becky out of the woods. I lead the way, making sure to warn them about any obstacles while choosing the quickest and flattest route back to the ambulance.

After assuring the paramedics I’m not suffering from hypothermia myself, I hand them back the tinfoil wrap and they leave for the hospital with Becky and Audrey on board. We return home, and David vanishes as soon as the front door closes.

My father is still sat on my bed as I sit up, so I give him a hug. I thank him for his assistance earlier.

“Janice told me what had happened and that you were with Becky. I knew you must have been projecting, so came to check on you. I saw the glass and sugar on the counter in the kitchen, so figured out what you were up too. I thought that you might require some more fuel. I know you’re not keen on honey, but thought you might need some,” he explains.

I thank him again and fill him in on what happened. I join my father for some pasta, and then opt for a very early night. It is only half past eight, but I’m exhausted.

The doorbell rings the next morning while we’re having breakfast. I get up from the kitchen table and head into the dining room while my father goes to answer the door. I follow him into the hall as David. Mrs Pyke is at the front door, carrying a small bag.

“Come in Audrey,” my father beckons her in.

“I just wanted to drop this over and say thanks,” she says, handing me a big box of chocolates and a card. “Becky asked me to give you these. She was kept in hospital last night, but will come home later today. Her leg is in plaster, and they had to pop her shoulder back in. She has quite a few bruises and is very embarrassed about what happened. Becky also asked me to thank you for not looking or taking advantage. She was worried who might find her lying in such a prone position.”

“Thank you, I’m glad she’s OK, I got quite worried when she started to drift off to sleep,” I reply.

“She had the onset of hypothermia from being exposed to the cold and damp. If you hadn’t kept her warm she might have been a lot worse, thank you,” Mrs Pyke expresses again.

After promising to call by after school, she leaves us to finish our breakfast. Mrs Pyke was heading back up the hospital with some fresh clothes so that she could bring her daughter home.

Susan and I, as David, drop round after school. We are both bombarded with hugs and kisses from Becky, especially me. She is embarrassed about the accident, but is thankful for her rescue. We promise not to tell anybody of the circumstances surrounding how she came to fall. We leave her to rest and go home to complete our homework.

---

 
I spend most of Saturday morning asleep. Using my powers to project myself into school is exhausting. I have been eating twice as much as normal and I’m heading to bed an hour earlier each night.

My father has gone grocery shopping with my Aunt and cousin by the time I get up. My Uncle is at work. Some customers are willing to pay extra to have their carpets and curtains fitted at the weekend, instead of having to take time off work during the week.

We have invited Aunt Janice, Uncle Richard, and Susan to dinner on Sunday with the intention of revealing my secret to the adults. Therefore it’s necessary for Jenny to be absent on Saturday. As I want to give my new-found abilities a rest, I decide it will be easier to disappear for the day.

I get up around 11am and make myself some brunch. I dress in my blue denim skirt. I have on my sports bra, over which there is a plain white t-shirt and my old blue-checked shirt. It’s made of thick material, and it will keep me warm if it turns cold. I have on some thick white sports socks and my new hiking boots.

I load my rucksack up with some waterproofs, a blanket, and an umbrella, and sneak out the back gate to head down to the river.

After an hour’s walk, I find a clearing in the woodland lining the river valley. I get the blanket out of my bag and spread it on the ground next to a tree. I then sit down, using the tree as a backrest, and proceed to complete most of the week’s homework assignments.

It starts to rain about 4pm. Swiftly packing up, I put my waterproofs on, and trek back home. I take a less roundabout route home, and arrive back half an hour later. I quickly check where the various members of my family are with my remote vision. Happy that my father is home alone I continue through the back gate, across the garden, and into the kitchen. He’s vacuum cleaning the dining room when I arrive. He stops and comes into the kitchen when he hears me enter.

After exchanging greetings, it’s time to go upstairs and take a nice relaxing bubble bath. After my bath, I return to my room wrapped in towels and look through my wardrobe. I get out a knee-length maroon pleated skirt and a red shirt. I have washed my hair so I put it up wrapped in a towel.

My father continues to clean the house while I put some potatoes on to boil, and warm some oil in a frying pan. I fry some pork medallions and when nearly done, I put some plates into warm, and zap some baked beans in the microwave.

Later that evening, Susan pops round to give me a lesson in hair care. I already know the basics of styling, but never had much opportunity to practice until now, as I had to keep my hairstyle unisex. Before my change, my hair was almost black, and came down to just below the top of my shoulders. In school, I usually tied it back into a short low ponytail.

When I was in girl mode, I wore it loose in a long pixie-type cut. Depending on the direction I combed, I could also have bangs. The effect was subtle, but I could portray either a tomboy or an effeminate boy. I was willing to be regarded as a bit of a sissy if it allowed me the flexibility to cross-dress. I’m now a red head. My hair is also longer, coming down and almost covering my breasts. It also seems to have more volume than before. Up until now, I have been using very simple styles. Most of the time, I have had my hair in a high ponytail, as that’s quick to accomplish. I have also worn it in both single and double braids.

I want to do something special in the morning, so Susan is going to help me experiment. We try several styles, but the one I like the best is a mixture of several styles. I end up with two narrow inch-wide braids, one each side of my head, running from my forehead round above my ears and meeting at a bun on the back of my head. The rest of my hair falls from underneath the bun, straight down my back. We decide it would look even better with a slight wave, so I end up wearing rollers to bed.

I have a slight lay in on Sunday morning and arise around 9am. I descend to the kitchen in my pyjamas and satin dressing gown. As I enter, my father is putting a piece of beef in the oven for lunch. I get myself some breakfast cereal and a cup of coffee. My father has already made a cup for himself.

I spend most of the morning finishing off my homework. There were some bits of research I need to do on the internet that I couldn’t do while out yesterday. Around eleven I start to get ready for our guests.

I first sort my hair out by removing the curlers and giving it a good brush out. I then recreate the hairstyle from the evening before, only this time it looks even better with waves of hair running down my back instead of being straight.

I apply simple makeup. I quite like my freckled cheeks, I think they look cute, so I don’t want to cover them with foundation or blush. Lightly dusting my face, just enough to take the shine off, I apply some mascara and outline my eyes with a black line to emphasis them, then add some red lipstick. Using red nail polish, my fingers and toes are soon decorated.

I remove my gown and pyjamas and start to get dressed in the outfit I have chosen. I start with a garter belt and then roll some black stockings up my long smooth legs before pulling on a pair of sexy red lace panties. Wrapping my strapless push-up bra around me, I secure it in place so that it cups and lifts my bosom.

Taking my dress from its hanger, I step into it and zip it up. There is a small hook and eye at the top, to make sure that the zip can’t come undone. This would be fiddly to do up for most people, but I have the added advantage of being able to see my own back.

The dress is a dark red and strapless, the top coming straight across the top of my chest from just below my armpits. It’s shaped round my breasts becoming narrow at the waist, emphasising my figure. Below the waist is attached a pleated skirt section that comes down to just below my knees. The join between body and skirt isn’t straight, but is instead V-shaped. The bottom of the V is in the middle in front of my crotch and extends upwards over my hips before levelling off and going straight across my back. The material is uniform in colour, but has tiny fleurs-de-lis arranged in a diamond pattern all over it.

I put on my red t-bar shoes with a two-inch heel. I get out and wear my new ladies’ watch. It has a white dial with black numbers, the bezel and buckle are gold-coloured with a thin black leather strap. I finish off with a gold chain round my neck from which is hung a single gold teardrop with a ruby in the centre and affix matching earrings.

I then wait upstairs until our guests have arrived. The three of them turn up shortly after noon. Uncle Richard and my father are both wearing chinos and casual shirts. Aunt Janice is wearing a green summer dress.

Susan is wearing a cream blouse and a blue plaid skirt. Normally she would have been in jeans, but made an exception today. As I am going formal, she didn’t want to go overboard and upstage me, while on the other hand needed to be smart enough to support the special occasion. I am watching events remotely from upstairs.

Dad sits everybody down and pours each person a glass of sherry. Once everyone has sat down, it’s time to make my entrance. Our living room has two couches and a matching chair. My Aunt and Uncle are sat on one couch and Susan on the other. My father is stood by the chair. I slowly descended the stairs and glide into the room.

Susan gives me a wolf whistle as I pass her, which I simply ignore. My father hands me a glass of sherry, saying, “You look gorgeous, honey.”

I take a sip and place it down on the coffee table. “Thank you, daddy,” I reply. I then kiss him on the cheek, leaving him with a bright red lipstick imprint, before turning to face our guests as my father introduces me.

“I believe you have all briefly met, but I would like to formally introduce you to my daughter, Jennifer Alice Palmer.” I smile and curtsy. My father then adds with a smile, “I decided to trade David in for a more beautiful model.”

“I’m an upgraded refit, not a trade in!” I reply sharply. Turning to Susan, who is sat laughing on the couch, I add, “and you can cut that out, or I might decide to give you a real reason to laugh. I know where your ticklish spots are.”

“Two can play at that game,” Susan replies mischievously.

“Yes, but I’m not ticklish am I,” I confidently retort.

“Your old body might not have been, David, but I haven’t tested this new version yet,” she says, twitching her fingers at me menacingly.

“True,” I concede, “but now is not the time to test it.”

My aunt and uncle are watching this surreal exchange with both amusement and puzzlement. My father then explains further, “I know this is quite a shock, but this is, or at least until recently was, David. I was most surprised when I walked into David’s room last Sunday to find this young beauty asleep in my son’s bed. Exactly what has caused this is still a mystery, but David’s body has undergone a spontaneous gender change.”

“Nice try John,” my aunt responds, “but this is one wind up that’s simply too unbelievable. I have seen both Jenny and David several times this week. In order for this to be true, David must have the ability to change sex at will.”

“I do, I’ll show you,” I reply. With that, I sit down on the couch next to Susan and stand back up again as David, leaving my now unconscious body on the couch behind me. “Is this proof enough?” I ask.

Susan decides now is the time to test if I’m ticklish, as she starts to attack my defenceless unconscious body. It would appear my new body is ticklish. At first, my projected form reacts, as I start to squirm and laugh where I’m standing as David. However, I can’t maintain my projection under such stimulus, and after a couple of seconds, I’m forced to return to my body to defend myself. I retaliate by tickling Susan back, having the advantage of knowing exactly where to aim. Susan has yet to discover my weak spots. We quickly call a truce and end the silliness.

I explain what has happened to me on that Friday. We then serve and eat lunch. During the afternoon, I relate some more of the events of the past week. Although the adults are concerned about me being bullied, they all have a good laugh at the changing room incident.

It has taken some time, but by late afternoon, my aunt and uncle had come to accept the new me. By the end of the evening, we have all become closer as a family.

On Monday morning, Susan and I follow our new routine, stopping at the shop for my usual body switch.

I am getting the distinct impression that something is going on while I sit in homeroom during morning roll call. Dimwit and Thicky seem too pleased with themselves, as if they are planning some nefarious scheme. I will need to make sure to be extra careful between lessons in case they try to jump me again.

During second period, I am scheduled to take an English Literature lesson. We have been studying Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Having completed the text, we are now watching a film adaptation for comparison. As our lessons are only an hour long, we can’t watch it in one sitting so having watched the first half in the previous lesson, we are watching the remainder today.

Our teacher, Mr Spencer, has the movie on a DVD, and he is playing it on a laptop hooked up to a projector at the front of the room. He has set it going and then sat at the back of the room out of the way. About 20 minutes into the video, the movie is suddenly replaced by footage of me wearing girl’s clothes. The footage is from before my change and shows me walking with Susan down by the river.

We both look alike and if the footage was just of me, I could possibly claim it to be Susan, but this isn’t possible with both of us in shot. I recognise the location. The footage must have been shot from the other side of the river using a zoom lens. I certainly don’t recall seeing anybody filming me. There is no sound with the recording. Instead, whoever made the clip superimposed a simple tune over the top.

To make sure everybody knows who this is of, the wording ‘David Palmer’ appears across the top of the screen, and ‘Perverted transvestite faggot’ across the bottom.

Everybody in the room is caught by surprise. Mr Spencer dashes to the front and stops the video, but it’s already too late to save my embarrassment. There is already a mixture of laughter and wolf whistling filling the air.

“Silence!” Mr Spencer calls as he removes the disc from the laptop and takes a closer look. “This isn’t the disc I prepared for the lesson; somebody has been tampering with my equipment.”

The room goes quiet. I have turned a nice shade of red and I’m trying hard not to lose it and start crying. I take some deep breaths and concentrate on remaining focused and in control. I’m projecting into the school from the empty shop unit again, and the last thing I need is to get distracted by my emotions and simply vanish.

I quickly regain my composure. I always knew that this was a risk and have already decided on an action plan in case something like this happened. I will not try to deny anything, and openly tell the truth if questioned, but not volunteer information unless directly asked. If this means openly acknowledging my gender variance, then I will do so.

I have an additional option since my change. Originally, I had thought that it might be possible to start at another school, hopefully as a girl. Now David could simply disappear. Not even my relatives could believe David and Jenny are the same person, so I don’t think anybody else will be able to make the connection. Of course, I still have the legal identification problem to solve, which is the Achilles heel of my plan. In addition, Homeland Security appears to be watching for people disappearing, so that alone is incentive not to do so.

Mr Spencer has been looking over at me with a concerned look on his face. Seeing that I have regained my composure he addresses the room. “This is no laughing matter. Not only has school property been tampered with, which is serious in its own right, but this constitutes a direct attack on one of our students. Now I don’t know the circumstances of how this film was shot, so I can’t say if it would be classed as an invasion of privacy, but the wording added on top could definitely be described as libellous.”

He looks around the room before continuing, “I want to know who did this or you’re all going to end up in detention.”

Everybody sits in silence waiting to see if anybody will own up. It doesn’t look like anybody is going to respond. I am in enough trouble without getting resentment from ending up in detention so I decide to speak up.

“I don’t think it was anybody in here, Sir,” I begin. All eyes turn in my direction, “I have a good idea who would want to do this, I just can’t prove it. That piece of music was the tune to ‘Daisy, Daisy’. I have been called Daisy on many occasions, but not by anybody here as far as I can remember.”

“As to the contents of the video,” I continue, “yes, that is me and I won’t deny being cross-dressed. I do object to the caption. I find the terminology both inaccurate and offensive.”

Mr Spencer considers what I have said before answering. “Very well, I won’t issue a detention.” A collective sigh of relief fills the room, “But I would like a word with you, David, after class. The rest of you may leave when the lesson ends, however please do not discuss this incident. Any rumours or harassment of Mr Palmer will not be tolerated.” He then looks through his briefcase and finds a backup version of the disc. “Good job I burnt a second copy,” he remarks as he puts the new disc in the laptop. After checking that this version has not been tampered with, he resumes the video.

Nothing more is said about the video clip and the lesson continues as normal. After the bell rings for the start of morning recess, Mr Spencer asks me to accompany him. There are a number of small offices around the school, which belong to various departments. We enter the English department’s office and shut the door so that we can talk alone.

“First I would like to apologise,” Mr Spencer starts, “if I had paid closer attention to the disc I would have realised it wasn’t the one I prepared.” I nodded and he continues, “I can understand you not wanting to openly accuse anybody of doing this, so I won’t force you to name anyone. I know that there have been several incidents between yourself and Dwain Scott. Do you think that he is responsible for this?”

“He would be my prime suspect,” I reply, “He first came up with the idea of calling me Daisy. He has also tried to blackmail me before with pictures of me dressed as a girl, only last time it was a photo taken at a Halloween fancy dress party with me dressed as Alice in Wonderland. That particular incident backfired on him and he has been hostile to me ever since.”

“Ah, yes, I remember that incident. The canteen is not the best place to try and conduct blackmail,” Mr Spencer smiles at the memory.

“I presume you are aware of what happened last week when he tried to chase me and ended up following Susan into the girls’ changing room?” I ask.

“Yes, I heard what happened from coach Sanders. None of us can quite work out how you both managed to trick him into that, although even if it was you who went into the girls’ changing rooms you would think he would have had enough sense not to follow,” Mr Spencer states.

“He can be a dimwit at times,” I laugh, “which is why I’m surprised he can manage to pull off a trick like this. He must have had help. His usual partner-in-crime is Freddy, but he’s just as brainless as Dwain. They both had a smug look on their faces this morning. I thought they might be planning something, but I didn’t expect this.”

Mr Spencer nods in agreement, “I am going to have a word with Dwain and Freddy, as they are obvious candidates anyway. Unfortunately I suspect they will simply deny it and we won’t be able prove anything.”

“I fully expect that to be the case,” I agree.

“I guess things are about to get very difficult for you now that this has happened,” Mr Spencer states. “You don’t have to talk about this if you are uncomfortable with the subject. Anything you say will be in confidence and I will only speak to other staff on a need to know basis. Do your parents know about your cross-dressing? You obviously have the help of at least one friend.”

I trust Mr Spencer. He’s a good teacher and an honest person. I decide to admit some details, “I only have my Father. He’s a single parent. I kept it hidden from him for a long time but he recently caught me en-femme. We’ve had a long heart-to-heart discussion on the subject and he’s willing to support me. The other person in the video is my cousin, Susan Potter. She has known about my feminine side for years. We actually told her parents about me yesterday and after some initial disbelief, they have come to accept what I am. This won’t cause any problems for me at home.”

“That is good to know,” he replies, “you say you have been cross-dressing for a long time. I presume that means you are unlikely to be stopping any time soon.”

“Correct,” I state, “in fact the only time I now present myself as male is during school hours. The rest of the time, I present as a girl. I classify myself as transgendered and eventually I intend to transition fully, but there are protocols that have to be followed, and these take time.”

Mr Spencer looks at me for a few moments before answering. “You always have been slightly different from the other boys. In fact, I wasn’t sure of your gender until I learnt your name. I will discretely have words with your homeroom teacher and the Principal. You’re in Mr Francis’s homeroom?” I nod and he continues, “I think it best if we set up a meeting with your father. This school operates a strict equal opportunities policy and we won’t allow any discrimination or harassment. If you have any problems then you’re welcome to come and find me.”

“Thank you Sir,” I smile, relieved at his reaction.

He stands to leave and opens the door. Susan, Tracy and Mary, my three closest, and possibly now only, friends are waiting outside the door. I am enveloped by a group hug. I hand my bag to Susan, “Can you hold on to this, I need to pop to the loo.” Susan knows that means I want to end my projection.

I enter the boys’ bathroom. The only toilet cubicle is occupied. There is another boy at one of the urinals. As he currently has his back to me, and therefore hasn’t seen me, I safely do my vanishing act.

Back in my body in the closed shop unit, I quickly grab a coke and a bar of chocolate and dash into the loo. My primary concern is to replenish my energy; going to the loo is actually a secondary priority that could have waited until lunchtime. I drink and eat as fast as I can while I have a pee.

Returning to my sun lounger, I sit back down and remotely view the bathroom. There are now several boys inside, although none of them are looking in the direction of the entrance. David appears behind the door and leaves the bathroom before any of them notice. The girls are waiting for me outside.

Susan mouths sorry to me while the others aren’t looking. I nod my head slightly in acknowledgement. It is obvious that they don’t want to leave me alone. As the bell is about to ring I am escorted to my next lesson.

Tracy is in all but a few of my lessons and we always sit together. Susan shares about a quarter of her classes with me, as does Mary. Between the three of them, I have at least one of them with me all the time. The only exception is Physical Education, where the girls and boys are separated to play different sports. However, as I have been temporarily excluded by the nurse, this is no longer an issue.

The next lesson passes without incident. I can hear some whispering going on behind my back, but nobody confronts me.

As we break for lunch I realise I have a new problem. Up until now, I have been able to slip away unnoticed. However, my friends have decided that I need safety in numbers, and won’t let me simply disappear. I can’t pretend to be in the loo for an hour.

I am with Tracy and Mary. Susan will no doubt meet with us soon; she was in a different classroom last period.

Suddenly there is a loud bang and a scream. I immediately home in on the source with my remote vision to see Susan standing in front of her open locker, soaking wet. I start running towards Susan’s location calling to the others to follow me.

---

 

I arrive in the hallway where Susan is standing, with Mary and Tracy in tow. Coach Sanders and Mr Spencer are already on scene. There is a nasty stench in the air, and it’s coming from Susan.

Mr Spencer asks, “What happened?”

“I opened my locker and that thing,” Susan responds pointing at an object in her locker, “exploded and covered me in this foul liquid.” She is clearly upset and appears to be on the point of tears.

I quickly inspect the inside of the other lockers with my remote vision to see if there are any more surprises. There appears to be a similar device in my locker as well. It’s hooked to the back of the locker and a string is tied to the inside of the lock. Whoever put these here did a good job. Opening the locker door more than about an inch pulls the string releasing the pin out of the canister causing it to explode.

I quickly move to my locker and open it a fraction, being careful not to detonate the device. I close the locker again and turn to the teachers.

“There appears to be another device in my locker, does anybody have a pair of scissors handy?” I ask.

Tracy hands me a pair from her pencil case. I reopen the locker far enough to slip the scissors in and cut the cord tied to the door. I then open the door so that the teachers can see what’s within.

All of my belongings are still inside. Sat on top of them is a spray canister. It’s a joke device bought online with the name of the website printed on the side. I take a tissue out of my bag, wrap it round the device and hand it to Mr Spencer. I then place my bag into the locker and lock it back up. The security of the locker has obviously been compromised, but I need to offload my belongings, as I will have to end my projection during the lunch break.

I look down the corridor and spot Dimwit and Thicky laughing from a distance.

This is the last straw. I’m normally a calm and collected person who doesn’t anger quickly, but these two are really making my blood boil. I have simply had enough of their games. I can put up with a lot of crap as long as it’s aimed only at me, harming my friends really pushes my berserk button.

“You bastards!” I yell in their direction and storm off down the corridor towards them.

“Mr Palmer,” Coach Sanders warns me in a stern voice as I pass. I pay her no attention whatsoever.

Dimwit has stopped laughing by this point and is watching me approach.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Daisy,” he says in a soft voice intended for only me to hear.

This only annoys me even more. I don’t waste any time, grabbing him round the throat with both hands, I shove him up against the wall.

“Listen here, Dimwit, I have had enough of your childish antics. Susan could have been blinded by that prank if that stuff had gone into her eyes. Any more shit and I will destroy you. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and this is one girl you don’t want to mess with.” I shout in his face while squeezing his neck. Thicky is unsuccessfully trying to pull me off his friend.

“Unhand Mr Scott this instant!” Coach Sanders bellows at me. I let go of Dimwit, who starts panting for breath. “Mr Palmer, report to my office immediately,” the coach states. I turn and head in the direction of the sports block, still angry with Dimwit. The crowd that has gathered to watch my outburst parts as I storm off.

Mary and Tracy start to follow me and I yell to them, “Leave me alone!” Seeing the mood I am in, they decide to err on the side of caution and stay to help Susan. Coach Sanders leads Susan through to the front office and nurse’s office, no doubt to call my Aunt to collect her, and wash off some of the foul smell. Mr Spencer escorts Dwain and Freddy away for questioning.

I arrive at the coaches’ office, but it is locked. Frustrated I slam my palm into the surface of the door while kicking it. I look around to see if anybody is watching. Nobody is about so I simply walk through the door, irritated at the situation. I decide it’s time to get even with those two idiots and I have a brilliant idea on how to do it. We have one classroom set up as a TV studio, and after checking the coast is clear with my remote vision, I teleport my projection into it. Due to the valuable equipment, the room is kept locked when not in use.

I quickly set to work making a short video starring my two nemeses. Fifteen minutes later there is a new video up on YouTube, I have set up an account especially. I email the video link to every single student and teacher. Each student has a school-issued email address, and most of them have been set to auto forward onto private mailboxes. Normally only teachers have the ability to access the full address book and send global mail, but when you can watch the keyboard from a few inches away while a teacher enters their password, it isn’t that difficult to hack in and use the function.

I return to the coaches’ office and await Ms Sander’s appearance. I don’t have long to wait. An angry Coach Sanders opens the door and enters the room, slightly surprised to see me inside. I am sat in one of the comfortable chairs with my arms crossed looking straight ahead. I ignore her entrance.

“There you are, I have been looking for you. How did you get in here?” she exclaims.

“You told me to wait here, so here I am,” I reply sarcastically.

“Susan is currently in the shower in the nurse’s office cleaning that gunk off. Your Aunt is on her way to collect both of you. Susan is being given the afternoon off, and you have been given a half-day suspension for your attack on Dwain Scott. You have Mr Spencer to thank that it isn’t an expulsion. He argued that you were under severe emotional stress following an incident earlier.”

“That bastard deserves what’s coming to him,” I state angrily.

“That may well be the case, but we have no proof that he is responsible for the actions against you and Susan. Going off in a rage is simply going to land you in as much trouble as he is. Revenge is not the answer,” Ms Sanders tells me.

“Maybe not,” I reply, smiling at her evilly, “but it’s very satisfying.”

“This ends now. You are behaving just as badly as he is. Don’t sink to his level. Do you really want an all-out war?” she asks.

I don’t give an answer, but instead go back to staring straight ahead. At this moment, war is acceptable. War isn’t about who is right, it’s about who is left, and I have the tactical advantage with my secret weapons. I have already thought up my next move. I wonder if Dimwit has ever read Dickens’ Christmas Carol. I have, and I fancy turning him into Scrooge.

I am led through to the front of the school where my Aunt is waiting. On our way, we stop at my locker so that I can collect my belongings. We reach the front of the school and Susan comes out of the nurse’s office dressed in a tracksuit. Aunt Janice must have brought it.

Aunt Janice signs the release forms to state she has collected us and leads us to the car. She doesn’t look at all happy with the situation. I can tell she is annoyed as she is giving us both the silent treatment. We get in the car, Susan in the front and me in the rear. My aunt starts to drive us home.

After about a quarter of a mile, I sigh deeply and ask my aunt, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

She glances at me through the rear view mirror, “What?” she asks in an annoyed voice.

“I’m not really here, this is only a projection, and I’m about to reach the limit of my range,” I state as I fade out.

I return to my body in the empty shop unit, collect my things and head out of the back door, locking it behind me as I leave. Being in no mood to listen to a lecture from Aunt Janice, I quickly walk back towards the school before she has chance to turn up. The front gates are patrolled to make sure only those with permission can leave. Mr Ellis is standing at the gates checking students as they enter and leave. In order to leave school during the lunch hour you need parental permission, and this is indicated on your school ID.

I don’t have my school ID on me, and it wouldn’t do any good as it’s for David, not Jennifer. I cross the street and head into a nearby park. Finding a secluded spot, I sit down and make myself comfortable for projecting. I can’t stay here all afternoon, as my presence will be questioned after the lunch hour has finished.

Using my remote vision, I come up with a plan for gaining a new school ID. All the materials I need are in a room beside the main school office. It is a stationery cupboard and machine room. Inside are a number of locked metal cabinets, a Xerox machine, guillotines for trimming paper and a laminator for encasing paper in plastic. I project myself into the room, but do so as Mr Ellis in case anybody walks in on me.

I switch on the laminator so that it is heating up. I search through the cupboards with my remote vision to locate the blank templates for the ID cards. These are sheets of paper pre-printed with a complex background pattern and small hologram and are designed so that they cannot easily be forged. They are in one of the metal cabinets. I don’t have the key, so reach through the door. Making my hand solid inside the cabinet, I get hold of one of the sheets and pull it through the gap in-between the doors.

With much concentration, I project into my hand a piece of paper with my photo, name, and various other details in the correct position for copying onto the ID. I load the blank template into the manual feed tray and place the projected paper on the glass. I activate the copier and it transfers the details onto the template. I take the newly copied ID sheet and fold it in half. I trim it to size and feed it through the laminator. This encases the folded paper in plastic. I take the newly created ID card and switch off the laminator.

I now need to get the card to my current location. I put the card in my pocket and make myself invisible. This doesn’t work as the card can now be seen floating in mid air. I sigh and rethink my plan. I take the card in my hand and open the door slightly. I keep myself invisible and make only the very tips of my fingers solid, just enough to carry the ID card. I bend over and walk out into the corridor so that the card is floating just above the ground. I walk past the reception desk, keeping the card out of sight of the office staff.

I push the card through a gap in between the front doors and skirt round the edge of the building. Instead of going to the front gates where Mr Ellis is on duty, I head to the side of the campus near the Hamilton Road shops. Checking that nobody is about, I throw the card over the wall and catch it as I appear on the other side. This time I am projecting myself as police chief Millward, with whom I spoke at the bank heist. I casually walk to my current location. I note that my aunt’s car is now parked in Hamilton Road.

I quickly bring the card to my body and end my projection. I head back to the school gates and enter the grounds. On the way past, I show my pass to Mr Ellis, who checks and acknowledges that it has the symbol displayed allowing me out of school grounds at lunchtimes. I don’t have to worry about being recognised later, as Mr Ellis is a temporary teacher who is only with us for a few weeks while Mr Cobbler is recovering from prostate surgery. He doesn’t know many students, and won’t be about if I later join the school as Jennifer.

I head to the bike sheds and attach the cool box to my bike. I lock it on with the bike chain so it can’t be removed. I have already taken some food out of it and I‘m munching on some chocolate.

It feels slightly strange to be back in school in the flesh, rather than pretending to be David. As I’m just another face in the crowd, I’m able to walk the halls unchallenged. I head for the door that leads under the stage. I wait until nobody is looking and quickly open the door from inside using a quick projection. I slip in and close the door behind me.

Nobody is going to find me in here and I can watch the fun unfold without having to stretch my powers. There is still about half an hour of lunchtime left. I decide to see if anybody has seen my email yet. I take a quick look into the computer room. Considering the commotion, it would appear that at least some students have watched the video already.

I hear the P.A. system activate and call Dwain and Freddy to the principal’s office. I decide to look in on this, as it’s bound to be worthwhile. The boys arrive and I watch them enter the room. Principal Edwards has a certain email up on screen. He indicates for them to sit and then shows them what he has displayed on the monitor. The subject line reads “A public apology to all students” and it looks like it has been sent by the principal himself.

When opened, the wording ‘Dwain Scott and Freddy Forrester would like to issue an apology’ appears in large red letters. Below that is a photo of Dwain and Freddy in drag and a link to a YouTube video. The photo is a still taken from the start of the video.

Both boys look shocked at the email in front of them. They deny all knowledge. I keep a close eye on their faces as the video clip is played to them.

The video shows both of them sat side by side in the school TV studio. It is a long shot so that we can see both of them from head to toe. I had to use a split screen technique and merge two clips together to get the effect, but it’s impossible to see the join.

Dwain is dressed up like a toddler. He is wearing a pink dress, which is covered in lace on every edge. There is a classic Peter Pan collar, and short puffy sleeves. He’s also wearing a pink plastic bib with a teddy bear on the front. The skirt is very short and is puffed out with five layers of petticoats. His hairy legs are visible. Dwain is wearing short lace ankle socks and classic Mary Jane type shoes. The camera is angled so that it’s looking right up his skirt and the cloth diaper can clearly be seen, emphasised by the overly large safety pin holding it on. To finish the effect he is sucking a pacifier.

Freddy is sat next to him in an equally embarrassing outfit. He’s wearing a red skin-tight rubber cat suit, which has an overly large fake cleavage sticking out. It doesn’t look realistic. The suit includes a short miniskirt. Again, he is sat so that the camera can see up the skirt, revealing a thong. There is a slight bulge sticking out at his crotch, but it’s smaller than would be expected. He is holding his hands across his stomach because they are tied together with pink fluffy handcuffs. On his feet are bright red seven-inch platform stilettos. Clipped to his belt is a large leather whip.

This same scene is inserted as the photo in the email message.

After a few seconds, the scene changes to a close-up of Dwain’s face. It is a flawless rendition, my photographic memory allowing me to get every detail deadly accurate. Dwain is clearly recognisable, although he is wearing a degree of makeup. His lips are bright red and he has overdone blush on his cheeks in two red spots. The pacifier is gone.

“I, Dwain Scott, would like to say sorry for my naughtiness over the last few months. I have been a very bad boy, calling people bad names. I have been saying that some boys are sissies, when I’m a bigger sissy than they are,” he says, and then pauses before continuing, “I also snuck into the girls’ changing rooms to see them naked.” He smiles at that. “Mistress Winifred is going to punish me for my behaviour. I don’t mind, but I think she likes it.” Dwain frowns at that idea. I have deliberately chosen very childish language and he is speaking with a slight lisp fitting for a two-year-old girl.

The scene changes to Freddy. Again, his face is easily recognisable despite the hideously overdone makeup that makes him look like a hooker. He is smoking Cannabis. After taking a deep inhale, he removes it and exhales a puff of smoke. I am getting good with my projections. His hands are still tied together with the handcuffs.

“I’m Mistress Winifred, better known to most of you as Freddy Forrester. I would also like to apologise for assisting little Miss Dawn here to bully my fellow students. For my punishment, I will only flail myself twenty times each evening, instead of my usual forty. I also have to change Dawn’s diapers, not a very pleasant task. Whipping Dawn is just for fun.”

The video ends with another long shot of the both of them. A very large farting sound is heard and Dwain pouts and says, “Dawn needs a diaper change.” Freddy looks across disgustedly as the scene fades to black.

Both Dwain and Freddy’s faces have turned very pale as they sit and watch the video in silence. Neither can believe the footage before them.

Both are questioned by the Principal, but neither can provide answers. They deny all knowledge of making the video and sending it round the school, pointing out that they would never do that to themselves, as it’s social suicide, and that it has to be faked.

My name is mentioned as a possible suspect. Well, that was to be expected, I have just threatened to destroy them. I think I have successfully destroyed any street-cred they may have had.

Nobody can work out how it was done. They know when and where it was filmed, and the computer used to send it, the one in the TV Studio. They also know that it was Principal Edwards’s credentials used to log in. However, the room has been locked the whole time and nobody was seen entering or exiting the room. The studio is soundproofed, so nobody outside even realised the room was in use. Dimwit and Thicky were being interviewed by Mr Spencer while I was making the film, which unfortunately gives them an alibi.

Seeing Dimwit and Thicky in trouble again lightens my mood. Not only was it entertaining to watch, it’s also taken the heat off my own video incident earlier in the day. I decide that as I am here I might as well attend afternoon lessons. Well, not in person, but I can sit here and view the action.

As I am only remote viewing instead of projecting, I can take notes while I sit under the stage. I always carry a spare pen and small notepad in my coat pocket. I spend the afternoon watching my normal lessons. Come the end of the afternoon, I calm down and decide it’s time to face the music.

---

 
I am in no rush to leave school at the end of the day. I decide I can’t risk leaving the under-stage storeroom until the bell has gone, in case I get spotted wandering the corridors during lessons. Once the final bell of the day has gone, I then have to wait for all the students to pass before slipping out. The first thing I do after leaving my hiding place is dash as quickly as possible to the girls’ bathroom.

I haven’t been to the loo since break this morning and I have been drinking all afternoon from a large bottle of water. I have needed to pee for the last hour. I didn’t want to risk being spotted going to the loo by any teachers, having to pass by several classrooms. All the doors have windows in them, and I can’t risk being challenged, as Jennifer is not a student.

I take special care to enter the girls’ room instead of the boys’. I go into the bathroom to find that the three stalls are occupied and there are two other girls waiting. Both are jiggling slightly in desperation. I am seriously contemplating jumping up on one of the sinks when it’s finally my turn. I just manage to get my panties out of the way in time.

I quickly finish my business and leave the stall for the next girl to use. Queuing is not something I had been used to as a boy. Not wanting to engage in small talk I swiftly wash my hands and leave.

I head slowly towards the bike sheds. After checking that there is nobody I know hanging round, I unlock my bike and ride off. I don’t want any of my friends accusing me of stealing David’s bike.

Instead of riding straight home, I go for a long bike ride through the countryside to relax and clear my mind. I let my hair down and it blows in the wind behind me as I pedal along. I soon find that this puts a bit too much strain on my neck, so I end up with a ponytail again.

I finally get home at around six. I am just putting my bike away in the garage when my father reverses his car into the driveway.

“Where have you been?” he asks, sounding annoyed.

“School, followed by the scenic route home to help me relax from all the stress earlier,” I reply.

“You have been riding around for the last five hours?” he asks sarcastically as we both head into the kitchen.

“Of course not,” I answer, “School ends at half three remember. By the time I had been to the loo and collected my bike, it was getting on for four. I have been riding for a little over two hours.”

“You got chucked out of school at lunchtime!” My father shouts at me while making us both mugs of coffee.

“I remote viewed the lessons. I thought it would be easier than trying to catch up later,” I shrug as I get potatoes out of the cupboard beneath the draining board and start to peel them.

“Where from, you weren’t at the shop?” my father asks as he gets some chicken breasts out of the fridge. “Your aunt isn’t happy about your disappearing act.”

“If Aunt Janice had collected me as well as my projection I wouldn’t have needed to disappear. I stayed in the car as long as I could, but I do have a limited range. If she had been in a mood for listening, then I might have pointed out her mistake earlier. However all she seemed interested in was getting home as quickly as possible without any regard for why she had to collect us both,” I say as I put the potatoes in a pan to boil.

“When I was forced to leave the car, I left the shop and returned to school. I spent the afternoon hidden under the stage, as originally planned, remote viewing my lessons taking notes as appropriate,” I say waving my notebook in his direction.

“What the hell were you thinking trying to strangle another student?” he yells at me while throwing the chicken in a frying pan of hot oil.

“I wasn’t thinking. I was too angry and upset to think rationally,” I admit with a sigh, “did the school bother to tell you why I was so upset?”

“Something about Susan being hit by a stink bomb,” my father replies, “While it’s honourable that you should stick up for your friends and family, trying to kill somebody is not a proportionate response, young lady.”

“Oh, that was just the icing on the cake, the last straw that finally broke the camel’s back!” I reply angrily. “There was one of those things in my locker as well. Susan was just unlucky that she got to her locker first. However, that’s small in comparison to what I had to endure earlier. What would you have done if someone had played a video of you dressed as a girl, out walking with your sister, accompanied by the caption ‘John Palmer, perverted transvestite faggot’?”

I was now yelling at the top of my voice and was fighting back tears. I stormed out of the room and upstairs. I lay face down on my bed sobbing. I know girls tend to be more emotional, but this is becoming frustrating. I roll over onto my back and take some deep breaths.

“I would have found the person who did it and broken their nose,” my father says calmly from the doorway. “They didn’t tell me about that, however they said there were some details that needed to be discussed in person in the morning. We have a meeting before school tomorrow.”

I sit up and he sits down beside me, giving me a hug. I rest my head on his shoulder.

“Tell me what happened,” he whispers softly.

“It was during Mr Spencer’s English class. We have just read Macbeth and we were watching a film version for comparison. All of a sudden, the video changes to Susan and me walking down by the river. The video was taken of me in Jenny mode a few weeks ago before my change. Unfortunately, I am still recognisable as David in the video. Therefore, everybody could clearly see me in a dress. To make sure the words ‘David Palmer’ and ‘perverted transvestite faggot’ were superimposed on the clip. I was shocked and upset. I didn’t think it was worth denying so I admitted to being cross-dressed, but nothing further.”

“After class I had a discussion with Mr Spencer,” I continue, “I expressed my suspicion that Dwain Scott was behind the incident. I also admitted to living part time as a girl outside of school and that my family are aware of my gender preference.”

My father hugs me tighter, before motioning me back downstairs so that he can keep an eye on the cooking.

“Squirting stink bombs had been planted in the lockers belonging to me and Susan. I was able to disable mine, but not until after Susan had been covered in foul smelling liquid. I saw Freddy and Dwain laughing at us from down the corridor, and I lost control of my temper.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” my father chuckles, “But at least I can see why. You seem to be extra moody since your change.”

“You try having all your male hormones replaced with female ones and see how you are affected,” I state.

“No thanks!” he replies.

“For all I know I could be suffering from PMS,” I laugh.

“Seriously?” my father looks over at me with concern.

“How would I know? I’ve only been female a week. I assume I’m fully functional. Therefore, it’s bound to happen sometime soon, as will all the other monthly symptoms. I just don’t know when. Assuming I started a cycle when I transformed, I will probably have to start using those tampons in a little over a fortnight’s time.”

“Too much information,” my father steps back with his hands in the air, “you can go discuss that with Susan and Aunt Janice.”

I laugh at my father’s reaction, “Thanks!” I reply while getting some plates out to warm in the oven.

It’s not long before our evening meal is cooked and we sit down to eat. After washing the dishes, we settle down in the lounge. Instead of watching TV, my father decides we need to discuss the meeting with the school in the morning.

“Attacking another student should have meant an expulsion. I guess they took the stress you were under into account when suspending you for the afternoon,” my father reasons, “I guess they will probably let you back into class tomorrow.”

“That depends,” I say sheepishly, “there is something else I haven’t mentioned yet.”

“What did you do?” my father is looking at me with raised eyebrows.

“I sort of made my own video, and put them into the same position as me,” I guiltily admit. Within a few minutes I have my email open and on screen on my netbook.

My father reaches over and clicks the link to the video. The two of us sit and watch the clip.

“I take it you didn’t manage to coerce those two miscreants into doing this?” my father asks me.

“No, it’s me in both cases. I shot Dwain first, then Freddy, then merged the footage together so it looks like they are sitting together. Its similar to the technique Eddy Murphy used in the Nutty Professor. There is no evidence that I made the video, although I am probably prime suspect,” I answer as I download a copy of the video in case it’s deleted from the internet.

“Explaining how you managed that would not be a good idea,” my father opines, “unless the school figures it out, we don’t need to say anything. However as they aren’t going to punish you for this stunt then I will. You’re grounded for the next fortnight.”

“Dad!” I exclaim.

My father ignores me and clarifies the rules. “That means you only leave the house to go to school or when I give you direct permission. You come straight home and don’t have any visitors, except family. Also, no projecting yourself elsewhere and claiming you haven’t left the house because your body is still here.”

It’s not going to be that bad, as I don’t go out much anyway. My river walks were mainly for girl time anyhow, and I can live without them for a little while considering I am now a physical female. He said family was allowed over, so Susan can still keep me company.

We sit in silence for a while before I speak again, “I think I have probably been well and truly outed. Not only have at least twenty people seen me cross-dressed, I also shouted at Dimwit that I wasn’t a girl to be messed with. I think the grapevine will have ensured everybody will know by tomorrow. The only consolation is that my video will have diverted some of the attention onto Dimwit and Thicky as well.”

My father nods his agreement and waits for me to continue.

“They may decide to give me the option to attend school as a girl. We have a tight equal opportunities policy. They wouldn’t want to be seen to discriminate against me by denying me the ability to present how I choose,” I reason, “However I don’t want to attend as David in a dress. Standard procedure for transsexuals would be to make them use separate toilet and changing facilities, not that I would be using them anyway. I don’t want that stigma hanging over me.”

“I will only go to school as Jenny if it’s unconditionally as a girl, without projection,” I declare, “That isn’t going to happen. I would rather have a fresh start where there is no history of being male, even if I have to drop out of school this year and start again next year in the year below. However, in order to do that we need to sort me out with a proper legal identity.”

“I still haven’t worked out how to do that,” my father answers. “Turning up at a doctors and getting them to examine you would prove you are female, but how can we then explain your sudden change, or even prove you are who we say you are? Your ability to project is astonishing, but it wouldn’t pass a full medical examination. They couldn’t take a blood sample for example.”

“I did wonder about that,” I say, “if I collapsed as David, complaining of stomach pains in order to fake being intersexed with a blocked uterus, they would have to operate in order to fix the problem. However, it wouldn’t work, I don’t think I can do a convincing enough projection of internal organs to fool a surgeon. Also, my boy bits would vanish as soon as they are cut off. That’s even assuming I can fool an X-ray or MRI scanner.”

“I think we can safely reject that idea as a plan,” my father agrees. “I have been discussing the problem with your Uncle. He may be able to help us. One of his school friends is now a qualified lawyer and works in the District Attorney’s office. Richard has suggested contacting his friend and discussing the problem with him. He could keep the conversation fairly anonymous to start with and not identify you until necessary.”

“Do you think that this person can be trusted?” I ask.

“Yes, Robert Turner is well-known in the community and is recognized for his stance on justice for all. From what I have read about his history online, before joining the D.A.’s Office he represented a number of individuals in cases related to discrimination and harassment, including several related to homophobia,” my father states. “Richard goes out drinking with him about once a month. He trusts Robert and believes he may be able to help with the legal aspects.”

“OK, in that case let’s see what advice he can give us,” I reply.

---

 

We get up half an hour earlier in the morning, as we have to meet my teachers before school starts. Having dropped me off at the shop so I can project my boy self again, we continue to the school, arriving shortly before our half past eight appointment.

When we arrive there is a lot of commotion happening. I then see the reason. Dwain Scott is on the roof of the building, sitting near the edge, crying. He is two stories up on a section of flat roof over the main school offices.

Quickly remote viewing the area I see that he must have used an access door to the roof round the side of the building. The door is blocked from the outside and a number of staff members are trying to gain access to the roof.

Several teachers, including the principal, are trying to persuade him to get away from the edge and come down. He is ignoring them and seems quite content to sit and stare into space while sobbing. Dwain is clearly very upset, and is sitting in a dangerous position. He doesn’t appear to be making any effort to jump off the roof.

Mary is one of the onlookers. I go over to where she is standing and ask her what happened. It seems some of the other students have been teasing Dwain about his appearance in the video. I’m not the only person he’s been annoying, and many others are using the opportunity to get their own back on him. The video I made did stitch him up in a way that is hard to discredit as fake.

It seems that about five minutes ago he flipped and stormed off on the point of tears. Freddy tried to stop him, but he shoved him over into some lockers and fled up to the roof.

Without further thought, I slip to one side. After checking that the coast is clear, I project myself on top of the building. I appear crouching down and out of sight of any observers on the ground.

I quickly and silently move across to Dwain. Before he has chance to react to my presence, I grab him from behind, pulling him backwards. He ends up lying on his back on top of me in a bear hug.

“Oh no you don’t, mister,” I say to the startled boy, “I’m not letting you jump off any buildings while I’m around.”

“Let go of me you freak!” he shouts at me in vain. “My life is over thanks to you. You’re responsible for that video clip on YouTube. Nobody else hates me that much to go to the effort of faking it so well.”

“You’re right, I do hate you!” I exclaim. “If you stopped being such an annoying arsehole perhaps you wouldn’t alienate everyone.”

“Because of you I am now the laughing stock of the entire school,” he articulates, “I will never live this down.”

“Stop being so melodramatic, I’m in exactly the same position as you are. In fact, for me it’s worse. I’ve been outed as a cross-dresser. You can just claim it’s a joke, or that you were forced into making it against your will. I have no excuse for explaining walking by the river en femme. Are you going to deny inserting that clip into Macbeth? Those squirting stink bomb things didn’t appear by themselves. You only have yourself to blame,” I reply.

“The video wasn’t anything to do with me! What benefit would I get from showing something like that?” he replies.

I get the nasty feeling that I may have gone too far in publishing the video without confirming who outed me. I simply assumed he was behind it. In truth, it isn’t his modus operandi. If he had such a video, then he would have been more likely to try to blackmail me, like before. Besides, he isn’t exactly the most computer literate of people.

I note he didn’t deny planting the stink bombs. They are much more his style. Freddy’s father is a locksmith, which could explain how they knew how to get the lockers open.

I continue, “I have been putting up with crap from you and Freddy for months, all you are getting is a taste of your own medicine and you can’t handle it. You’re pathetic!”

“If you are trying to talk me out of jumping you’re doing a lousy job,” he shouts at me angrily, struggling more than before.

“Unlike you, I actually have a conscience, and I can’t just stand by and watch you hurt yourself without feeling at least partially guilty for pushing you into it. I’m doing this for my benefit, not yours,” I reply.

Following the Dirty Harry discipline of suicide prevention, I continue, “Besides, if you did decide to jump off, it would make a bloody mess on the pristine concrete below. Not to mention you could land on and injure one of the spectators. I have seen someone being killed close-up before, it’s not a pleasant experience.”

He is still struggling and flailing his legs around trying to kick me. It appears my attempts to talk him down have failed. I therefore rely on my backup plan of using brute force. I hastily bring my knee up between his legs, swiftly engaging my thigh with his testicles. This has the effect of subduing him due to the sudden pain. He grabs his crotch. I roll him sideways onto the roof and loosen my grip. He is now lying on my left arm, which I quickly free from under him by removing its density. I continue to roll Dwain until he is face down, and then kneel on him, placing my right knee in the middle of his back.

During our time on the roof, a police car has pulled up, sirens blazing. I call down to the officers, “Can I borrow some handcuffs?” One of them throws a pair up to me, which I catch, and I quickly handcuff Dwain’s right wrist to his left ankle behind his back. He is still too distracted by the pain in his groin to mount an effective fight back. Once cuffed, I start to drag him over towards the blocked door, away from the edge of the roof. He tries to struggle and resist further.

“Stop it,” I say, kicking him lightly in the stomach, “Behave and I might not inflict any permanent damage.”

I was going to head over to unblock the door, however this isn’t required as the people inside manage to force their way out onto the roof. They quickly come over and get hold of Dwain. One of them is a police officer, presumably the partner of the one on the ground. He releases the cuffs and puts them on properly while Coach Sanders and Coach Mitchell hang onto an arm each. Both of our sports teachers are large, strong people and Dwain is no match for their combined strength.

Dwain is quickly frogmarched down off the roof and toward the nurse’s office.

“How did you get up here?” the police officer asks me.

“I can climb,” I reply simply, hoping he won’t query it further. I follow the two coaches and Dwain off the roof, and the officer follows on behind after glancing around.

I meet up with my father at reception, who asks, “Nice moves, how come he was ever a problem to you in the first place if you were able to beat him up so easily?”

“Projections don’t bruise,” I answer softly, “It’s easy to win when you don’t have to worry about getting hurt. In addition, he seems a lot less intimidating in his current state. I don’t know if he was seriously thinking of jumping, but he seems to be dangerously depressed. He is usually a lot more boisterous and full of energy. Part of his problem is that he is quite often hyperactive.”

He nods and we both sit down on the easy chairs in reception. My father tells me that we will be seen soon, however dealing with Dwain has become a priority. A few minutes later Dwain is escorted to an ambulance by the police, and taken away. I hope they can help him.

Shortly afterwards we are called into a meeting room. The Principal, Mr Spencer, and Mr Francis, my homeroom teacher, are present.

“Sorry for the delay, you saw what happened with Dwain. Thank you for subduing him. How did you get up on the roof so quickly?” Mr Edwards, our principal, asks, “I saw you arrive and speak to Mary, then when I looked back round you were on the roof pulling Dwain to safety.”

I decide to dodge the question, “I couldn’t stand and watch, especially as my actions yesterday may have contributed to his state of mind. If anybody has a right to be upset, I do, not him. He’s just getting a taste of what he’s been putting me through for the last few months.”

“We heard what was said on the roof,” Mr Edwards replies, “Does that involvement have anything to do with the video that is now circulating via email? Is he right to accuse you of making it? Somehow I don’t think Dwain and Freddy would willingly put a film of themselves in a compromising position on the internet.”

“How exactly could I have made it?” I ask back, trying to divert the subject without answering the question. “I don’t have enough influence over those two to force them to appear in it. If I did then I could have stopped their annoyance months ago.”

Mr Edwards pauses, thinking about my response. As I suspect, unless I admit it they can’t pin anything on me.

“Let’s ignore the video of Mr Scott for the moment,” Mr Edwards continues, “and concentrate on what happened to you. We haven’t been able to prove who made and swapped the DVDs, and it doesn’t make a difference to your current situation. The rumour going round yesterday afternoon after the video and your outburst at Mr Scott is that you want to be a girl and like to dress as one. Are the rumours true?”

“I can be regarded as transgendered,” I answer, “I have identified myself as female for as long as I can remember, despite being outwardly male in appearance. I take it the video and my actions yesterday have well and truly outed me.”

“Screaming that you’re not a girl to be messed with did attract a lot of attention,” Mr Spencer confirms, “combined with your effeminate appearance and mannerisms, a number of students have put two and two together.”

“Is it your intention to start to come to school as a female student now that your secret has been revealed?” Mr Edwards asks.

“I haven’t made a decision on my future yet. There are certain legal and medical issues to be resolved. All this has happened so quickly. I had considered trying to transition over the summer break. I don’t want to attend as a girl while obviously being male. I would rather wait until such a time that I could convince people who don’t know my history that I’m a girl. I also want to see what level of abuse I am going to be subjected too. I may simply decide to drop out or seek transfer to another school if necessary, although I would rather stay here.”

“Mr Palmer, do you support your child’s position?” Mr Edwards asks my father.

“Yes, she is perfectly capable of making her own decisions when it comes to her future,” my father replies, “We will be seeking legal and medical advice before any further changes are made. We have already discussed this and it will be David attending for the foreseeable future, rather than his feminine alter ego.”

“I see,” Mr Edwards replies, “In that case I must ask you to let me know before turning up dressed as a girl, as this may cause disruption to classes. Do not attempt to enter any girls’ bathrooms or changing facilities. I note that you have already been temporarily excluded from physical education and this is duly being made permanent. As your safety cannot be guaranteed out of sight in the boys’ bathrooms, and I suspect you don’t feel comfortable using them anyway, you may use the unisex disabled toilets that are normally off-limits to able-bodied students. The one opposite reception is invisible from the office, so you won’t run into trouble if you use that. I will make all staff aware that you will be using these from now on.”

I nod at his instructions.

“If you receive any abuse please talk to a member of staff. A notice is being read out in all homerooms this morning reminding students that we run an equal opportunities policy in this school. I am making specific mention of discrimination and bullying based on sexual and gender preferences. However, I am not mentioning any names.”

He hands me a copy of the notice. While it doesn’t specifically name anyone, it is obvious that it is connected to yesterday’s incidents. While it doesn’t state that we have any transgendered students, it does stipulate that any intolerance against such people won’t be tolerated. It’s evident that such a statement wouldn’t be being made unless one of the students could be considered in that category.

It’s decided that no further action will be taken against me regarding my outburst yesterday, as it was out of character, and I was under stress from the earlier incident.

The meeting quickly ends. We all shake hands and depart our separate ways. Mr Spencer heads in the direction of his homeroom, my father leaves for work, and I accompany Mr Francis to our homeroom.

As we walk in the door, one of my fellow students, Kate Harris, slaps a pair of handcuffs onto my left wrist, binding us both together.

---

 
Kate is a blonde girl who despite being very intelligent also lacks common sense. She tends to act without thinking things through. I suspect this might be the case with the handcuffs. A number of dumb blonde jokes could certainly be applied to her. In fact, she seems to like to play to the stereotype.

“Miss Harris, what are you doing?” Mr Francis asks her.

“I saw David up on the roof with Dwain. I was worried for his emotional stability, so thought it a good idea to put him on suicide watch. Research shows that witnessing one suicide attempt can prompt other vulnerable people to try,” Kate replies.

“I was the one pulling Dwain away from the edge, I wasn’t about to jump off myself. I am definitely not suicidal,” I respond, placing my hands on my hips.

“Where did you get the handcuffs, and do you have the key?” Mr Francis asks.

“I keep the handcuffs handy to lock up my little brother if he misbehaves. Threatening to cuff him usually prevents him from being a pest. The keys are in my sister’s car, she will be picking me up at the end of the day,” Kate replies.

While Kate is talking to Mr Francis, she is not looking at the handcuffs. I quickly grab the handcuff and cover it with my right hand. I remove my left hand and wave it behind Kate’s head before putting it back in place. The only person in the room who fails to see this is Kate. The rest of the room is now stifling laughter. Mr Francis raises his eyebrows at me.

I decide to see just how far Kate has thought this through. This could be just the thing to lighten the mood from the dark cloud that has descended via Dwain. Laughter is supposed to be the best medicine, unless you have bruised ribs, in which case it’s not such a good idea.

“It’s all right Mr Francis,” I say, “I am quite willing to spend the next six and a half hours handcuffed to Kate. I only had a small cup of coffee this morning so I can probably wait until after school to use the bathroom. Although I honestly don’t mind if she has to watch if the need arises. I’m sure Kate either has already planned how to avoid using the facilities, or doesn’t mind being watched.” I wink at Mr Francis to let him know I’m winding her up.

I turn to Kate and continue, “Actually I’ve always wondered if you’re a natural blonde, I hope I get a chance to find out,” I smile and look down at her crotch. Kate is now looking very sheepish, and slightly worried. Water suddenly starts flowing down one of the sinks of the science lab we are in, for which someone quickly apologises after knocking the faucet with their elbow.

“OK, fine, you two can stay chained together for the rest of the day. I will write you a note explaining the situation to the other teaching staff,” Mr Francis says to us, trying not to laugh. “Kate, if you end up in an embarrassing position, then you only have yourself to blame. Perhaps next time you will learn to think before you act.”

I can see the note Mr Francis writes with my remote vision, although I have already guessed its contents. It explains why we are chained together and that I can free myself at any time. He hands me the note and then takes roll call.

Mr Francis omits Dwain’s name from the register. Freddy asks what has happened to Dwain, and Mr Francis states that he has been taken to hospital. He then reads out the notice that the Principal talked to us about. As we are running late, homeroom is slightly shorter than usual, and we are soon off to our various classes. Kate and I have the same schedule today, so at least there won’t be an issue with lessons.

Apart from being handcuffed to a dumb blonde, the day is turning out to be incident free. My attack on Dwain yesterday, the drama over Dwain’s escapade on the roof, and the warnings from the notice, mean that nobody is willing to confront me directly. I’m mainly given the silent treatment, something that doesn’t bother me. There are whispers behind my back, but these I simply ignore.

Freddy is having the same issue, however being one of the largest boys in the year means that he isn’t likely to be picked on anyway, at least by our year group. He could be at risk from older students, but even then, he is known to be a strong individual. My video portrays him as a masochist who enjoys pain, which doesn’t contradict his reputation for being tough.

I hand the note to the teachers at the start of the first two lessons, and in each case, they smile and return the note without comment. Lessons progress as normal, with slight adjustments to seating arrangements where necessary. Kate can write with her left hand, so isn’t having a problem having her right hand handcuffed to my left wrist.

I keep my eye on Kate, and by the end of the second hour, she is starting to show signs of discomfort.

At the start of break time, I offer Kate a trip to the bathroom, but she refuses, stating she’s fine. I’m not convinced. Our friends offer her a drink and she initially refuses. However, they are able to convince her to have half a cup to stop dehydration. Unfortunately, they keep topping it up when she isn’t looking. I think Kate must have drunk about three glasses by the end of break.

There is a sweepstake going on amongst several of the students as to how long she can last before she has to pee. There are also bets going on as to if I will actually watch, or will let her go from the handcuffs. I again ask if she needs the loo before the third lesson starts, and again she refuses the offer.

By halfway through the next lesson it is becoming obvious to everyone watching that Kate is getting desperate. I am getting concerned that she may not make it to lunchtime. Even the teacher comments, however Kate insists that she is fine. I decide it is time to end this silliness before we end up with a puddle on the floor. I slip my wrist out of the handcuff and attach it so that both ends are round Kate’s right wrist.

“You don’t have to pee yourself on my behalf. It’s obvious you urgently need to go,” I tell her.

She glances at me, then at the teacher, and then makes a dash for the door. I keep an eye on her remotely to ensure she makes it OK. I don’t invade her privacy, but watch from outside the stall.

Kate returns just before the end of lesson. She is slightly red in the face, but looks a lot more relaxed than before. The lesson ends without further incident. Kate thanks me after the bell rings for letting her go. I tell her everybody knew I could get out of the cuffs, and that was the only reason the teachers allowed it to go on. I couldn’t have gone into the toilet with her without getting into serious trouble.

I use the excuse of going home for lunch to disappear without questions from the others. They agree that I can’t be got at while not physically present. I assure my friends, with Susan’s help, that the journey will not leave me as a target on the street. In fact, Susan and I both now have passes to leave, and we plan to eat together at the shop.

It’s slightly frustrating for both of us that I can’t stay and eat with my friends. I try to argue with Susan that she should stay, rather than burden herself being alone with me, but she insists this is OK. It means that she can catch a quick nap at lunchtime as well, something not usually possible.

Not being able to have lunch with my friends is starting to become tiresome. I am seriously considering letting Tracy and Mary in on my secret. I really want to start to have more experiences as a girl, and to do that I need to be around girls my own age. I have had limited opportunity to talk with Mary and Tracy in private, but both of them seem supportive of me and don’t appear to be bothered about my wanting to be a girl. They understand the reason behind keeping such a secret hidden, although I can tell they are disappointed not to have been told earlier.

During the last lesson of the day, one of the office staff comes and gives me a message from my father. He is going to pick me up after school, and I should wait for him out front.

Father picks me up after school and takes me to a private clinic out of town. My family have called in some favours to get me a medical and start the paperwork to turn me into a girl. With him is Robert Turner, an old school friend of Uncle Richard’s. Mr Turner is now a senior figure in the District Attorney’s office.

I first undergo a thorough gynaecological examination by a female doctor. Mr Turner then asks them to sign an affidavit stating my physical characteristics as being female instead of male. They query the need, but he tells them that my birth certificate states I am male, something he is trying to fix.

They sign the document to state that under medical examination I have the outward appearance of being female. This is backed up with X-rays, MRI and ultrasound evidence, signed and dated by the medical staff.

DNA samples are then taken of both my father and me. I am slightly concerned at this, as they are trying to prove my identity by relating me to my father as an only child. I’m not sure how deep my change has been, could my DNA have rewritten itself? Apparently, we will find out, as DNA taken from hair left in my old comb is also sent for analysis.

Before leaving, Mr Turner takes several passport-style photos of my new appearance.

Later that evening I make a decision to do something about the video I posted on the internet. I have gone too far and pushed Dwain past breaking point. I therefore decide to prove it’s a fake, not something that is going to be easy, considering how well I have made it in the first place.

I enlist my father’s help after we get home from the clinic. My digital camera is capable of taking short movies as well as photos.

The video clip starts with Dwain, as he appeared in the previous video, sitting down in front of the camera. The hair on his head is lifted off, revealing it’s a wig. Cold cream is then applied to his face. Once cleaned off with a sponge, a darker skin tone is revealed. Two pieces of rubber are removed from the nose, to uncover a smaller one beneath. Finally, a skullcap is removed, revealing the persons hair. Instead of Dwain sitting in front of the camera, there is now a young Asian girl.

For comic effect this whole process is repeated several times, first Dwain is revealed to be an Asian girl, then an Inuit boy, then a young African-Caribbean girl, then a Chinese girl, then finally, Bugs Bunny saying, “You didn’t expect that one coming, did-ya?” while chewing on a carrot.

This is set to music, specifically Guaglione by Perez Prado*. My father suggests the music. It was by the same person who wrote Mambo No. 5, and was used in a British beer commercial he had seen while travelling as a student.

I add a large annotation over the original video saying ‘This is a fake — see the video response’. I then upload the new video as a reply to the original. I had opened a new YouTube account for uploading the first video without being traced. I notice several of my fellow students have subscribed to this new identity, so I know this will soon be making the rounds at school.

The next two days are fairly quiet. I’m not being openly attacked, but there is a lot of hostility in the air. As I suspect, the new video clip is being circulated and I overhear a number of people discussing how it could have been done, and whom the people in the video are. I have deliberately modelled the faces from photos on the internet, so that they’re not based on any fellow students.

There is a small incident when the drama club announce that Romeo and Juliet will be their production this year. One smart Alec, Alec Wilson to be precise, suggests I should take the part of Juliet.

“I would be happy to take the part, however the person cast as Romeo might object, or are you going for the part so that you can snog me on stage?” I reply, puckering my lips and fluttering my eyelashes at him. His original comment has gained a few giggles, but my reply sends many people into hysterics. I can take a joke or two, as long as things don’t turn physical.

Things come to a head again on the Friday. It is during the first half of the afternoon when the rest of my class are in the gym. I’m reading in the library when three large lads from the year above come in. The librarian isn’t in today as she is off sick. This means I’m alone in the library until they turn up. I briefly had trouble with them in the past, and they often call me a sissy. However, they usually don’t bother me too much.

“What have we here lads?” the shortest, but widest, of the three, Terry, asks, “Looks like we have a perverted faggot on the loose in the library.”

“With Mrs Baker not about, there is no one for you to run to either, Daisy isn’t it?” Mike adds.

I try to ignore them, but they all decide to surround me and stare.

“It certainly looks girly enough. Almost had me thinking it was a girl,” the third, Ben, snidely remarks.

“Leave me alone,” I state calmly.

“What you going to do about it?” Mike asks.

“I have several options, all of which will land you in detention if I complain loudly enough,” I serenely tell them.

“Figures, a snitch as well as a perv’,” Terry snarkily replies.

I stand up and face them. Terry and Mike are in front of me, and I can see Ben edging round behind me. I can guess what is going to happen next, but they can’t.

Ben has bent down behind me and Mike goes to push me over backwards, the intention being that I will fall over Ben and end upside down on the floor. I have already made myself into a ghost with no solid form, and quickly sidestep to the right as Mike lunges at me. The net result is that Mike falls on top of Ben on the floor. None of them notices that he partially falls through my body. If I had been solid, he would have clipped me and I would have gone down as well.

Terry then decides to try a left hook at me. I lean back slightly in reaction, as his fist passes through my face by several inches, however from his point of view he doesn’t realise. This throws him off balance and I shove him as he wobbles and he falls backwards over the chair I had been sitting on.

I quickly run round the table so that they are all the other side from me, as they all get back to their feet. There is still no sign of any teachers so they continue to have another go at me.

“Come here you queer,” Ben barks at me as he comes round the table. I back away towards the door.

“Stop now and I’ll forget this, continue and I’ll make sure you’re expelled,” I warn.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Terry taunts me, edging closer.

I have had enough of toying with them. I sigh as I take a small round object out of my pocket and throw it to the floor. Before they can grab me, there is a flash of light and a loud bang. When the smoke clears, I have vanished. Three very confused looking boys are left standing in an empty library.

I have been practicing that exit for a few days at home. I couldn’t go out as I have been grounded, so I’ve been amusing myself with perfecting magic tricks using my projection. I discovered that I could project a smoke bomb.

I still haven’t been able to master projecting in more than one location at a time, so the bomb has to stay attached to my body, or it vanishes. To stop it disappearing as soon as it leaves my hand, I keep it attached to my body by a thread of cotton tied to my finger. I can summon the bomb from my pocket, and throw it at the floor. The flash of light it emits, and the bang, hide my disappearance. I found I could simulate smoke for a few seconds as long as it is in a solid cloud that fades from view in one piece. As soon as the bomb hits the ground I turn my body into smoke, let it billow upwards in a mushroom cloud, and fade out after a few seconds.

The loud noise causes one of the teachers from a nearby classroom to investigate. The boys have passes to be in the library, so are let off being out of class, but they have to do some quick talking to cover themselves. They are ultimately let off with a warning about disturbing other lessons. I am watching remotely and only return after they have left.

I decide to get my own back later in the evening by making another video. Considering the trouble the last one caused, I tone down the embarrassment factor slightly and keep it humorous. I don’t email this one round, I just rely on the people who have subscribed to the channel to pick it up. Apparently, they like to sing karaoke as they do an excellent rendition of It’s raining men while dressed as young attractive weather girls.

*http://youtu.be/Y_ShCX_JAbg - Guaglione by Perez Prado

---

 
Saturday morning is grocery shopping as usual. I go with my Father, Aunt Janice, and Susan to the supermarket to fill up with food for the coming week. My Uncle is working again this morning. It’s mid-morning by the time we get home and have all the purchases put away.

Aunt Janice suggests we pay a visit to the local swimming pool, as we haven’t been there in a while. My father agrees that it’s a good idea, and lets me go despite being grounded. Before my change, I hadn’t been keen on using public changing rooms. I felt out of place in the men’s locker-room, and I wasn’t comfortable with my chest bare, especially considering my I was starting to develop gynomastasia.

Now that I can use the women’s locker-room, and wear a proper girl’s costume, I’m not bothered. In fact I’m looking forward to just being accepted for what I am. I think Aunt Janice wants to keep an eye on me to make sure I behave correctly, and don’t ogle the women getting undressed.

The first thing on the agenda is going to be buying a swimming costume. There is no way I can use any of my old swimming trunks, unless I want to be arrested that is. After lunch, we called in at Platterns department store to find me something to wear.

I decide for my first outing I will buy something slightly conservative and go for a one-piece rather than a bikini. Although I am proud of my new body, and don’t mind showing it off, I’m not convinced the tiny bits of fabric in some of the costumes on display will stay in place. I find a nice one-piece suit in red that seems to suit my figure. It doesn’t show off a lot of skin, but it is very figure-hugging to show off my new curves.

Satisfied with my purchase we head to the local pool. It’s just Susan, Aunt Janice, and me. My Father has stayed home to do some gardening. I think he believes I need some female bonding time.

Aunt Janice and Susan are already wearing their costumes under their clothes, so I am the only one who has to change fully. Having paid the entrance fee, we head into the locker rooms to change. I’m not fazed in the slightest by being surrounded by half-naked women, and simply proceed to get undressed, ignoring what is going on around me. I do catch my aunt glancing at me. Susan has already seen my new body naked, but this is the first time for my aunt.

Having gotten into my new costume, and locking my clothes into a locker, I follow my companions out to the poolside. I tie my towel to one of the railings round the edge of the pool, and then walk into the water.

The pool is quite large, although not up to Olympic size. It has a slope that comes right out of the water. It is a favourite for disabled visitors as there are special wheelchairs that can be pushed down the slope into the water. It’s also popular with families as the water depth slowly increases from zero at one end to full depth. It’s ideal for small children. It’s almost like being on a beach, but without the nasty currents to deal with. A wave machine is started up for ten minutes every hour to give a realistic seaside experience. The only thing spoiling the effect is the lack of any sand.

I wade in and walk until the water is up to my neck. It’s at least a year since I last went swimming, and it’s the first time in this new body, so I take my time to get used to the water. It takes me a quarter of an hour to get used to my new buoyancy. Fat people float better than thin ones. I used to be slightly tubby and could float well. Now I’m a lot skinnier my legs and waist don’t float as well, however my chest seems to act as a floatation device so keeps me from sinking totally.

I have never been a good swimmer. Once I get used to the feel of the water and my new body I am able to swim for short lengths, however I don’t dare leave my depth.

After an hour and a half swimming, we head back to the changing rooms. I make doubly sure to go into the right one. The three of us remove our costumes and head into the communal showers to rinse off the chlorinated water from the pool. Standing amongst a group of naked women seems so natural to me. I was always tense when doing this as a boy and would get in and out as quickly as possible, but here I feel relaxed and Susan has to drag me out from underneath the refreshing spray.

I make sure I am thoroughly dry and apply some sweet smelling talc before getting dressed. I am wearing a white long sleeve top over a white bra and camisole. I have a green pleated skirt with a white slip underneath. I wear transparent nylons and a pair of black shoes.

I have washed my hair in the shower and have it wrapped in a towel while getting dressed. I dry it as best as I can then put it in a high ponytail so it won’t fall down and make my back damp. I take the longest to get changed. My aunt comments that I am worse than Susan for dawdling in front of a mirror. I simply ignore her, of course I’m going to take longer than I used too, I’m a girl now, that’s what we do.

We head out to the car and drive home. My aunt seems happy, so I assume I met her expectations and behaved correctly. I decide to query this as she drives.

“Well, do I present myself OK as a girl? I assume you were worried I would behave like a boy and get a kick out of seeing naked ladies,” I ask.

“If I didn’t know I would never be able to tell. Not that anybody can argue with a body like yours. You definitely don’t look like a boy anymore. You acted so naturally it’s as if you have always been a girl.”

“I have always been a girl, it’s just that my body took some time to get the message and get in sync with my brain,” I reply.

“Yes, I agree, I think that’s a good way of putting it,” my aunt says, “How are you coping with being a girl, I assume I don’t need to give you a biology lesson.”

“I have made sure to read up on the subject, and I know exactly which bits are which and what to expect each month,” I reply, slightly embarrassed, “I’ve only been a girl for a fortnight and haven’t had to go through the icky bit yet. I already have the materials at hand to cope when the time comes. I’m not worried about the biological aspect.”

“What I am finding strange, and what concerns me more, is the emotional aspect and the mood swings. I know it’s something I will simply need to get used to, but I’m a lot more emotional now than I was a few weeks ago. I think it’s the effect of the female hormones,” I reason, “I also have the added consideration of projecting my old form. If I get too distracted either emotionally or physically by cramps or pains, I may not be able to continue pretending to be David.”

Susan decides to join the conversation, “I haven’t mentioned this before, but emotionally you have changed over the last few weeks. You’re showing emotion a lot more than before. You’re also acting much more girlish, even before you were outed. Several of the girls have commented about it.”

“I have always tried to act manly, but since the change I haven’t been as motivated to be as careful. Since being outed I have simply given up pretending and just acted naturally,” I admit. “It’s the same with showing my feelings. I always tried to keep them suppressed, but not anymore. However, my hormones are definitely playing a part as well,” I smile.

I have a nice long lie-in on Sunday morning, followed by a nice relaxing bubble bath. After a good soak, I dry off and put my dressing gown on. My hair is wrapped up in a towel. I head downstairs where my father is making some coffee. It is already nearly eleven o’clock.

Susan knocks on the back door and enters the kitchen.

“How do you fancy going for a walk down the river,” she asks. “Becky is driving her mother mad. I have volunteered to take her out for a little while and wondered if you would like to come. We can introduce her to Jenny.”

“Sounds like a good idea, I need to stretch my legs having spent the week sitting down pretending to be David,” I reply, “Is Becky OK walking with her leg in plaster?” I ask. Her left leg is plastered up to her knee and she is currently walking with crutches.

“She’ll be fine as long as we keep on solid flat ground. I have already checked with Audrey and she’s OK with us taking her for a walk as long as we take it easy,” Susan counters. Audrey is Becky’s mother.

After confirming with my Father that it will be all right to go out, I get dressed in a denim skirt, white blouse, long white socks and hiking boots. The boots are the new ones I got specifically for walking round the countryside. They may not be very girly, but they are very practical. I put a fleece on to keep warm and put on a straw sun hat and sunglasses.

We head round to pick Becky up. I am introduced as Jenny, a friend of Susan’s. Susan casually asks Becky if she has been to the loo before we set out. Becky is not amused, giving Susan a dirty look, but politely states that she has. I am not supposed to know that Becky broke her leg while sitting on a tree branch having a pee. When I ask how she came to break her leg, I am told that she was out walking and fell down a slope.

The three of us head out through the alleyways behind the houses and out into the countryside. We soon join the footpath that runs alongside the bank of the river. The river is to our right, meandering through marshland on which sheep are grazing. To our left is woodland on the slope of the river valley. We walk along a raised soil bank that separates the river from the marsh, the top of which is a footpath. It hasn’t rained in a few days so the soil is hard and dusty. Although slightly uneven, Becky has no problem hopping along on her crutches. There is no danger of slipping or sinking in mud as the ground is too dry.

After ten minutes, I get the feeling we are being watched. I glance over the river and catch a glint in the corner of my eye. I take a closer look with my remote vision. I see somebody filming us through a zoom lens on a digital camera. It’s one of our classmates, Stephanie Miller. I suddenly realise exactly where on the river we’re walking. This is nearly the exact spot that the video of the old me dressed as a girl was taken.

Becky is a couple of yards ahead of Susan and me. I lean over and whisper into Susan’s ear, “We are being watched, I think David needs to stroll along the other bank.”

Then aloud I call to Becky. “Take a left at the next gate, there is a nice clearing in the woods where we can take a short break.”

We head into the clearing and I spread a blanket so we can lie down. Susan deliberately puts herself in the middle between Becky and me. We take out the bottles we have brought with us and sip our drinks. I lie down on my back and pull my hat over my face. While Susan keeps Becky distracted, I project myself over the river.

Stephanie is still on the other side of the river with her camera. I appear behind her as David. Although I am projecting as David, it’s David as a girl. I am dressed the same way as I was in the video taken a few weeks ago.

“Hello Stephanie, looking for me?” I ask. I have obviously caught Stephanie by surprise as I make her jump. She stumbles forward and drops her camera. I catch it before it hits the ground.

“What are you doing here, pervert?” she screams at me angrily.

“I could ask you the same question,” I say waving her camera at her. “Do I take it that you were responsible for that video of me appearing at school? Somehow I didn’t think Dimwit was clever enough for that trick.”

“Stay away from me you perverted freak,” Stephanie shouts, stepping backwards away from me, pulling out a pepper spray and pointing it in my direction.

“What’s the matter, what do you think I am going to do to you? I hardly pose a physical threat. You’re stronger and fitter than I am. Also according to you I am only interested in boys, so I wouldn’t want to rape you, or do you now doubt your own accusations?” I ask her, grinning menacingly.

“Stay back. I don’t know what goes through your sick twisted head,” she replies, “The way you mince your way around school shouts at you being gay, but I wouldn’t put it past you to try to sneak into girls’ locker rooms so that you can catch a peek. Why else try to pass yourself off as a girl?”

“Perhaps because I am one, a girl I mean, have you never heard the terms transgendered or transsexual?” I ask, “People who identify as being the opposite gender to their physical sex. There are thousands of people undergoing sex changes each year.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean it’s right,” Stephanie retorts, “Abortion is legal but can still be classed as murder.” She stares at me, looking me up and down as if I am a piece of stinking garbage. “You’re a disgusting pervert. You should be locked up. I don’t know how you haven’t been expelled from school yet.”

“If being a girl was grounds for expulsion, then half the students, including yourself, would have been expelled,” I reply. Before she can cut me off and say, ‘you’re not a girl’, I quickly continue. “Our school has a strict equal opportunities policy. They can’t discriminate based on gender, sexual orientation, race, or any other factor. I could be a green-skinned lesbian from Mars, and they would still treat me the same as any other student. They did ask me if I wanted to attend as a girl, but I declined the offer, as I’m not yet ready. I have enough problems as it is without the constant laughter of being seen as a boy in a dress.”

“That’s just political correctness taken too far. You try and come to school as a girl and the uproar you would cause in the community would force the school to chuck you out,” Stephanie spits at me angrily.

“I doubt it,” I reply, “and if you start stirring up trouble it will be you who ends up expelled. I am not going to let you intimidate me, Stephanie. Now take your camera and get out of here and stop trying to spy on me.”

I hold my arm out and she snatches the camera from me, and backs away, keeping the pepper spray aimed at my face.

“I suggest you look where you are going, I don’t want to have to fish you out of the river if you fall in,” I call to her. She turns round and starts sprinting down the path. I vanish before she has chance to look back.

I sit up on the blanket where Susan and Becky are talking. I get up and stretch my legs. “Shall we continue our walk?” I ask my companions.

We resume our hike and arrive home shortly after one in the afternoon. We part company with Becky, who heads inside for lunch, and carry on to Susan’s house.

We take our sandwiches and sit in Susan’s back garden. I fill Susan in on what happened with Stephanie. We decide to keep an eye on her at school and let our friends know what has happened.

Sunday evening we set up a video conference between the four of us using our computers. Susan and I, as David, are in Susan’s room, while Mary and Tracy are at Mary’s house. Tracy is staying the night with Mary. Tracy’s elder brother, Damien, has some of his friends over, so Tracy has opted to spend the night away from home. Tracy hates her brother, and likes his friends even less. When Mary offered her a sleepover, she jumped at the chance.

In some ways I feel envious as sleeping over is something that I have never been allowed to do properly. Susan did arrange a sleepover for the four of us for her last birthday. I stayed with the girls until bedtime, but had to sleep in a different room. Susan deliberately arranged it to be as girly as possible, but it wasn’t the same with me being regarded as a boy. I almost revealed that I was transgendered that night, but I chickened out, as I was afraid of the consequences.

We let Mary and Tracy know that we caught Stephanie spying on us down by the river.

---

 

It appears I now have two sets of people keeping a close eye on me. Tracy, Mary and Susan are keeping look out to make sure I’m not attacked. Stephanie and her friends are now watching me closely, not letting me out of their sight. Several times as I walk down the corridors near the girls’ bathrooms, one or more girls deliberately go and stand guard in front of the door and stare at me, making sure I don’t attempt to enter.

I have a scare during second lesson. I hear a loud banging, and my remote vision automatically kicks in to show me a police officer rattling the door on the shop where my body is located. I spend the rest of the lesson dividing my attention between the classroom and the store. Luckily, the teacher doesn’t notice I am distracted. Given recent events and my normally high marks, I think the teachers are giving me extra leeway.

It seems the owner of the butchers next door has heard me, and is concerned about noises coming from an empty unit.

I decide I need to relocate to under the stage. As soon as the lesson is over, I wander down to the door. I am thinking of quickly unlocking it, so that it will be ready for when I arrive. It will be easier to get in if I don’t have to project inside to unlock the door, leaving an unconscious body in the corridor as I do so. As I’m currently projecting, I can simply reach through the door and open it. When I arrive, the door is already open and I can hear voices inside. I peek in with my remote vision to see the drama teacher and one of the janitors discussing moving some of the scenery out of storage.

That rules the stage out as a hiding place. I look around to see if it is safe to disappear, but there are two girls watching me from down the corridor. I head to the disabled loo near the front office.

Alone at last I end my projection and return to my body in the shop. I quickly phone my father at work with my cell phone, using his personal number.

I explain the problem with the police officer. He tells me not to panic, but to try not to make any noise, he will come and meet me at lunchtime and we will work on the problem. He has an idea, but it will involve telling his secretary about my skills. As I am running out of options, I agree.

I end the call and go to the loo, but deliberately don’t pull the chain. I then head back to my seat and project myself back into the toilet at school. I flush and wash my hands, then step out once more as David. The same two girls are still watching me from a distance. I go and join my friends in the common room. They recognise who has been following me and confirm my suspicion that they are associates of Stephanie.

I am starting to get uneasy about being in school, and worry about being disturbed at the shop. Suddenly disappearing in the middle of a lesson will cause problems.

I am slightly nervous during third period, between break and lunch, and keep an eye out remotely for anybody trying to enter the shop. I also keep viewing what is going on behind my back, as I sit down the front of the class and can’t see what people are doing.

When I return to my locker at the start of lunch, it is covered in graffiti. Somebody has written ‘sissy faggot’ across it in permanent marker. A teacher, Mrs Hargreaves, is already stood in front of it, looking unhappy. I identify myself as the owner of the locker. I’m asked who I think might do this.

“There are a number of people who are openly hostile towards me, although none have done anything that could be described as harassment,” I reply, “This wasn’t here when I last passed by a few minutes before the bell rang at the end of break.”

I open my locker to find a note has been pushed inside through the gap in the doorframe. Mrs Hargreaves takes the note and holds it by her nails. Letting it fall open, it reads, “We’re watching you, pervert. Any false moves and you are out of here.” It’s printed out from a computer. Mrs Hargreaves proceeds to take the note to the office. I empty the locker and head towards the front office, still being watched. I consider going into the disabled loo and simply vanishing, however I need to take my belongings with me this time. I decide to leave school as normal and see if anybody follows.

Heading towards the bike sheds, I meet Susan on the way and tell her not to come with me today, and not to be surprised if I don’t turn up this afternoon. We are still being watched and followed so I speak in code in case we are overheard. I tell her that problems have come up with location A and location B is now not an option. I also say I am meeting with my father to work on plan C.

I pack my things onto my bike and ride to the front gates. Speaking to the teacher on patrol, I explain that I’m worried about being followed. I ask if anybody else coming out of school can be delayed until I’m out of sight. He reluctantly agrees after I relate the locker incident. I cycle off in the opposite direction to the shop, circling round the block to make sure there is no tail, before doubling back towards Hamilton Road, deliberately dismounting from my bike and taking a short cut down a back alley. I have already looked down it with my remote vision so I know there are no surprises at the other end. Once out of sight I change my projection from David to Jennifer.

I figure if I’m seen entering the shop that I will then be leaving with the same appearance. I spot my father’s empty car in the parking lot and pull up beside it. He emerges from out of the butchers next to the empty shop unit. He asks quietly if I need anything from inside. The butcher is watching us so I nod and scratch my nose with my finger. As I do so, I make my finger slightly transparent. My face is hidden from view of the shop so only my father sees this.

We load my bike into his car then walk round to the back of the shop. He unlocks the door and we enter. He explains that the neighbours have heard noises from inside, and have seen several youths hanging round the back entrances to the shops. They have called the police thinking that the empty unit might have been broken into or vandalised.

I end my projection and get up. I quickly go to the loo again, flushing this time. My father picks up my cool box and puts it in inside of a black plastic sack. We also pack up the sun lounger in another bag and leave the shop. Pretending that we are removing some rubbish, we exit the building, locking it on the way out.

As soon as we are in the car, I explain that I can’t hide at school this time and that I’m worried about being followed. I also tell him about the damage to my locker, and the threatening note inside.

“You’re not at physical risk in school, as you have already proven you can’t be harmed while projecting. You need to project from a different location, one in which you will be safe from discovery. As you said earlier, there is the risk of you suddenly disappearing from class if you get interrupted.”

“I still have the range problem,” I reply, “I can’t project to the school from home. I still need to find somewhere to project from that’s closer.”

“How far can you manage,” he asks.

“Projection needs to be as close as possible, no more than a quarter of a mile if I want to keep it up for a long time,” I reply.

“When was the last time you tested your range?” my father asks, “You stayed with Becky for over half an hour until help arrived, you then slowly walked all the way back leading everyone to safety. I checked out the point where she fell on Google Earth. It was nearly half a mile from our house. According to your measurements that distance should have been out of range.”

“I was on a sugar high, and you helped me by feeding me honey,” I reply, “However, I take your point. I have been getting better at using my powers, and it’s less tiring now than when I first started. I guess I’m getting used to controlling my abilities.”

After a short drive, we arrive at a house two blocks away from school. We are met at the front door by his secretary, Gloria. I have met her on many occasions, but didn’t know where she lived. My father greets her with a kiss, and we head inside.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jennifer,” Gloria says, “John has explained your unique problem. You’re welcome to use my home as a base for getting into school. Nobody will disturb you here. I have made up the guest bedroom for you so that you can lay in comfort while you do your thing.”

I am shown round the house and told where things are if I need them. I’m then taken upstairs to the second bedroom. The room is set up as a sewing room and has a desk covered in bits of material. In one corner is an adjustable dressmaker’s mannequin. Gloria often alters her own clothes, and when younger had even made several outfits.

There is a bed along one wall, and it has been made up with a sheet, duvet and pillows for my use. I thank Gloria and sit down on the bed. I take my shoes off then lay down to test for comfort. I am presented with a spare key to take with me, and shown where there is another hanging up on a hook in the kitchen if I need it. After having some lunch, I project David into the room and we head outside, locking the door on the way out. The plan is to project into school from here, where I won’t be disturbed.

In future, I can cycle here and then onto school, coming and going as needed. I think this is a much better arrangement than the shop unit I have been using. Gloria seems a nice woman, and my father obviously thinks affectionately of her.

Having unloaded my bike from the car, I part company with my father and Gloria, then cycle back towards the school. I time my arrival so that I arrive in my homeroom as the bell rings. There is no time for anybody to hassle me before lessons start again for the afternoon. With my real body in a safer location, I can relax and concentrate on my classes. At the end of the day, I am escorted out of the school by Susan and Mary. Tracy would have come as well, but her brother was due to collect her by car, something she wasn’t happy about.

After cycling around the streets for half an hour, making sure we are not followed. I lead Susan to Gloria’s house. Mary has already peeled off and headed home.

On Tuesday morning, Susan and I cycle to Gloria’s house. Gloria has already left for work so I let us in using the key provided. Having made myself comfortable, I project myself as David and we continue on our way to school. The day progresses well, and I am a lot more relaxed in the knowledge that my body is not going to be disturbed.

At lunchtime, both Susan and I cycle back to Gloria’s where we have lunch, before returning for afternoon lessons. The bed I’m laying on is cosier than the sun lounger was, and the room’s a better temperature. This increased comfort means I am not as tired come the end of the day.

On Wednesday morning at roll call, there is a note in the register for me to go see Coach Sanders in her office. Mr Francis excuses me and I head through the school to my appointment. Everybody else is still in homeroom for the next ten minutes.

When I arrive at the office, it’s empty. Not sure what to do, I stand and wait. Having walked through the locked door once before, I don’t think it a good idea to push my luck a second time.

Three girls come along the corridor. They look familiar, but I can’t place their names. As they pass, they suddenly turn and grab me. One gets me in a bear hug from the side, while another wraps a cloth bag over my head so I can’t see or scream. I start to struggle when the third hits me in the stomach, instructing me to follow instructions or pay the price.

I decide to play along for the moment. I can end this easily by simply ceasing my projection. However, vanishing while being held would take a lot of explaining. The smoke bomb trick I used on the boys before I could claim as a simple magic trick. I can argue I legged it while they were distracted.

I’m dragged into the girls’ changing room, where they try to pull my pants down. I make sure that they aren’t successful by making the projection of my clothes impossible to remove. The zipper holding my pants on is well and truly jammed and there is no way they can expose me, not that my projection has any male genitalia anyway. I continue to struggle and resist them undressing me, much to their annoyance.

“What’s the matter Daisy? Too shy to get undressed in front of girls, aren’t you supposed to be one?” one of them taunts.

“Well in that case we will have to persuade you otherwise. Put him in the shower girls, we can leave the clothes here for her to get into by herself,” instructs a second girl, whom I assume to be the ringleader.

I am dragged into the showers and tied to one of the showerheads. They leave the room, turning the water on as they depart.

They seem to want to embarrass me by forcing me to wear girls’ clothing. I suppose they think it’s humiliating, not that I find it particularly so. Perhaps they also think I will get into trouble for being in the girls’ changing room. I know I am not allowed to be in here, but I can hardly be blamed for being dragged in against my will. Maybe they were going to dress me as a girl and tie me up assuming, after my demonstration with the handcuffs, that I could free myself quickly, relying on me being caught before I could escape.

I consider simply vanishing and reappearing elsewhere, but I decide to play the victim and see what happens next. I don’t have long to wait. The bell rings and shortly afterwards I hear a stampede of girls enter the room. I know exactly who is here without looking, as my class are due to have gym first thing this morning.

They immediately come to a halt, and I can hear their laughter. It’s followed by an angry sounding Coach Sanders calling for silence.

“Will somebody please turn off the water,” I call out. The water stops a couple of seconds later.

“David! What happened?” asks Coach Sanders, lifting the bag off my head.

“There was a note in the register asking me to come to see you in your office. You weren’t about so I waited in the corridor. Three girls came along and as they passed me, they grabbed me, put the bag over my head, and dragged me in here. They then tried to strip my clothes off, but failed to get my pants down. Instead, they shoved me in here to force me to change clothes.”

“I assume that cheerleaders outfit over there is what they wanted me to put on,” I say. My schoolbag has been placed on one of the benches, and hanging from a hook above the bag is the outfit.

“Do you know who did this to you?” the coach asks.

I look round the room, none of the girls who attacked me are present.

“I don’t know who they were, but I did get a look at them before they jumped me. I have a photographic memory, so won’t have a problem identifying them,” I reply.

The coach examines the knots holding me in place then says, “It looks like they tied you up well.” She pulls a penknife out of her tracksuit pocket and cuts the bindings holding my wrists, being careful not to brush against me as I’m soaking wet.

I emerge from the showers into the main changing area, followed by the coach.

The girls are sat around the room on the benches, in what I assume are their normal positions. I note that only three of the girls are actually changing. Mary and Tracy are stripped to their panties and have their backs to me as they change to sports bras. Susan has gone even further and is standing naked, facing me, while she removes her gym kit from her sports bag, completely ignoring both me, and the stares she is getting from the other girls and the coach.

“Susan, what are you doing?” Coach Sanders asks in surprise.

“Getting changed for class, Miss. Did you not just instruct us to change into our indoor kits while we were lined up in the corridor?” Susan replies. Turning to me she continues, “I have checked the size of the cheerleaders’ outfit. It’s going to be a bit tight as it’s a size too small, but its Spandex, so should stretch to fit you.”

“The pervert probably set this up himself so that he has an excuse for wearing it all day,” Stephanie calls from the other end of the room.

“There is no way Mr Palmer could have tied those knots himself,” Coach Sanders replies, “Any more comments and you will find yourself in detention.”

Mary and Tracy sit back down, having finished getting changed. Susan is still stood naked, having stopped what she was doing.

Susan reaches into her sports bag and pulls out a plastic carrier bag containing her towel. She keeps it in the bag so that none of the other items become damp when the towel is wet.

“Here, you can use my towel. Put your wet clothes in the bag,” Susan instructs.

Without waiting for the teacher to respond, I walk across to Susan and take the offered items. I pick up the cheerleading outfit and my bag, being careful not to get them wet, and walk into a nearby toilet cubical, shutting the door behind me.

“If the rest of you want to get changed, I promise not to come out until given the all clear,” I shout from inside.

“You would be better off getting changed in my office,” Coach Sanders states.

“And risk being seen as the boys go into the sports hall? No thanks,” I reply, “It’s humiliating enough being seen by this lot, without the boys having a laugh as well.”

“OK, but if you open that door before I say so you will be in deep trouble, the rest of you, get changed, we are wasting time,” the coach instructs.

I pretend to take my clothes off and dry myself with the towel. As my clothes are part of my projection, they vanish once I remove them, unfortunately, as they are soaking wet, the water remains, forming a puddle on the floor. I dry myself off with the towel. Placing the cheerleading outfit into the carrier bag, I hide it inside my school bag. I then project an identical outfit onto my body.

The cheerleading outfit consists of two parts. The first is a red and yellow leotard, and the second is a yellow pleated miniskirt. The skirt doesn’t hide much as it’s too short. I know everyone is going to expect a bulge at my crotch, but they’re going to get a surprise. I may be projecting as David, but my projection is without male genitalia. I also have no hair on my exposed legs, arms, and armpits. My chest is slightly larger than it was before my change, so as the material is tight it appears I have two small breasts.

“David, do you need a pair of shoes? I have a spare pair that should fit you,” Mary calls out.

“Yes please, I don’t fancy walking round bare-footed,” I reply. Pink sandals are pushed under the door and I slip them onto my feet.

As I have been forced into appearing female, I decide that I don’t want to look an idiot, although that may be tricky. I therefore make my appearance as girly as possible. Considering that I’m projecting and can appear however I want, this isn’t difficult. Nevertheless, I need to make sure any changes are realistic.

I don’t have a mirror, but as I can see myself with my remote vision, one isn’t necessary. I adjust my hair into a high ponytail and comb it forward into bangs on my forehead. Gold earrings appear in my ears. I add a touch of makeup, just some mascara and lipstick. My toenails and fingernails become red to match the leotard. I pick my feet up one after the other while I change their colour in case anybody is watching me. My feet are visible below the stall door as there is an eight-inch gap underneath.

With my hairless body, painted nails, hair and makeup, I am now looking particularly girlish. Anybody who doesn’t know me would now assume I’m a girl. Unfortunately, approximately thirty girls on the other side of the cubicle door believe otherwise.

“OK David, everybody is now changed, you can come out when you are ready,” Coach Sanders states, “You can wait until we are in the gym if you don’t want to be seen.”

The coach is offering me a get out clause to prevent further humiliation. However, I decide not to take it. Putting my rucksack on my back, I open the toilet door, and step out into the room. I don’t want to give the perpetrators the satisfaction of humiliating me. Instead, I’m going to use their act as an excuse to do something I would not normally be able to do: dress as a girl at school.

“Actually, I go by Daphne when en-femme,” I state. Daphne is the first female name that I can think of that starts with a ‘D’ and which isn’t Daisy. I need a third identity, as I don’t want to add confusion over two entirely different appearances of Jennifer, especially if I later find a way to attend in person.

All eyes turn in my direction and there are a number of astonished gasps at my feminine appearance. When I used to dress, I was never able to be as presentable as I have now achieved. I wasn’t this passable in the video.

“What’s the matter?” I ask everybody while handing Susan her towel back. “I don’t look stupid dressed like this do I? I know quite a few of you have already seen me in a skirt before thanks to Stephanie’s video, although I don’t think her filming did me justice.”

“You look more beautiful than half our actual cheerleading squad,” Kate answers, much to the annoyance of Stephanie, who is one of our cheerleaders. I blush.

After getting over the shock of my appearance, Coach Sanders instructs the girls into the gym. Mr Barker, a trainee teacher who is assisting in gym classes, takes over running the girls’ lesson while Coach Sanders escorts me to the school office.

I am sent to the library to write up a statement and to look at the school yearbooks to identify my attackers. Having written up what happened, I browse the photos. Having looked through the whole collection, I can’t locate the people who attacked me.

The librarian disappears into the back of the library office to make some phone calls. While she isn’t looking, I end my projection and return to my body in Gloria’s house. I have brought my netbook with me to her home, although I didn’t take it into school. Finding a plain magnolia coloured wall, I project as each attacker in turn, photographing myself using the built-in webcam.

I find software on the internet that can take a photograph and make it look like a police identikit picture. By the time I have finished it looks like I have matched up pictures of facial components to make faces. I email the edited images through to my school email address. Returning to the library I call the photos up on one of the computers and start a second trawl through the images in the yearbooks.

The Principal, Mr Edwards, comes to see me in the library. He looks at the pictures on the screen and I explain that this is what they looked like, but I can’t locate them in the books.

“Is it possible that these girls were wearing wigs?” he asks me.

I think for a minute before suddenly twigging why I hadn’t recognised them earlier. “Yes, I think they were. I thought they looked familiar but couldn’t place names to the faces. Their hair is wrong, that’s why I can’t recognise them.”

After a few minutes’ discussion we have three names to match the faces. Britney Madison, Cherry Conroy, and Alison Little are associates of Stephanie. The ringleader, Alison, is known for her racist and bigoted attitude. I tell the principal an edited version of my run in with Stephanie at the weekend, and my suspicion that she was behind my outing. I inform him I don’t expect the school to do anything, as it’s my word against hers. Mr Edwards agrees it won’t be helpful to go after Stephanie. However, he will be expelling the other three. Before coming to see me he had already compiled a list of students who were not present in homeroom, and he just needed me to confirm their identities.

When asked if I want to press charges for assault and get the police involved, I decline. I am happy for the school to handle it internally. I think the threat of assault charges will be enough and that the chances of a prosecution are remote. At most, they will be let off with a caution.

---

 

With Mr Edwards’s permission, I remain in the cheerleaders’ outfit for the rest of the morning. I could have gone home for the remainder of the day, but declined the offer. I am given a note to explain my appearance to the teachers. It doesn’t take long for the grapevine to spread word of my attack through the school.

There are a number of students doing double takes when they see me in the common room at break. Instead of trying to hide, I deliberately sit myself in a prominent position, making sure to sweep my skirt under me and sit with my legs together.

At the beginning of the lunch period, I go to see Mr Edwards. Given the commotion caused by my outward change of gender presentation, I ask him if I can remain dressed as a girl. I use the argument that I might as well carry the momentum I have already generated in moving towards a female presentation. He states that he is not happy for me to continue without my father’s permission.

I return to Gloria’s with Susan. I explain to her my sudden adoption of another name. When we return to school for the afternoon I am again dressed in my usual attire. The rest of the afternoon runs smoothly. At the end of the school day, I decide I don’t want to run the risk of being followed or attacked outside school. I still need to get my schoolbooks home, so I can’t simply vanish.

I temporarily leave my bag in Susan’s care while I sneak into the boys’ bathroom and end my projection. I have been keeping an eye remotely so I know it’s currently empty. Susan enters the girls’ bathroom and places my bag in an empty cubicle while nobody is looking. I immediately appear in the stall, as Jennifer, and emerge. I head to the bike sheds leaving Susan behind. We act as if we are strangers in case Susan is being watched.

In case Susan is followed, she is going straight home instead of to my location. I watch her ride off safely then proceed to walk to Gloria’s house. As nobody knows who I am, I can safely proceed without fear of being attacked. I have left my bike at Gloria’s this morning and walked the rest of the way. By varying my normal routine, I hope to avoid attention. In addition, it simply allows me to vanish if the need arises and I won’t be stuck trying to collect my bike to get home.

That evening I relate the day’s events to my father. He isn’t pleased that I have been attacked again. On one hand, I simply want to give up being David and get on with my new life as Jennifer. On the other hand, I don’t want David to disappear suddenly, effectively letting them win by driving me out of school. Until my legal identity is sorted out, I can’t do much anyway.

The next day passes without incident. I cycle to Gloria’s in the morning, change into David and cycle to school. I disappear at break and lunch and then cycle back to Gloria’s after school. I am careful to make sure I’m not being followed by cycling round in circles a few times before heading to Gloria’s house. I don’t want to bring trouble back with me. I then cycle home and meet up with Susan to do homework.

There is a definite tension in the air. I am becoming increasingly uncomfortable attending school as David. While Mr Turner sorts out my legal identity I still have no option other than to continue. Given that three students have just been expelled from school, and the teachers are keeping a close eye on me, nobody wants to run the risk of being openly hostile to me in school.

On Thursday evening Mr Turner comes to visit. He has several surprises for us.

Firstly, the results are back from my DNA tests. My DNA has changed from XY to XX, but I am still identifiable as being a direct descendant of my father. I am effectively my own sister, genetically, even if I don’t look like anybody in my immediate family. Red hair has previously appeared in my ancestors. I know that one of my great grandfathers, Isaac, had been nicknamed ‘reddun’ after his fiery red beard.

The second surprise is that I now have an entirely new legal identity. I am handed a birth certificate and passport in the name of Jennifer Alice Dalton. Mr Turner has used my mother’s maiden name as my surname so that there is no connection with my former identity.

“I know we were going to try to get the courts to change your birth certificate,” Mr Turner explains, “However, I have found an alternative method that may work out better in the long run. I have a few connections with people in witness protection and the associated creation of new identities. The Department of Homeland Security has recently drafted a new classified procedure for fast-tracking replacement identities.”

“Is this legal and above board?” my father asks with concern, “We’re not going to get a visit from Federal Agents are we?”

“Don’t worry, the only person who knows about the identity is the person who created it, and they are more likely to get a visit than us,” Mr Turner states. “The person in the Records Office is a friend of mine, and he owed me a few favours. He gave me the form to fill in. I only had to fill in the new identity information, not provide any detail about your current identity. He then took the form and slipped it in amongst a batch of others also being processed at the same time. Apparently, these are becoming quite frequent. Once created, he then intercepted the documents as they were being sent back out, removing your new credentials from the pile and giving them to me.”

“Sounds dodgy,” I reply.

“Yes and no. Strictly speaking, I shouldn’t know of the form’s existence. The form is submitted and then countersigned and approved by a senior figure. I submitted the request without that information being filled in. My contact then processed the form and somehow made it look like it had the correct approval, I didn’t ask how. He assures me that there will be no repercussions.”

The new Jennifer is currently an orphan and ward of state. The final pieces of paperwork are adoption papers to be signed by my father. Once filed, he will legally be my next of kin again.

Also included in the new identity is a blank school transcript that can be filled in to match my existing one, so that I can enrol at school again.

After much discussion, we come up with a workable plan.

As David, I will try to provoke another attack. Considering the number of incidents against me, I don’t think that will be hard. This will be the last straw and we can use it as an excuse to withdraw me from school on safety grounds. David will then be going to boarding school where he can make a fresh start as a girl.

Mr Turner has been working closely with the police as part of a task force dealing with bigotry and racism. There is a secret white supremacist cult operating in the area, a cross between the Ku Klux Klan and the Nazi party. They have been stirring up trouble in the area and there may be links with the hostility I have been experiencing. As I am relatively safe while projecting, I can possibly draw out those who are involved so that they can be brought to justice.

Jennifer, having recently been orphaned, will be adopted by my father as her closest living relative. We will soon have the paperwork to prove that. She will be arriving in a week’s time after the affairs of her parents are sorted out. Jennifer will have a double funeral to attend.

There is a slight risk of people correctly assuming David and Jennifer are the same person. Especially if one disappears and is immediately replaced by the other. Given the physical differences, this is unlikely. David was short, fat, and had black hair, where as Jenny is taller, thinner, and has red hair. As Jenny, I also have a paler skin tone and prominent freckles. I have a few ideas of how to have David and Jenny seen together. It will be tricky to stage, but potentially worth the effort.

The important thing will be to convince the school. The students should be convinced once I am seen naked in the showers after gym class. If my guess is correct about when my period is due then there might be the possibility of discovering menstrual blood while changing, an added bonus that would certainly convince them that I’m female. As I was still using the boys’ facilities until a few weeks ago, I think that there is no doubt that David is male. I have been seen naked often enough in the communal showers.

We put our plan into action Friday morning. My father phones the school as soon as the office opens and makes an appointment to see the Principal and Mr Francis during our lunchtime. I then proceed to school as normal, heading to Gloria’s and projecting myself the rest of the way.

I am changing the presentation of my male projection. Up until now, except for when forced into the cheerleaders outfit, I have stayed just on the masculine side of androgynous, but today I am crossing the line. Instead of my usual boy ponytail at the base of my neck, I have let my hair down and styled it in a girls bob cut. I have curled the ends inward and used a centre parting. I have combed my hair forward over my forehead so that I have a straight fringe half an inch above my eyebrows. Again, I have added a slight curl to give me the classic bangs look. I have once more applied makeup and nail polish, to give myself a feminine appearance.

This will be the second time I have appeared at school as a girl. The first time was against my will, having been forced to change clothes after being attacked. This time I am doing so by choice. I’m not dressed as a cheerleader. Instead, I am following the normal school dress code for girls. I am wearing a white blouse and navy blue skirt, the same as many of the girls, although a lot prefer to take the option of wearing blue or black pants instead.

I am deliberately provoking a reaction. The effect of my clothes, hair, feminine mannerisms, and speech inflection, is pushing the gender balance way over the line.

I time my entrance to perfection, arriving in my homeroom just as the bell rings for registration. Most of the people in the room are staring at me, but I simply ignore them as I take my seat next to Susan, sweeping my skirt under me, keeping my knees together, and crossing my legs at my ankles. There are one or two comments, but these are soon stopped by Mr Francis calling for silence.

The first two lessons of the day go smoothly. I’m given some nasty looks and there are some insults shouted at me while moving between classes. During lessons, the teachers keep the students under control, so nothing is said to me.

At break time, I don’t do my usual disappearing trick. I briefly take a break from projection while locked in the disabled loo so that I can use the toilet, but apart from that, I remain highly visible. My friends and I sit in the common room discussing makeup and fashion. Susan has quietly clued them in as to why I am acting overly girlish, to provoke a response. They help by keeping the discussion as girly as possible and calling me Daphne instead of David. I am making sure that my mannerisms and body language are exceedingly feminine, exaggerating my naturally effeminate behaviour.

I expect that by the end of the day my status as a transsexual will be common knowledge. There are already plenty of rumours circulating about me, and all I am doing is confirming them.

It would appear that nobody is going to challenge me while I’m in a crowd. I expect to be confronted later in the day.

The third lesson of the day goes as expected, the teacher making sure that there is no open abuse aimed in my direction.

At lunch, it is time to put my next bit of subterfuge in place. With Susan providing cover, I vanish back to Gloria’s, where my father is waiting for me to wake up. We drive to the school and report to reception. I take a seat and position myself so that I can project while still appearing to be awake and alert. I have been practicing body control while projecting. I still can’t move around, but I can maintain a pose. Instead of appearing asleep, I now appear to be in a trance.

I project myself back into the school as Daphne and find Mr Francis as he is heading to reception. I walk slightly ahead of him and disappear into the disabled bathroom. He passes me as I enter and he goes into the back of the school office, past where my father is sitting with my real self.

Mr Edwards then comes out to greet my father. I choose this moment to emerge from the toilet and interrupt them.

“Hi Daddy, hi Jenny,” I call as I pass.

“Don’t forget you have a dentist’s appointment after school,” my father replies.

“I haven’t forgotten,” I respond as I disappear down the corridor.

The waiting area for the school office is in full view of the canteen, through a set of glass doors. I know that the whole spectacle has been viewed by a number of opponents. In one stroke, I have just successfully appeared in two places at the same time while also revealing that I won’t be going straight home when school finishes.

Once I am out of sight, I quickly return to my body sitting in the reception. I move my head, indicating to my father that I have ended my projection.

“I would like to introduce you to my niece,” my father motions in my direction as I stand up. “This is Jennifer Dalton.”

I shake hands with Mr Edwards.

“She is the reason why I asked to see you,” my father tells the Principal. We then proceed into his office where Mr Francis is waiting. I am introduced to Mr Francis as well before we all take seats.

My father then explains further, “Jennifer has recently lost her parents, and as her nearest living relative, I am adopting her as my daughter. I would like her to attend this school with David and Susan. I have the paperwork here.”

My father presents them with the documentation, including a copy of the adoption certificate and my new school transcript. “We still have some matters to settle, but hopefully Jennifer will be available to return to school sometime next week, if you have a place for her?”

The Principal takes the records and looks through them.

“We can potentially fit Jennifer in. Do I take it your preference would be that she has a similar schedule to David and Susan?” he asks.

My father confirms that we are hoping this will be possible.

“They will be the only people here I know,” I add, “It would help me adjust for them to be close.” I dab my eyes with a tissue. I am acting upset at being an orphan.

“We will get back to you and let you know, may I take copies of this paperwork?” Mr Edwards asks.

My father agrees, and after clarifying some details, the meeting ends.

We leave the school and my father drops me at Gloria’s house. After grabbing a bite to eat I return to the school to stir up some more trouble. Stephanie and friends are still doing the blocking routine whenever I get near an entrance to a girl-only zone, such as the toilets or changing rooms. I deliberately walk close to the doors to provoke them, diverting in a different direction at the last minute and grinning inanely at them.

Nothing happens during the lunch break, but I can tell that there are a number of students unhappy with my presence. I make sure it’s overheard that I will be travelling home alone tonight, as I will be heading into town to the dentist rather than home with Susan or any of my friends. I am setting up a perfect opportunity to be attacked.

The first lesson after lunch is gym. The rest of my class heads off to get changed. I joke with the girls that I should perhaps come with them, but I don’t actually try. Instead, I head off to the Library to study.

Nobody disturbs me in the library this week. I take the opportunity to wire myself up with a small hidden camera and microphone, which Mr Turner has provided. The idea is that these will collect evidence. I am to stay in sight of the town’s CCTV system. Mr Turner is arranging for me to be monitored. I have a panic button that will summon the police, who have promised to be waiting nearby.

After the final lesson of the day, I deliberately hang around the bike sheds while my friends reluctantly leave. Susan leaves by bicycle, Mary on a bus, and Tracy by car. Tracy is again collected by her brother, much to her annoyance. I then slowly ride out of the school grounds and to the nearby park. There I sit in full view in the entrance and wait to see if anything happens.

There are a number of students hanging around, but they are all avoiding me for the moment. I decide to walk through the park with my bike. This should make me an easier target. It’s not long before I realise I am being followed. I can see behind me with my remote vision, so know what is going on. Terry, Mike and Ben who I humiliated last week, and Stephanie with two of her friends, Cherry and Britney, are following at a distance. I am impressed. If all six are working together then this must be a major achievement in teamwork. I find a secluded park bench and sit down. I wait for them to try to sneak round the back of me and surround me.

“I know you’re there, why don’t you simply come out and face me,” I call out, “It’s time to put up or shut up. I am a girl now, if you have issues with that then this is your opportunity to do something about it, otherwise leave me alone.” I lie down on the bench with my hands behind my head, looking directly upwards.

Mike comes at me with a baseball bat, swinging it for my stomach and shouting insults. I see it coming and catch the bat in my hands, and then shove it sideways so that its handle connects with his stomach. He lets go of the bat, staggering backwards, winded.

I spring to my feet as Ben and Terry come at me from opposite directions. I jump over Mike, who is now curled up in a ball in front of me. I let the other two collide with one another and fall to the ground.

Stephanie now comes at me. However, she tries to employ brains rather than brawn, and deploys her pepper spray against me. While it has no effect on me, Stephanie isn’t as lucky and is incapacitated when she accidentally gets some in her own face.

Britney comes from my side and tries to land a punch on my face, thinking I’m blinded. Instead, I grab her fist and deflect it, while at the same time twisting her arm, so that it spins her round and she ends up with her arm behind her back, her wrist touching her neck. I shove her forwards and she falls to the ground. As I do so, Cherry comes at me from behind and attempts to punch me in the back. I see this coming and brace for the impact. Instead of hitting the soft skin of my back, Cherry’s fist strikes the hard steel plate of the body armour I have projected under my clothes, hidden from view.

Cherry stumbles away with a badly damaged hand, crying out in pain from her injury.

It’s only taken a few seconds, but I have successfully disarmed and disabled six opponents. I run forwards a couple of feet and turn back towards my attackers. Cherry and Stephanie are still incapacitated, however the other four are returning to their feet.

“You lot are going to have to do better than that to intimidate me,” I shout at them as they start to lunge towards me. I sprint to the side and wall-run up a tree trunk, grabbing a branch about seven feet in the air, and pulling myself up into the canopy.

While not physically impossible, the manoeuvre I have just performed is highly improbable and would take the skills of an advanced parkour practitioner to pull off.

“How did he do that?” Terry asks.

“Come on down Daisy, you can’t stay up there forever,” Mike calls.

Ben picks my bike up. It still has my school bag on it. I will need to retrieve my belongings in a minute.

“You lot couldn’t catch a cold in the Arctic,” I call out to them, “and my name is Daphne, not Daisy. I gave you a prime opportunity, and you still failed. Ben, get off my bike. Now do I have to come down there and kick your asses a second time, or are you going to accept my choice of living as a girl and leave me alone?”

I jump down out of the tree and land in front of them as Mike retrieves his bat from where it was dropped earlier. They spread out in a semi-circle a few feet in front of me. This time they wait for me to make the first move.

Suddenly I feel something hit me just above my collar on my right side. I touch the area with my hand and find something sticking out. I use my remote vision to examine the object. A knife is embedded in my neck.

---

 

I am shocked for a second wondering where the knife embedded in my neck came from, and why there is no blood. After a few moments, I realise that there should be blood, and immediately dark red creeps down my arm, soaking my clothes. As I am currently projecting, the wound is fake, as is the rest of me. I can't be harmed while outside my body, at least not as far as I am aware. The worst-case scenario is that I am simply forced to end my projection.

Not sure what to do next, and slightly shocked by the turn of events, I fall to my knees, then over onto my left side.

I carefully analyse the situation. At any time I can choose to vanish, however that is going to be hard to explain later. Looking at the wound, I conclude it should be fatal. I could make a recovery, however explaining a lucky escape would be as bad as disappearing. I decide it's safest to play dead for the moment.

I survey the scene remotely. Alison is to my right, crouched in the shadows, her arm outstretched as if she has just thrown something. Britney screams and Cherry turns and throws up in a nearby bush. Sirens can be heard in the distance, slowly getting louder. Mike and Terry decide to leg it. Ben jumps on Alison and pins her to the ground.

The sirens stop and I hear people running. Two police officers appear on the scene. One immediately arrests Allison and handcuffs her, while instructing the others to stay put.

The other comes over and examines me. My projection is now hardly breathing, and has blood coming out of its mouth.

With my dying breath, I can’t resist repeating the classic movie quote, "Infamy! Infamy! They've all got it in for me!"

A paramedic arrives and pronounces me dead at the scene. The police now seal the area off. I maintain the projection of a dead body, and watch the activities remotely from overhead.

Another police car and van arrive. Alison is escorted to one car and driven away. Britney, Ben, and Stephanie are loaded into the van, which then drives off. Cherry is taken away by ambulance, her hand no doubt broken from hitting me.

A photographer comes and records the scene from all angles. The police spend nearly half an hour measuring and recording the area. The coroner comes and places me in a body bag. I am loaded into the back of a van. I realise that this could be a major problem. I don't know how far away I am from the morgue. It might be out of projection range. I also have the problem of the post mortem.

I focus all my energy on maintaining the projection. I notice that the blood on the ground beneath where I have been laying doesn't disappear when the body is removed. This is a new development. Normally, anything that is created as part of a projection disappears after leaving contact with my projected form. Somehow, I’m effectively projecting in two places, a pool of blood and a corpse. My head is starting to pound from the effort of maintaining the scene.

Luckily, it starts to rain, washing the blood on the ground away so that I no longer have to keep it projected in place.

Eventually my body is taken away in the van. I follow the vehicle from above with my remote vision as I continue to project the corpse into the back. Within a few minutes, I am driven into the morgue at the local hospital. I'm not sure how I’m maintaining this projection. I am at least five miles away from where I left my body. This should be out of range.

I try not to reason how, but instead maintain my concentration on keeping the projection going. The knife is removed from my neck, placed in an evidence bag, and taken away. The blood on it doesn't disappear. I am covered by a sheet and wheeled into another room. Unlike the morgue, this is less sterile looking. The morgue is all stainless steel and white tiled walls. This room has soft furnishings and fake flowers on a table nearby. I assume that this must be some sort of chapel of rest.

My father is led into the room, accompanied by a police officer.

“Yes, that is my son David,” he says, almost on the point of tears. “May I have a few minutes alone with him?”

The other people disappear from the room. However, I note that there is a CCTV camera in the room. I therefore can’t communicate with my father. Having also noticed the camera, he is careful when addressing me.

“Jenny, I hope you can hear me,” he whispers softly. “Your body is in a nearby ward. You seem to have gone into a coma with the effort of keeping your projection going. You only need to keep this up for a short while, hang in there.”

He leaves the room after a few minutes and I am wheeled back to the morgue. The coroner then proceeds to start a post mortem on me. I have seen a documentary on TV last year of an actual post mortem being carried out, so I know what the inside of a body looks like. It takes all my energy, but I am able to make it through the ordeal. The coroner seems happy with what he sees.

There’s not much he needs to examine, as it’s obvious that the knife wound is the cause of death. It has nicked one of my arteries and cut several veins. Blood has leaked into my windpipe and down into my lungs. I have effectively drowned in my own blood.

During the procedure, my clothes are removed and placed in evidence bags. The steel plated body armour comes as a surprise. Again, they don't immediately disappear when they leave contact with my body. As I watch them being taken away I feel myself go dizzy, and I start to feel faint.

After closing me up, I am wheeled into a storage locker. I watch the coroner pack up his things and head home. Finally, I can relax and return to my body. I let the exhaustion overcome me and I feel myself falling into a deep sleep.

I am woken up by the sound of a door being opened. I realise I haven’t returned to my body, and I am still in the morgue, looking down from the ceiling.

My dead projected corpse is wheeled out and transported away by an undertaker. I am again placed in storage and I fall back asleep.

The next time I wake, I am in the undertakers. They place me in a yellow summer dress, polish my nails and do my makeup. They place a jewelled choker around my neck to hide the stab wound, and place me in a maple wood coffin.

I recognise the name of the undertakers. It is only a couple of blocks away from the hospital. My father must be trying to keep my projected form within range of my body.

I am wheeled into the chapel of rest. An hour later, my family comes to pay their last respects. Uncle Richard, Aunt Janice, Susan and my father surround the coffin and look at me. The undertakers leave the room.

“Jenny, can you hear me?” My father whispers to me softly.

“CCTV in operation,” I whisper back, “I will take care of the tape later, nobody is watching the monitor, I checked.”

“Thank god you seem to be all right,” my father says in hushed tones. “We were getting seriously worried that something had happened. You are still lying in a coma at the hospital.”

“I guess I am pushing beyond my limits to make sure the projection doesn't disappear. I will need to keep this going until after the funeral,” I reply quietly.

“No you don't,” my uncle replies, pulling a lump of metal out from under his jacket. “We each have lead weights. We figure that if your projection disappears then the coffin becomes lighter. This should solve the problem. We just need to hide them somewhere.”

I think for a moment before smiling, “The clothes aren't part of this projection, so I need to maintain their position, but the rest of my body doesn’t need to remain solid. Stick the weights in my legs, body, and head. When I make the rest of my body solid again, they will be inside of me.”

The plan is quickly executed. Soon I am lying peacefully in the coffin and there is no evidence of the added mass.

“Where exactly is my body?” I ask them, “I seem to have lost track of it. I know I'm in a coma in the hospital, but where?”

“Ward 10, Bay 3, second bed on the left,” Susan replies.

“Thanks, I will meet you there later. I need to make sure this coffin is sealed before I leave,” I state.

My family departs and my father instructs the undertaker to seal the coffin, which they do later that afternoon.

I end the projection and remotely view the hospital. Following the signs, I float through the halls and find my body. Using all my willpower, I push myself back inside.

I suddenly wake and take a deep breath. The monitors attached to me give some loud bleeps and an alarm goes off. I try to get up, but I am too weak. A nurse comes running in and presses a few buttons on the machines.

“Welcome back, you had us worried there,” she says.

“I feel like I’ve run a marathon,” I reply.

I am subjected to a number of tests and examined by the doctor.

I don't like being in hospital. I have been fitted with a drip and a catheter, both of which are uncomfortable. I'm informed it will be several days before I will be released, as they still haven't worked out what is wrong with me.

My father and Susan come to visit that evening. Only two people are allowed to visit at any one time.

“It's Tuesday,” my father tells me, carefully wording his statements in case we are overheard by the hospital staff. “David was stabbed last Friday. He was released to the undertakers yesterday. I was at the office when the police informed me that my son had been killed. I went with them to identify the body while Gloria went home to check on you. She got Susan and Janice to meet her there. They found you on the bed sweating and hardly breathing. Your condition seemed to be getting worse so they called an ambulance. You were brought here to the hospital where you were found to be in a hypoglycaemic coma. Your body was almost devoid of sugar. You have been on a drip since then. The doctors can't work out why your blood sugar levels keep dropping.”

I have been wondering how I managed to keep the projection going. I guess that my body must have been taken to the hospital at a similar time to the projection being moved to the Morgue. With both in the same building it minimised the distance. I was also hooked up to a drip to restore my blood sugar levels. This explains how I was able to carry on projecting way beyond my normal limits.

Trying to sleep in a noisy hospital is virtually impossible. I take advantage of being awake at one in the morning to pay my coffin a visit. I am concerned that the weights might shift about when the coffin is moved. I also have a CCTV tape to erase.

I deal with the recording first. Having found the equipment, I make sure it is all switched off. The footage is being recorded onto video tape. Each tape appears to last 24 hours, by only taking a still image every few seconds. Looking at the labelling it appears that the tapes are changed over each morning. The current tape in the machine is the recording I need. Not only will I be erasing the video of the weights being put in the coffin, I will also be hiding my current activities.

I eject the tape from the machine. I pull the entire length of tape out of the cassette and hold it up to the TV being used with the system. It is an older CRT model rather than a flat LCD model. It has a degauss button on the front, which I press a few times while holding the tape against the screen. I can feel the static electricity across the surface, hopefully erasing the tape in the process.

I wind the tape back into its cassette and return it to the recorder. I rewind the tape to the beginning then press play. I remove the solidness from my finger and push in into the machine. Making the tip of it solid again, I press on the spool that the tape is being wound on, slowing it down. The tape is now being drawn through the play heads faster than it is being collected. The net result is that the recorder is soon filling up with tape. Pressing fast forward causes the tape to stream out into the machine. It soon becomes wrapped round the wheels and the whole knotted mess comes to a sudden stop.

Satisfied with my sabotage, I head into the workshop and find the tools I need for my next task. The lid to the coffin has been screwed shut, so taking a screwdriver I remove the lid. Inside I find the lumps of metal covered by the yellow sundress. I need to keep the weights in place and stop them sliding around.

I find up some PVA wood glue, some strips of material, and some nails. I paint the bottom of the coffin with the glue. I doubt the glue will adhere to the metal very well, but I can tape it down using the material. I soak the dress and some strips of material in the PVA and press them down over the weights, sandwiching them in place. I then take some nails and proceed to nail the material to the bottom of the coffin. Once dry, this should hold everything in place without slipping.

I make sure that the coffin is sealed and that there is no sign of tampering, before returning everything to where I have found it. I'm satisfied that nobody will discover that the coffin is empty and that my death has been faked.

I end the projection, returning to the hospital, but I can't get to sleep. The ward isn't exactly quiet at night and I'm not very comfortable. I have also spent several days effectively asleep, so now I'm not tired. It’s boring in the ward, so I start exploring the hospital with my remote vision.

I soon find something interesting. The hospital has a gym and it isn't being used. I decide to project myself inside. I find the light switch and then proceed to expend my frustrations on a punch bag. That makes me feel much better. After an hour's work out, I am able to return to my body and get a few hours of sleep before being woken up again at six in the morning.

Wednesday morning comes and I’m not in a good mood. I am confined to the bed by the drip, catheter, and various monitoring equipment to which I am hooked up.

I am also feeling bloated and have stomach cramps. I complain to the nurses. Susan has warned them that I am getting close to my time of the month. I hadn't realised that that delight has snuck up on me already. It partially explains why I'm not very comfortable, although the tubes going in and out are making things worse.

The nurse gives me some tablets to help with the menstrual symptoms. I swallow them and proceed to drink the entire five-pint jug of water they have left on the bedside cabinet. If they insist on having this catheter stuck in me then I'm going to make sure they have to change the bag as often as possible. This doesn’t please the nurses, especially when the bag overflows all over the floor.

My father comes to see me at breakfast time. He has been given bereavement leave from his employers.

I am fed up and make it clear that I'm leaving this hospital this morning, whether the hospital staff agree or not. If I haven't been discharged by noon, I am going to walk out, and nobody is going to stop me, even if that means I have to remove the catheter and drip myself.

My father goes to have a word with the senior nurse, explaining my intention.

The doctor comes round at half past nine, giving me a thorough examination, and checks my charts. As I have started to bleed, I am given a full gynaecological exam as well, to check that the blood is menstrual and not from an infection. He instructs that the catheter and drip be removed and that I be given suitable materials. I am relieved to have the catheter disconnected, and although I now have a tampon inserted, it's still more comfortable than before.

The doctor tells me that if there are no more fluctuations in my sugar levels I can be discharged on Friday. They may not know what is causing the symptoms, but I certainly do. I have already looked at the charts and figured that the lows corresponded to when my projection was being worked on, although I’m not going to be explaining this to the doctors.

“I am leaving at noon today,” I tell him. He isn't happy and instructs me to remain here until Friday, as they are concerned I might have a relapse. They still haven't figured out what is causing the problem, and I’ve been given a preliminary diagnosis of diabetes pending further tests.

I’m currently wearing a hospital-provided gown. I have already checked and some of my clothes are in a locker by the bed. I have the shoes, skirt and blouse in which I arrived. I am already wearing clean panties under the hospital gown, although my bra and socks are missing.

I can do without those if necessary. With a puzzle book brought by my father, I am allowed to sit in the chair by my bed and do crosswords. The nurses keep an eye on me to make sure I'm not about to carry out my threats of leaving.

I have a plan for how to get out. I wait until mid-morning and take the opportunity when it arises. I have been keeping an eye on the nurses with my remote vision. They are all now occupied with other patients and there is nobody between the door and me. I have already snuck my clothes into a bag. I put down my puzzle book and creep out of the door. Having scouted the whole hospital with my remote vision, I head to a disabled loo with an out of order sign on it, and sneak inside. The toilet bowl has a large crack in it, leaking water over the floor. I guess that they are waiting for a replacement, and there is a chance it won't be today.

I make myself comfortable on a dry bit of floor, and project back into the ward. I smile at the nurses as I come out of one of the patient toilets and return to my seat. They look relieved, having not seen where I had disappeared to.

At three minutes to noon, I again go into the patient toilet on the ward, being closely watched by the nurses. As soon as I am locked in the room, I end my projection. I quickly get dressed, and after checking the coast is clear, leave my hiding place and proceed to walk out of the hospital. I cross through the front doors and out into the car park at exactly twelve o'clock.

I have been keeping a remote eye on the ward. It takes them several minutes to realise I'm not coming back out of the bathroom, after which they decide to unlock the door and check on me. They are very surprised to find the room empty, considering that the senior nurse has been observing me for the past half an hour. She watched the door since I entered, and can't understand how I cannot be inside.

They call security to look for me. However, I have already left the hospital grounds. My father arrives on the ward a few minutes later and asks them where I am. When told that I'm missing, he bursts out laughing.

“This is a very serious matter, Mr Palmer,” the senior nurse tells him.

“What were you expecting to happen?” my father asks. “Jenny had made it perfectly clear that she would be leaving at noon, and it looks to me that she has done exactly that. It's now nearly ten past twelve. Given her usual walking pace, I expect she is at least a half mile away by now, possibly more if she was jogging. Now, is there any discharge paperwork to be signed?”

Twenty minutes later my father leaves the hospital after signing several forms to indicate that I have discharged myself against medical advice.

It takes me two hours to walk home, and my father is waiting for me when I arrive.

“Do I take it that they saw a projection walking into the toilet and you were already elsewhere?” he asks me.

“I snuck out an hour before, and was projecting from an out of order disabled loo,” I tell him. “I made it perfectly clear I wasn't going to remain there after noon. Besides, we both know the reason for my coma. I was projecting too hard. The only chance of it happening again is if I choose to make it occur.”

After a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee, I go upstairs and have a good long soak in the bath. That makes me feel a lot better.

---

 
Author's note:
There have been a number of comments on the last episode about the severity of the crimes, and the related punishment. As pointed out before, I am an Englishman writing a story set in America, and therefore I’m prone to making cultural mistakes. I have therefore decided to clarify exactly how I have arrived at the sentences applied this episode.

I have tried to research the penalties applied for such crimes, but it’s tricky to find definitive answers. There are plenty of sites defining the crimes, but very little info on the actual penalties. I am therefore basing my punishments on the information found at http://www.criminaldefenselawyer.com/crime-penalties/federal/felony-assault-battery.htm.

I have decided to set the story somewhere in New Hampshire. Therefore, I’m assuming that the punishment for felony assault and battery is a fine up to $20,000 and up to one year in prison.

I am also applying a bit of poetic licence with Stephanie, as I want her to appear in a later episode, and therefore need her out of jail.
 

---

 
I spend Wednesday afternoon relaxing. Susan joins me after school and we catch up with what’s happening.

Alison has been arrested and charged with murder. I query how it can be murder if the victim is still alive. My father points out that anybody else would have died receiving that wound, and there is plenty of evidence that David is dead. In any case, she intended to kill David, and it is her intent that is significant.

Mr Turner is working with the police on my murder. The blood on the knife, as well as the clothes taken from the body, have both mysteriously vanished. He is hiding that fact. As Mr Turner is going to be in charge of the prosecution, this won’t cause an issue. Apparently, it doesn’t matter if there isn’t actually a death, the intent is still present, and this is enough for the case to be taken to court.

However, as a precaution the charges against the other six attackers do not include any form of accessory to murder. It appears that there was some plea-bargaining going on between Mr Turner and the various defence attorneys. They all agreed to plead guilty to assault and battery if the accessory to murder was dropped.

In total, there are six charges of felony assault and battery, and one charge of first-degree murder.

The date for Alison’s trial has yet to be set. There has been a delay in setting a date while additional investigation takes place. Details of which have not been released. The other six were brought before the court yesterday. As each were pleading guilty the procedure didn’t take long.

Mike, as he was armed and tried to flee the scene, received the most severe penalty, a full year imprisonment and a fine of $20,000. However, a deal was made for him to attend a private reform school instead. The J. Thompson Academy only accepts two or three students at a time, and has an excellent record of reforming individuals. If he successfully completes the course, the fine will be waived and he won’t face jail.

Brittney and Cherry both received $5,000 fines, nine months in prison, with a further three months parole.

Terry received six months prison and a $5,000 fine, mainly for fleeing the scene.

Ben got off lighter, as he didn’t participate as effectively in the attack. He only managed to run in my direction and collide with Terry. He also fought with Alison after she threw the knife, wrestling her to the ground until the police arrived. He has ended up without any jail time, but instead has a $10,000 fine.

Stephanie was originally going to get jail time, however some skilful negotiation got her sentenced changed. She now has a $20,000 fine, community service, and is restricted by a curfew. She is wearing an electronic tag and is under house arrest, except when at school, for the next three months. The pivotal argument was her agreement to testify against Alison. Stephanie had been seriously affected by the events and is now severely depressed for outing me in the first place. Susan thinks part of the close observation she is now under may be a form of suicide watch.

Mary and Tracy are taking my death badly. They are blaming themselves for letting me face my enemies alone. I will have to keep an eye on that situation. The ghost of David can still make an appearance if it will help heal the emotional wounds. I was already considering letting Tracy and Mary in on my secret. I could still do so, if I feel it will help them.

My property has been recovered and handed back to my father. All the textbooks have been returned to the school. I suspect they will be issued to me again when I start as Jennifer. We decide to replace my bike and book bag, as I don’t want to be seen with David’s old possessions.

I spend Thursday at home resting. I feel a lot more relaxed lying in my own bed. I spend the day reading and catching up on schoolwork. The school has sent me some assignment sheets to fill out to gauge my current knowledge level. These only take a few hours to complete. I don’t bother to rush.

On Friday, I have the unusual honour of attending my own funeral. My coffin arrives in a funeral car shortly before half past ten. My family gets in a second black car, and we proceed slowly to the local church. We form up behind the coffin and follow it inside.

The church is full to capacity. I take note of who is attending. Most of my neighbours are present, including Becky Pyke and her mother, who are both very upset. I also observe that half the staff members from Platterns are attending.

There is a delegation from my school present. This includes all of my close friends, and most of the people with whom I have lessons. A number of teachers are also present including Mr Edwards, Mr Francis, and Mr Spencer. In total, there must have been at least forty people paying respects from the school.

It feels surreal attending your own funeral. However, I am no longer this person. I am Jennifer. David is now only a memory. I like the service. Some of my favourite pieces of music are played. I note that all the speeches are written not to use gender pronouns, something that is difficult to achieve. Not once am I referred to as ‘he’ or even ‘she’. It is always by either name, or by general terms such as ‘this person’. Throughout the service, I am referred to as David.

There are references made to my gender issues, and unfortunate demise, however they are kept low-key.

At the end of the service, we again follow the coffin, this time to the graveside. The traditional interment is then made when the coffin is lowered into the ground.

There are bouquets of flowers laid out in a semi-circle nearby. We read the cards and admire the display. We then shake hands with the mourners as they pass.

We hold a reception at the Red Lion, in a function room at the back.

Saturday is spent cementing my new identity. David’s assets have been frozen and are automatically being transferred to my father as next of kin. We go to the bank and open new current and savings accounts for me with my new identity, using my new passport as identification. My father deposits some money into the accounts, promising the savings from my old accounts will be transferred back to me once the bank has finished probate.

We go to the local bike shop and trade my old bicycle in for a new one. I get an obvious girls’ model this time, rather than the unisex version of before. We find and buy a red rucksack for use at school. It is similar to my previous one, which had been black.

We also pick up some more school clothes as I will now be attending in person. In addition, we have to buy sports gear, as I will now be returning to Physical Education. I have never liked getting changed in the boys’ changing room, and I would never have been let into the girls’ as David. Now I can finally get changed without feeling odd. I need two sports kits, one for use indoors, and the other for outdoors.

I log in and close down all David’s online accounts, making sure I have new logins as Jennifer.

Sunday is spent resting. My body is still aching from lying in a coma, and I’m still having symptoms from my first period. Thankfully, the bleeding seems to have stopped. We have a big family meal together at my Aunt’s house on Sunday evening. I have given them quite a scare when I didn’t wake up after being attacked. They didn’t know what would happen if I died while projecting. Would it mean that I was truly dead, or would I simply return to my body?

On Monday morning my father phones the school and sets up an appointment, saying that I’m now ready to start school. We are asked to come in during lunchtime.

I dress in my school clothes for the meeting and accompany my father to the school. After some discussion, I am issued with a schedule and it’s agreed that I will join the school population after lunch. At our request, my schedule is as close to Susan’s as possible. That means my new timetable is going to be nearly identical to my old one. The only difference is that I will be taking a textiles course instead of metalwork. I had wanted to do this in the first place, but didn’t dare be the only boy in amongst all the girls.

The meeting is soon over and it’s time to join my fellow students. There are still twenty minutes of lunchtime left before afternoon roll call. A call is put out over the public address system asking Susan to come to reception. When she arrives, I give her a hug and tell her I am starting school this afternoon. Mr Francis instructs her to show me round and introduce me to my fellow students.

We say goodbye to my father and go through the doors into the canteen. Susan has already eaten, but I haven’t had the chance yet. After buying some sandwiches, we head outside, as it’s a warm day. We find our way to a bench we used to use a lot before I was outed and put in danger. Mary and Tracy are sitting nearby talking when we arrive.

Susan immediately introduces me and we all sit down while I scoff my sandwiches. I notice that the mood is quite sombre and they deliberately keep the conversation light. I guess they don’t want to upset Susan or me by mentioning David. I don’t want to raise the issue, but don’t like seeing my friends depressed. My apparent death has put a dampener on the school, and many of the students seem to be shocked by the turn of events.

I wonder if I will have difficulties, effectively replacing a dead person. I decide to be very careful in lessons and not automatically sit down where I always have done. I will make sure to wait to be invited, or ask permission to sit down first.

I’m formally introduced to my fellow students at roll call that afternoon. Having asked Susan on the way in where I should sit, she has indicated my old chair, as it is next to hers. This gets a few looks from my fellow students, but I simply ignore this.

Mr Francis comes in and immediately does roll call. I have to pay attention to where my name now appears. I am now a Dalton instead of a Palmer, so I’m called earlier than before. Once finished he asks me to stand and say a few words about myself.

“Hello, I’m Jennifer Dalton, and I am a distant cousin and close friend of Susan, hence why I have been placed in this homeroom. It was felt a familiar face would be helpful while I get to know everybody,” I begin. “The reason I am here is that my parents died a few weeks ago in a car accident. My closest living relative is John Palmer, David Palmer’s father, and I came to live with them a few weeks ago while sorting out the affairs of my parents. The plan was that I would have had two friends here with me. However, that unfortunately wasn’t to be.”

I pause for a second before continuing, “I want to apologise if I seem to take David’s place, that wasn’t my intention. I wish I could be joining you under happier circumstances, however life has dealt me a number of challenges, and I intend to make the best use of the opportunities given to me. I look forward to getting to know you all. Thank you.”

I have decided to stick to the identity created for me and not try to hide my relationship to Susan and David. I hope by specifically stating my closeness to Susan it will deflect from my obvious replacement of my old self. It feels very weird being here as somebody else, pretending not to know everybody’s history. For the first time in several weeks, I’m physically in the room rather than projecting into it. It has only been a month since my change, but it feels more like a year.

I end up repeating a variation of the same speech in the next two classes that afternoon. The first class I’m with Susan, and she openly invites me to sit in my own seat. The final lesson of the day Susan isn’t with me, so I make sure to sit at an empty space, rather than my usual position next to Tracy. I hope to quickly rekindle my friendship, and return to my previous seating position.

One advantage of changing identity is that it doesn’t matter that I have missed a week’s homework. I’m not expected to hand anything in. I have caught up with most of my lessons anyway from Susan’s notes. There are a few holes in the lessons I don’t share with Susan, but I can soon catch up. Because I’m starting halfway through term, I am given extra leeway in what I’m supposed to know, as it isn’t expected that I know what has already been taught.

One of my big fears is that I will be accused of being David. However, my public execution, and the subsequent media frenzy over the arrest of Alison, has worked in my favour. There’s now little risk of that happening.

The next few days progress without incident. The first real test of my new identity comes on Wednesday. Third period, between break and lunch, is my first gym class with the girls. Susan squeezes my hand and smiles at me in reassurance as we queue to go into the changing rooms. Once the bell has rung, Coach Sanders instructs us to enter and get changed into our indoor kits.

This is one place where I don’t have to worry about filling my previous shoes, as I was never allowed in here before. Susan and Kate make a space for me between them. Mary and Tracy are on the bench opposite us. I follow Susan’s lead and change into the correct outfit. I also change my bra for a sports one, as do most of the other girls.

Coach Sanders then comes in and does roll call before instructing us to enter the gym. We then spend the next forty-five minutes engaged in various forms of aerobic exercise. We are all very hot and sweaty by the time we have finished.

Ten minutes before the end of the lesson, we are told to go back to the changing room to shower and change. I am slightly slower to undress than the other girls, as I’m worried if there will be a reaction.

I don’t have any issues. We all strip naked and proceed to enter the communal showers. I receive a few looks, and return a few myself. There’s certainly some comparison of body size and shape going on, but there are no reactions accusing me of being male. With some relief, I get dressed. I do wonder how people would react if they ever find out. Kate had almost wet herself trying to prevent me catching a glimpse of her partially clothed, and I am sure Stephanie wouldn’t be very happy if she knew. I have now seen all of them naked.

I get a surprise after school on Thursday. Robert Turner from the DA’s office rings me.

“Hi Jennifer, you wouldn’t happen to be the Alice who helped out at the bank heist?” he asks.

“Yes, that’s me. How did you know that?” I reply.

“I’ve seen the statements and your name popped up. You are also the only person I know to have mastered astral projection. I am working on another case with the police, and we are getting desperate for assistance. Your name came up as a possible solution to a problem we are having. Can you project yourself into Chief Millward’s office in say half an hour?” he enquires.

I’m certainly intrigued. After confirming exactly where I need to be, I set out to meet Mr Turner and Chief Millward at the police station.

---

 
I ride my new bike into town and find a position close to the police station from which I can project. I search the building with my remote vision and find the office containing Chief Millward and Robert Turner. I choose to appear as the Cheshire cat. My feline-like head appears hovering in front of the police chief.

“I believe you wanted to contact Alice?” I say, causing him to jump. It takes him a few seconds to recover his composure.

“You gave me quite a surprise,” he says, “I take it you are still unwilling to give your true identity”

“Yes, it could be dangerous,” I reply, disappearing and reappearing as Alice in Wonderland. “Considering a young transsexual has just been murdered for standing out from the crowd, I think I would rather not draw attention to myself more than absolutely necessary.”

“It’s OK Tom,” Robert Turner interjects, “I am aware of this person’s true identity. It’s best if you don’t know.”

“OK, I will respect that. I was involved in the case you mentioned, a very tragic hate crime,” Chief Millward replies, “Let me explain our problem, it’s actually related to the case you mentioned.”

That certainly gets my attention! I glance across at Mr Turner who simply smiles at me.

“A ten-year-old Afro-Caribbean boy has been kidnapped, and is being held to ransom. They want to exchange him for Alison Little, the girl currently charged with murder. We let her go; they don’t post him back to us limb by limb,” the chief explains handing me a file about the boy, including a photo.

Mr Turner takes over the explanation, “We have tried to get info out of Alison, but she doesn’t want to co-operate. We are hoping a haunting from her victim may change her mind.” He hands me a crime scene photo of David lying on the ground with a knife in his neck. I immediately change my appearance to that of my old self, minus the knife.

“I thought torture was illegal, besides are you sure she knows something? Victims will make anything up to get the persecution to stop,” I state.

“It’s only dodgy if the jury believes in ghosts,” Mr Turner says through a laugh. “Seriously, nobody is going to object, and quite frankly no one is going to take her seriously if she complains. We will make sure that whoever is guarding her at the time ignores any screaming. Yes, we may be bending the rules, but a boy’s life is at stake.”

“We think she may know where the boy, Donald, is, as he disappeared several days before the murder of David Palmer. Depending on how the interrogation goes we have several choices,” Chief Millward adds. “You could possibly take Alison’s place in a swap, or you might be able to find the boy and help rescue him. It depends on your exact capabilities. We have both seen some of what you are capable of, but don’t know what your limitations are.”

“I can remotely see up to two miles. Drop that to one and a half if listening as well,” I explain, “I can form a solid projection up to a quarter mile, further than that and I start to fade out. I can do a ghost up to around half a mile. The further the projection the more energy it takes and the less time I can maintain it. If the distance is kept to a hundred yards then I can maintain the projection for hours. My record is three hours without a break. With short breaks to eat high energy food, to recharge my batteries as such, I have managed seven hours of near continuous projection.”

After a short pause, I decide to add, “Projecting takes a lot of energy, if I try to project for too long or too far then I risk falling into a diabetic coma. I have to eat double or triple the normal amount of food when using my powers.”

“You seem to be able to mimic the appearance and voice of anyone you choose, is that correct?” Mr Turner asks.

“I can reproduce anything I have seen or heard. The limit is my memory and imagination,” I tell them. “Also, I can only project in one place, so there are limits to what I can do. For example, I can project a baseball into my hand, but if I throw it at the wall, it will disappear once airborne. I can’t therefore simulate a working gun.”

“What about other objects? Could you simulate a flashlight, or a radio?” the chief asks.

“I’ve never tried,” I reply, “Let’s find out.”

I start by projecting a torch into my hand. I turn it on and shine the light round the room. Chief Millward opens a door, through which is a walk-in cupboard with no windows. It is dark inside. I walk in and shine the light around, illuminating the room.

“I would say that your flashlight simulation is a success,” the Chief says, closing the door to the darkened room.

I then try to project my cell phone. It appears to have a signal, so I dial the phone on the desk, after confirming the direct dial number. The cell phone appears to be ringing, waiting for the other phone to pick up, but the phone on the desk remains silent.

“OK, let me try something simpler,” I say. I replace the phone in my hand with a simple radio. I try to tune it into a station, but all I get from it is static.

“Hmm, I can simulate the look, but not the functionality. Let me try the most basic of radios,” I say. I have at home a book of circuit diagrams that can be built using a special kit designed for learning electronics. It includes a basic crystal radio schematic. I bring the diagram to mind from my photographic memory and then picture a blank circuit board resting on my hand. I build up the connections and components one by one, each part appearing in turn on the board. It doesn’t work.

“If you want me to wear a wire, it will have to be a real one. However, that would prevent me from appearing, disappearing, and walking through walls. I can however carry things while invisible,” I state. To prove my point I vanish and pick up a pen from the desk. I carry it around the room and place it back down. The only part of my body that’s solid while doing this was my fingertips, so that I didn’t have to worry about colliding with the furniture, as I can’t see where my limbs are in relation to other objects.

I then have another idea. I project a portable video player into my hand. I switch it on and it starts to play my favourite Benny Hill sketch. The image of the fat British comic comes on screen being chased at high speed by a group of scantily clad women to the tune of Yakety Sax by Boots Randolph*.

“Mr Turner, would you mind assisting me in a little experiment? Please go into the next room, out of sight. I will try to project what I can see and hear with my remote vision onto this screen,” I request.

Mr Turner leaves the room. I close my eyes and follow him with my remote vision. Chief Millward gets out his cell phone and uses the built in video camera as he watches the screen. Mr Turner walks into the stairwell, stops, holds three fingers in the air, and then recites a Limerick:
“There was a young lady named Alice,
Who used dynamite instead of a phallus,
They found her vagina,
In South Carolina,
And most of her anus in Dallas.”

Mr Turner walks back into the room as Chief Millward pulls up the footage from the phone on his computer monitor.

“Not bad,” Mr Turner states as he sits back down, “that could come in very useful for remote surveillance. However, I wouldn’t like to have to rely on it in court, as explaining how the footage was obtained would be impossible. In addition, there is no proof that it hasn’t been tampered with. You can presumably make anything appear on that screen.”

A image of Alice in Wonderland appears on the screen and she recites another Limerick:
“There is a young man named Robert,
Who’s at great risk of being hurt,
If he doesn’t watch out,
He will get a clout,
From a fiery young girl in a skirt.”

“Touché,” Mr Turner replies, “While remote surveillance might come in handy in the future, right now we require your projection skills. We need to act fast. Are you able to pay a visit to Alison tonight?”

I agree to try it, and we discuss how it’s going to work. I will return home and get some rest, and then Mr Turner will collect me and drive me to just outside of the local jail. Alison will be in solitary confinement and the guards instructed not to check on her and ignore any sounds coming from her cell.

The cell is rigged with CCTV and microphones to record any information. The footage will never find its way into evidence. It will only be seen by Robert and Tom. I can have free reign over what I do to her. The only limitation is that there must be no lasting physical harm. If she is examined the next day, it has to appear that it’s all in her head, or self-inflicted.

Alison has been responsible for spreading and promoting the vile bigotry in our school. It was Alison who influenced some of the others, especially Stephanie, to bring out their prejudices. One of the charges being considered against her is inciting racial hatred. I’m not convinced that she will tell us anything. I certainly can’t rely on her conscience, the young boy is black, and therefore to her sick eyes isn’t even human.

It’s nearly midnight when I appear in her cell. As promised, only Alison is present. She is wearing red prison-issue cotton pyjamas, and is lying on the bed asleep, covered with a thick woollen blanket. The room is sparse in its appearance. The bed is along one wall. On the opposite wall is a toilet and washbasin. The plain brick walls are painted white. A small barred window is high in the far wall. Behind me is a solid steel door with a small letterbox-sized hatch for looking through, which is currently closed. Embedded in the plain white ceiling are two spotlights. These are currently dimmed, providing a small amount of light should the guards need to look in.

I materialise in the room as David, my appearance matching how I was when murdered, including the knife sticking out of my neck and blood soaked-clothing. I find the light switch and put the lights to full intensity, which isn’t massively bright. Alison starts to stir in her sleep. I take hold of the bed covers and yank them from the bed. As Alison is holding the covers, and wrapped partially in them, this has the effect of pulling her out of bed. She ends up on the floor, on her back, looking up at me in shock. I bend down over her and shout “Boo!” She screams.

I wait for the screaming to stop. She sits on the floor staring up at me, breathing heavily. I have made myself slightly see-through, so that she can just make out the outline of the door and ceiling through my body. The light in the ceiling is just visible though my head.

“What’s the matter, never seen a ghost before?” I ask. Alison shuts her eyes and refuses to look at me.

“There is no such thing as ghosts. This is all just a bad dream,” she whispers to herself.

I sit down beside her. I extend my finger and run it down her cheek, under her chin, sideways across her neck, and down her chest. I find one of her nipples through the fabric of her pyjamas and start to move my finger in small circular motions around it.

“Are you sure this isn’t real, your nipple is becoming hard? Thanks to you I died a virgin, perhaps we could rectify that now?” I ask.

Alison opens her eyes and looks at me. “Go rot in hell!” she shouts angrily, getting up off the cold floor and sitting down on the bed.

I think for a few seconds, and then reply, “OK, that can be arranged. This is close enough to hell. Let me see if I can make myself rot.” My primary reference for rotting is seeing fruit go off in the fruit bowl. I’m not sure how realistic this is going to be, but it will look real enough. I make my face turn to shades of blue, green and black. My skin starts to shrivel and shrink, exposing the skeleton below. Fungus sprouts over my body. The clothes I am wearing also commence decaying and fall to pieces, exposing more of the putrid skin beneath. The knife in my neck begins to corrode.

Alison tries to ignore me, but can’t help but stare at the revolting sight. She turns green and races to the toilet to throw up. I change back to my previous projection, pre decomposition.

“I take it you didn’t like that. Any other suggestions you want me to try?” I ask.

Alison finishes throwing up and flushes the toilet. While she is doing that, I pick the blanket up off the floor and make the bed. Alison stands and watches me finish tucking the blanket under the mattress.

“Lie down, let’s talk,” I say, lying on my side, my head supported by my hand. I indicate that Alison should join me. I am now dressed in identical pyjamas to Alison.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to rape you. Unless you want me to, that is,” I say with a grin. I’m not at all interested in her sexually. In fact, the idea repulses me, but I can play the part if it’s called for.

Alison pauses for a few seconds before lying down beside me on her back. She tilts her head towards me.

“You’re not going to go away, are you?” she states, sighing.

“You want me to stay and keep you company?” I ask, deliberately misinterpreting her meaning.

“I want you to sod off and leave me alone, but I guess that isn’t going to happen,” Alison says to me. “What is it you want, why are you here?”

“Don’t you think it’s appropriate that I haunt my murderer?” I tease. “Seriously though, there is a reason. Within each of our souls, there is a balance of good and evil. In your case most of your life has been spent expressing your evilness. I’m not even certain you have a good side. Unless you want to spend the rest of eternity in damnation I suggest you start to redress the balance.”

Robert Turner, at my request, has given me some of the propaganda circulating from the white supremacist group to which Alison belongs. A lot of their inspiration comes from the writings of the Ku Klux Klan and the Nazi party. There are some religious references included, so I hope my heaven and hell spiel will get her to talk.

I continue, “You have taken my life, possibly others. You have spread misery over an entire town. You can help to redress this balance by trying to save a life. Specifically, there is a young black boy by the name of Donald, and I suspect you know where he is. With my help you could save his life, and yours, from eternal damnation.”

“Firstly, I am not sure I believe in eternal damnation, and I am not fully convinced there is such a thing as ghosts. I must be going nuts. Either that, or this is a very bad nightmare,” Alison replies. “Donald was kidnapped by thirteen on the instructions of two. Thirteen is my mother. I’m number 52. I don’t know if there are actually 52 of us, or if the numbers are assigned non-consecutively. Low numbers are seen as higher ranks. I helped snatch the kid for my mother.”

Alison then talks about the hostage, “The brat’s mother is a hooker, and the father is a retarded dropout. Scum like that shouldn’t be allowed to breed. Intelligence is largely hereditary; with genes like those, he isn’t ever going to amount to much. That’s without even considering his flawed racial background. The blacks are several hundred years behind us in evolution. Just look at their music, all primal beats and no refinement. Name one great scientist, scholar, or philosopher who was black. ”

“Never mind his heritage, where is Donald now?” I ask, having listened to enough of Alison’s racism.

“It was being held in my family’s basement up until I left on Friday morning,” Alison replies. “I assume the police raided my home after I threw that knife at you, so it must have been moved. I don’t know where. Two would have found somebody else to house the brat. Policy is that we don’t get to know people in the other cells. Therefore, we can’t identify them. Two acts as a go-between. The intention was to raise publicity for the cause by executing him live on the internet on Monday morning. Now they are trying to swap him for me, I don’t know why. I was an idiot.”

Alison begins to cry. “I was aiming for the knife to pass you and stick in the tree. I didn’t mean to kill you. I wanted to scare you and make you rethink your stupid behaviour and drop the sissy nonsense. You’re one of the smartest people I know, if only you could lose the eccentricities then you would be the ideal partner for selective breeding. I knew I would get in trouble, although I didn’t expect this much. I was supposed to keep things low-key so as not to draw attention to my house. The last thing we needed was police snooping about with a hostage in the cellar.”

I wipe her tears away with my fingers. “If you would just learn to look beyond the hatred and fear of different lifestyles, and get to know people properly instead of judging them, then life would be a lot better. I simply had a birth defect, something that is not beyond the capability of being fixed. At least now I can be reincarnated as a proper girl instead of a defective one.”

I kiss her lightly on the cheek. I figure that the one thing that might overcome hate is love. I wasn’t sure but the selective breeding partner comment almost sounded like she had feelings for me. At first, I was angry with her, but the more I listen to her, the more my feelings turn to those of pity. In a way, she has done me a favour. By killing David, it gives me the opportunity of closure and a fresh start as Jennifer. I think she is genuinely upset by my death, although she seems to think it’s justified and I wonder how much is true regret and how much is resentment over being imprisoned.

“Who’s number two?” I ask.

“All militant members are only ever referred to by code. That way if anybody is caught we can’t identify one another under interrogation. The leader is one. Two is the go-between and second in command. I have never seen him, although my mother has on a number of occasions. He is an older man with a deep husky voice, that’s all I know,” she sobs.

“I have already said more than I should, if they find out they might abandon me, or worse, arrange for my martyrdom to the cause,” she adds.

“You don’t have any further information that could be useful?” I ask. “You do realise I could make your life in here very difficult if you lie to me. I can keep you from sleeping every night until you collapse from exhaustion. I could restrain you so that you can’t use that toilet over there, I don’t think the guards would be pleased with the mess that could cause.” I disappear and reappear sitting on top of her stomach.

“Get off me!” Alison shouts. She tries to slap me in the face, but I let her hand pass through my head. I laugh at her attempt before vanishing again and reappearing standing leaning against the wall at the end of the bed.

“I can keep this up all night, can you?” I ask. “Look, the police aren’t going to let you walk out of here. The first rule of dealing with hostage situations is that you don’t give in. It only encourages more hostages to be taken. What they will do is find a substitute to send in your place.”

I morph myself to look and sound exactly like Alison, “I could offer my services to do that, I know enough about you to pull off a passable impression.”

I sit back down on the edge of the bed beside her. “You are going to be spending a lot of time in cells like these, that is certain. What isn’t certain is how comfortable that cell will be. If you help bring down this web of evil hatred you are entangled in, then the D.A. will ask for leniency.”

Alison lies back and closes her eyes, before speaking, “I don’t know. I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t. If I help the police, then a hit will be put out on me by the cult. If I don’t, then I spend the rest of my life in misery in prison, possibly with you annoying me. I screwed up, yet they still care enough to want to break me out.”

I think about this for a moment. “You said that the cult runs selective breeding, are you one of the products of this?”

“Yes, third generation, it’s my duty to have as many children with as many suitable candidates as possible,” Alison replies.

“It sounds to me that the only reason they want to break you out is so that you can be a baby factory for their twisted ideals. After all, you have already proven yourself to be a liability.” I pause for a second before pushing the point home. “This cult of yours sounds very clinical and full of hate. It doesn’t sound like love, romance, and happiness feature in their priorities.”

Tears once again start streaming down Alison’s face as the thought that I could be right rips at her heart.

“Besides, what’s the harm in telling a dead person the truth?” I ask. “You said yourself that I don’t exist. It might help ease your conscience, if you have one.”

“54 West Wallaby Street,” Alison whispers, “I am not supposed to know that, and I don’t know for certain he would have been moved there, but it’s the only place I know he might be.”

Alison rolls over onto her side and faces the wall, sobbing into her pillow. I bend over her, kiss her lightly on the cheek, and say “Thank you.” I switch the lights back down to their dim setting and leave the jail.
 

---

 

*http://youtu.be/l1WpzrtQwI0 - I couldn’t find any decent Benny Hill chase scenes on YouTube, so this is the next best thing. The car chase from Blues Brothers set to Yakety Sax.

---

 
“Did you catch all that?” I ask, as I sit up from where I have been laying inside a large van parked outside the prison. The inside of the vehicle is lined with surveillance equipment. A live feed of the cell is on a screen, being watched by Robert Turner and Tom Millward. Another police officer, Lieutenant Scudder, is up front in the driver’s position.

I am wearing a burka, provided my Mr Turner to help protect my identity. It’s not the most glamorous of female attire, but it serves its purpose. I am covered from head to toe in black fabric. The only gap is a piece of black netting for my eyes.

While I have no problem with helping the authorities, I’m not keen on too many people knowing my identity. Not being able to see what I look like is a major benefit.

“Yes, the microphone is quite sensitive. Good job Alice,” Mr Turner tells me.

“I think she is telling me the truth about Donald,” I say, “I get the impression she has been brainwashed from birth with extreme racism. Alison is very intelligent, possibly Mensa level. I get the impression that she questions her beliefs, but they are so ingrained that she is struggling to fight them. I don’t believe she was aiming to miss. Her hatred overcame her rational thinking and she reacted stupidly.”

“I don’t know if you picked it up, but she was trembling when she gave that last piece of information,” I continue, “I think she genuinely fears for her safety, especially in prison. This cult sounds resourceful. Do you think it’s possible that she’s in danger?”

“It’s possible,” Mr Turner admits, “We have arrested several people from this organisation before. One was stabbed to death in state prison after giving evidence against one of their superiors. The threat is genuine. I have already arranged for Alison to be in solitary confinement for the duration. I have also arranged for all of her guards to be Afro-Caribbean in origin, just to be safe.”

“Let’s go for a drive near West Wallaby Street,” I suggest, “I can take a quick look inside and see if there is any sign of Donald.”

The two men agree and pass the instructions on to the driver. Once we park up in a lay-by close to the street, I take a wander with my remote vision. I locate number 54 and look inside. The house is very minimalist in decoration. It looks lived in, but only just. There is an adult male sitting watching late night television in the front of the house. It’s just past one in the morning.

There is nobody else on this floor. I try to look underneath the building, but there is no basement and all I can see under the floorboards is soil. I decide to look upstairs. I first look into the master bedroom and see a woman asleep in the bed.

There are two bedrooms and a bathroom on this floor. The bathroom is the next room I look into and it’s empty. I head towards the second bedroom. As I am about to enter through the door, I notice a bolt has been fitted to the outside, effectively turning the room into a prison cell. It’s currently bolted. A chill goes down my spine.

I enter the room. A young black girl is asleep on the bed. The room is warm and she is sleeping on top of the bed covers. The girl is in a short yellow baby-doll style lace-edged nightdress. She is face down and all I can see is a mass of curls on her head. Hanging from a closet door is a yellow summer dress. It’s very pretty, feminine, and suited for a large five-year-old.

Something about the picture in front of me doesn’t seem right. I look around the room. Apart from the bed, the only other furniture is a chair and an empty bucket in the corner. With the bolt on the door, I can guess why that is there. The walls are bare. There is a distinct lack of personal items. There isn’t a bedside table, lamp or clock in the room. There aren’t even any curtains on the window. There is a full moon and the light is shining in, illuminating the room in a soft glow.

The child is not sleeping with any soft toys, something I would have expected one apparently this young. There are no toys anywhere to be seen. I poke my head into the closet. There are two other dresses and a small pile of underwear. Not exactly, what you could call a complete wardrobe. There are barely enough clothes to last a week.

The youngster is black while the adults are white. It’s obviously not their kid, at least by birth. It’s possibly an adopted child, but somehow I don’t think that likely. This doesn’t strike me as a happy family scene. I decide to take a closer look at the sleeping girl.

As I get closer, the young girl rolls over onto her back. I am now starting to doubt my original opinion of the child’s gender. Seeing the individual’s face, there’s certainly a resemblance to Donald, but I can’t be sure. Donald has a crew cut in the photo, and this person has long curly hair. Looking closely at the top of the head, I think I can make out the canvas of a wig. If it is a wig, it is well glued on. This person looks like Donald’s younger sister. However, I know he is an only child from the details on the police file. Donald is ten, while this looks like a five or six year old.

I look at the sleeping child’s crotch to determine physical gender. The panty is padded, obscuring any bulges present. I know from my own experience that a tight pair of panties, and the correct positioning of the genitalia, especially at this age, can result in an almost flat appearance.

I decide to risk a closer look. I project myself fully into the room, but make myself almost invisible. I make only my hands solid and carefully lift up the nightdress. Making sure the child is still asleep I pull on the elastic of the panties and peek inside. This child is physically male. Removing the fabric also allows me to see something else previously hidden. A small scar is present at the top of his right leg. This matches the description of distinguishing marks in the file. I am now certain that this is Donald. I carefully put the boy’s clothes back into position and return to my body in the van.

“I found Donald. He is in the back bedroom of number 54,” I state. “There are two adults present, a male in the front room downstairs, watching telly, and a woman in the front bedroom. The rear bedroom is locked by a bolt on the outside. Donald has been disguised as a young girl. I didn’t recognise him at first. I suspect they think he is less likely to run away if he’s dressed as a five-year-old girl. There is a wig glued to his head.”

“You’re absolutely sure it’s him?” Tom Millward asks.

“Yes. I wasn’t sure if I was looking at a girl or boy, so I peeked inside his panties. Not only could I then see he was a boy, but I could also see the hernia scar mentioned in the file as a distinguishing mark,” I explain.

Tom nods then calls for backup on his radio, asking them to approach silently and meet up at our current location before raiding the property. I volunteer to unlock the doors from the inside to make entering easier. I can also help protect Donald should something go wrong.

The raid takes place at two in the morning. Both adults are now asleep, one in a chair downstairs, and the other in bed. I quietly unlock the doors and armed SWAT officers silently take positions pointing guns at the sleeping targets. One of the officers wakes Donald, and carries him out of the house. As soon as he is safely in a car, the officers wake and arrest the captors. Everything goes according to plan.

I finally make it to bed at three in the morning. I am going to be tired tomorrow; correction, later today; but it’s worth it.

My father wakes me up with a cup of coffee at half past eight. As soon as I see the clock, I start to panic, as I only have twenty minutes to be in school.

“Don’t worry,” my father reassures me, “after last night you deserve a rest, if needed you can call in sick. However, I did think of a quicker solution. Don’t bother getting dressed, just put on your dressing gown and get in the car. I can take you to Gloria’s and you can project yourself into school, it will be a lot quicker than getting ready. You can down some cereal bars on the way.”

I think about it and agree. I quickly go use the bathroom then grab my clothes and bag. Still dressed in my pyjamas and gown I get into the car and we drive over to Gloria’s house. I lay the clothes on a chair. I will change into them and go into school later. I make myself comfortable then project myself into the room. Grabbing my bag, my father gives me a lift to the school gates.

I arrive in my homeroom as the bell rings. I have just made it in time.

“Did I see you drive past in pyjamas a few minutes ago?” Susan asks, quietly. I thought I saw her on her bike.

I smile at her and nod. I then whisper back, “Gloria’s.” She chuckles to herself shaking her head. She doesn’t know about my visit to Alison yet, so isn’t aware of the reason for my tardiness.

Lessons proceed as normal for the first part of the day. At break time, I take Susan to one side and explain about Alison and Donald. Susan is shocked at the turn of events, and concerned for my safety. I point out that I am dead, and Alice doesn’t exist. Nobody will come after me.

History class turns out to be interesting for all the wrong reasons. We have to do a group assignment researching events related to the Second World War. The groups are picked out of a hat. Somehow I get the impression the hat is rigged. I end up with Stephanie, Freddy and Thomas. I’m not looking forward to working with two of my old enemies. I could of course be paranoid, they are after all David’s enemies, not Jenny’s.

Thomas is not an issue. In fact, I get on with him very well. We had always been on friendly terms when I was David. I used to sit next to him when getting changed for gym class, and on several occasions he has intervened when I was being taunted. Working with Stephanie and Freddie will be interesting.

The students have been split into five groups, and several of the groups go to the library to do research. Mrs Hargreaves is keeping a close eye on us, as we start to discuss how to tackle the task. I am not sure if it really is a set up, but she is certainly concerned given the history between my family and these students.

I leave it to Thomas to take the lead of the group and get the discussion going. I add in some thoughts on which reference books to check, assuming our library stocks them. In fact, I know they do, as I had been the one to catalogue them when they came in. I was given that job while excluded from gym class.

Stephanie is looking at me slightly worried. Freddy is being quiet, something unusual for him. He normally has a wisecrack or two. I guess they are slightly uneasy with me, given I am supposedly a cousin of David. I note that they have been avoiding both Susan and me since my apparent death.

There is a definite tension in the air during the discussions. Mrs Hargreaves’ attention is drawn away by another group of students. I decide to use the opportunity to clear the air between Stephanie, Freddy and myself.

“Look you two, there is no need to be so nervous, I’m not going to bite your heads off,” I state to Stephanie and Freddy. “I am fully aware of the history between you and my cousin. My adoption means that Daphne and I would have been living as sisters. She was concerned that her transgenderism could affect me, and we had an in-depth discussion before she died.”

I let them process that for a few seconds before continuing. “As far as I am concerned, all past problems are history and I am willing to start over with a clean slate.”

Tears start to roll down Stephanie’s face. She closes her eyes and hangs her head low, crying. I reach round and put my hand on her shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

“I was worried you might resent me for causing David’s death,” Stephanie sobs.

“You’re not responsible for David’s death, Alison is the one with blood on her hands,” I reply.

“It was my video footage that started all the problems. I knew what Alison was like. I shouldn’t have exposed him to that.” Stephanie is clearly upset and suffering from survivors’ guilt.

“It’s true that David was upset by the video,” I comment, “but it was inevitable that her secret would be exposed sooner or later. You simply speeded up the processes. She would have transitioned over summer break and attended next year as a girl, possibly at a different school if required. For the final few weeks, she was able to live fully as a girl, except for in school. It was the happiest I have ever seen her.”

Freddy adds, “Jennifer’s right, you’re not to blame, it was Alison that caused David’s death.” Turning to me he then explains, “Alison was the one who organised the attack on David. She tried to get me involved, but having already been on the receiving end of David’s wrath, I didn’t want any part of it. I am still being taunted about the video he made in revenge. I was also there when he exploded against Dwain. He might have looked weak, but he was a lot quicker than he appeared, and could be quite formidable when angered. Besides, it was an obvious trap. David was far too smart to put himself in such a position by accident.”

I chuckle and Freddy and Stephanie look at me puzzled. “It was a trap, and it seems you were the only one to realise. I guess David’s ‘Thicky’ nickname for you isn’t entirely accurate. David wanted an excuse for leaving school, but didn’t want to look like he gave in to the hate campaign trying to force him out. He hoped that provoking a confrontation would give him a valid reason to leave.”

“It backfired,” I say solemnly. “Nobody realised what Alison was capable of until too late. She is almost pure evil, raised from birth to be a bigoted hateful killing machine. Did you know there is a warrant out for Alison’s mother? She is wanted in connection with a kidnapping of a young black boy. They wanted to swap the boy for Alison. Luckily the boy has been found and rescued.”

The full details of the case aren’t in the public domain, however I am safe in revealing this as most of the information has already been in the news. There has been a warrant for Mrs Little since she disappeared after her daughter’s arrest. The kidnapping of Donald has been headline news for the last few days with public appeals on TV by the mother for the return of her son. The only bit of extra information I have told them is that the two cases are connected, and this will be on the news tonight anyway.

My murder had been headline news itself until knocked off the front page by the kidnapping of Donald. I was in hospital, so missed most of the news stories. A police car had been parked in our road for several days to keep news crews away. My death has been labelled as a hate crime due to me being transgendered. Donald’s kidnapping had diverted attention away from me temporarily, however once the connection was made known, I would have to be careful as interest in my death will be renewed.

I take the opportunity to find out some more information from Freddy. “What happened to Dwain Scott? I know he disappeared after his last confrontation with David. Has he recovered?”

“He’s been sent to a clinic in the next county,” Freddy replies, “He has been diagnosed with a mild form of bi-polar disorder, which is currently being treated.”

“I assumed he must have been depressed after David described the events on the roof,” I say, “but I didn’t realise he was suffering from manic depression.”

“Neither did anybody else,” Freddy elaborates, “however looking back it is easy to see his mood swings. His more crazy ideas, and most of the trouble caused, were during periods that could be described as manic. I often had to rein him in to stop him getting into serious trouble. I didn’t always succeed. I assume you heard how he charged into the girls’ changing room before I could stop him. Other days he would be very quiet and reflective.”

“He was on a high while rigging up the locker prank, but David suddenly fighting back shocked him out of it. Instead, he sunk into a low with anxiety over what might happen next. The video destroyed his confidence entirely and he sunk into a bigger low than I have witnessed before,” Freddy states. “I am in regular contact with him. He was shocked over David’s death. Once he has been stabilised he will return to school, although possibly not here, as he has too many enemies, not enough friends, and no respect following the video and David’s death.”

Having cleared the air with my two opponents and learning a lot about past events, we settle down to complete the assignment. While we will never be friends, we are at least on speaking terms without biting each other’s heads off. Stephanie is feeling guilty about her involvement, but I am confident my reassurances have helped her come to terms with the situation.

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Saturday morning usually consists of grocery shopping. Today is no exception. While at the supermarket, I pick up some flowers for my grave. I know that the coffin may only contain lead weights, but it symbolises the end of my old life, and the start of a new era.

I feel it’s important to keep up appearances and that it is only right and proper to pay visits to the churchyard. It also gives me time to reflect and spend some time alone. I have always liked disappearing for a while and simply enjoying the outdoors. I have spent many an afternoon down by the river, usually cross-dressed for stress relief.

This time I am keeping things simple. I’m wearing a black skirt, black nylons and sensible black shoes. Heels would not work very well walking over the grass near the grave. I have on a black blouse and my thin navy blue fleece. I am carrying the flowers cradled in my arms and have my fleece pockets full with a pair of garden scissors and a small bottle of water.

As I come round the corner of the church, I see someone kneeling at my grave. As I am approaching from behind, I can’t recognise them, so I take a brief look at their face with remote vision. My friend Tracy is knelt down on the ground at the foot of the grave, looking at the marker.

There is no gravestone yet. We can’t erect one for six months, as we have to let the ground settle before it can be placed. Until then there is a simple wooden cross with ‘D. Palmer’ carved into it. At the foot of the cross is a stone flower vase. The current flowers need replacing, hence the bunch I am presently holding.

There is a line of trees going through the churchyard, under which there are a number of benches. I sit down on a bench a few rows from where my former self is supposedly buried. Tracy is obviously here to pay her respects, so I keep my distance for a while, waiting for her to finish.

Tracy is clearly sobbing and seems unaware of my presence. She is whispering something, but I don’t try to listen in, even though she is effectively talking to me.

The sky is overcast and it soon begins to rain. Tracy seems not to notice that she is getting wet. I look over at her concerned. She’s shivering and not attempting to move to cover. I walk over and crouch beside her, keeping both of us dry with an umbrella that I have been carrying.

“Tracy, are you all right? You’re getting cold and wet. It’s more sheltered on the bench, would to care to join me?” I help her to her feet and we return to where I have been sitting. I move the flowers out of the way and we both sit down under the umbrella. The seat has yet to get wet, as it is being protected by a tree.

Tracy sits on the bench shivering. She is only wearing a lightweight cotton top so I take off my fleece and wrap it around her shoulders. She currently needs it more than me. I put my arm round her back and she lays her head on my shoulder. We sit for five minutes, huddled together under the umbrella.

Tracy is very upset, but I am not sure why. She didn’t seem this distressed when at my funeral, and I get the impression that something else is bothering her. I know she doesn’t get on with her family, and that her lactose intolerance has been playing up.

The shower eases off and stops. I pick up the flowers and make my way to the grave. I leave Tracy sitting on the bench for a minute, with my fleece. I take the flowers out of the wrapping and arrange them in the vase, cutting the stalks to length. Taking the small packet of cut plant feed provided in the packaging, I pour it in between the flowers and top the vase up with water from my bottle. I collect the rubbish, depositing it into a nearby bin before returning to sit next to Tracy.

“That’s much nicer. Yellow carnations were David’s favourite flowers,” I state, trying to make conversation. I then ask, “Are you feeling better? A good cry often helps clear the air. I know he wouldn’t have wanted to upset you if he could have avoided it. David didn’t have many friends, but I know he regarded you as one of his closest companions.”

I really only had three close friends as David. After Susan, I regard Tracy as my next most trusted friend. I also like Mary, but we were never as close. Neither Mary nor Tracy ever knew my secret identity, and in some respects, I regret never opening up to them. I could still reveal my secret if I choose to, and have already discussed the idea with Susan. I will do so without hesitation if it will help ease the grief. However, to do so now could risk greater hurt for the lie I have been persisting against them.

“Any friend of David’s is a friend of mine. I know you hardly know me, but I think we will get on fine. I have the same weird sense of humour as David, it runs in our family,” I smile at Tracy, trying to get her to lighten her mood. It fails, instead more tears fall down her cheeks.

“What’s the matter Tracy?” I ask again. “It helps to talk. David made that mistake by not coming out to his family earlier. The last few weeks were his happiest as he finally started living as the girl he dreamt of after all those years of hiding. You can trust me, I promise.”

I am getting seriously worried now. Tracy has a distant sad look upon her face. The only time I have seen that before was when Dwain was sitting on the roof of the school. He had a similar expression before I pulled him from the edge. I don’t like how Tracy is acting, she is not paying any attention to her well-being, still shivering with my fleece around her, oblivious to the changing weather conditions.

Finally, she starts to respond to my prompts. “Thank you, you have been most kind.” Tracy is speaking so softly I have to listen carefully to what she is saying. “I could use a good friend about now. However, I know that you will soon hate me, along with the rest of my former friends.”

She breaks down in tears again. I hug her and whisper in her ear, “Whatever you think you have done, don’t underestimate the power of friendship. Tell me what the problem is, I promise I won’t get angry with you.”

Tracy takes a deep breath before looking me in the eye. “I came here to beg forgiveness. I never meant to hurt David, but I don’t have any options left. I’m pregnant. I have named David as the father.”

I wasn’t expecting that as an answer. I thought that perhaps she was feeling guilty over some involvement in my death. This is a totally unexpected development and I’m not sure of what to make of it. I’m still a virgin. If she is pregnant, then it isn’t by my doing.

“In that case, what are you doing in a middle of a graveyard freezing your butt off? You have a baby to think about, so you need to make your own health top priority. Come on, I’m taking you home.”

“No!” Tracy shouts at me, “I can’t go back there.” There is a scared look on her face. Her sudden panic tells me a lot about what is going on. Someone is responsible for getting her pregnant and she has named me as the father. There are only two reasons I can think of for her lying. Either she is protecting somebody, or she’s scared of whoever is responsible, possibly both. I suspect that the latter is the case.

“Don’t panic, I was thinking of my house, not yours. Come, it’s only a short distance.” I know that Tracy has misinterpreted me, as she has never been to my residence. Tracy doesn’t have transport, and we live several miles away, so we normally meet up with our friends in town or at their houses. On the few occasions any of them have been round before, it’s always been to Susan’s home.

We slowly walk back to my house. On arrival, I bring her in through the front door. As we enter, I call out. “Hi Dad, we have company.” This is a precaution in case he says something inappropriate. He pokes his head out from the kitchen to look at us.

I still have my arm round Tracy and I can feel her tense up. “I need a favour. Tracy here is very upset. Can you give us some space while we talk?”

My father takes the hint. “I think Richard wants some help cleaning his garage, I will be back later. Would you like me to send Susan down here?”

I nod and he heads off down the road out of our way. I bring Tracy into the kitchen and put the kettle on for some hot chocolate. I get three cups out of the cupboard and put the chocolate powder in while I wait for the kettle to boil.

Turning to Tracy I tell her, “Don’t worry about Susan, let me explain what is going on. Everything will be all right.”

Susan enters through the back door, and joins Tracy at the table, asking, “What’s up?”

“I found Tracy crying at David’s grave,” I tell Susan. I place three cups of hot chocolate on the table, sit down next to Tracy, and put my arm round her again. “She has confided that she’s pregnant, and that David is the father. I always assumed David died a virgin, it seems I was wrong.”

Tracy won’t have noticed the significance of the last sentence. Susan on the other hand looks me in the eye, well aware that I have just accused Tracy of outright lying.

Susan asks, “Are you certain, and who else knows?”

“I went to the doctors yesterday after school, and he confirmed it. Then he called my parents and they contacted the police. I had to tell them who the father was, as it’s statutory rape of a minor.” Tracy starts to cry again while sipping her cocoa.

“David isn’t the father, is he?” I ask softly. “You were so scared that you had to name somebody and David is no longer around to be hurt by the accusation. I am going to take a guess here. I think you didn’t willingly have sex, and that somebody close to you, possibly one of your family, has raped you. You were panicked earlier when you thought I was taking you home.”

Tracy says nothing. Susan looks at us both, worried.

“You are safe now, you don’t have to worry, nobody can harm you,” Susan states, “I’m sure that you could live with either me or Jenny should the need arise. Now tell us who did this to you so we can nail the bastard.”

“It’s Damien, my brother,” Tracy finally confesses, “The bastard first raped me last month after getting drunk. He keeps threatening to blow my brains out in the middle of the night if I tell anybody. Since then he has forced me to do his bidding at least twice a week ever since. He was there staring at me last night. I had to lie or he would have killed me.”

Tracy breaks down completely, slumping forward onto the kitchen table sobbing.

“Nobody threatens my friends and gets away with it!” I state forcibly, banging my fist onto the table.

Susan looks at me alarmed, “Don’t do anything stupid, think this through. Last time you let your anger get out of control you nearly strangled Dwain and almost drove him to suicide. Your last fight almost killed you, you’re not indestructible.”

This catches Tracy’s attention. She looks up at us, puzzled.

“This time I make sure it’s the right person, and I’m not doing this alone. Tom and Robert owe me a favour,” I reply, “come with me, I have a plan.”

I lead Susan and Tracy through to the front room. Having sat them both down on one of the couches, I lie on the other and project into the room as Tracy. For effect, I start out occupying the same space as my physical body and rise up out of myself.

“You won’t be going home until Damien is safely in jail,” I state, much to Tracy’s surprise, “I can be the perfect doppelganger. If I take your place, Damien can do what he likes to this projection, and we are perfectly safe. My projections are as indestructible as I choose to make them.”

“Last time you got into a fight you ended up in a coma for a week!” Susan shouts at me.

“That had nothing to do with getting stabbed. It was because I had to maintain the projection of my body through a crime scene investigation and post-mortem. If I ended the projection as soon as the knife was in my neck, there wouldn’t have been a problem. This time I will have back up and it won’t matter if I suddenly disappear.”

“Wait, you’re saying David’s death was faked?” Tracy asks, “He’s still alive?”

“I’m David, it’s a long story,” I declare, morphing my projection into my old self, “Susan can fill you in while I go make some arrangements for kicking some butt on your behalf.” I head for the phone.

I soon locate Robert Turner. He is on the local golf course partnering Tom Millward. After explaining the situation, I persuade them to carry out my plan. They are equally appalled at Damien’s behaviour. Mr Turner asks me if I am sure I want to do this, as I could end up getting raped or attacked.

I have been speaking to Robert Turner. However, he cautions me that I will be giving away clues to my identity by involving Chief Millward.

At this point I trust Tom Millward enough that I am willing to risk him finding out who I am.

I project myself up the street to my uncle’s house to inform my father of the situation. He returns home bringing Aunt Janice with him. I head into town with my father and Tracy. He drives us to Mr Turner’s office, where he is waiting. I dress again in the burka before Chief Millward arrives in the same van as we used for the visit to Alison. Accompanying him are the police officers who interviewed Tracy last night. Tracy tells the officers the truth about her ordeal.

I position myself on the mattress in the van and project myself once again as Tracy. This time I am wired up with miniature cameras and microphones to record the events. The plan is for me to head home as Tracy and see if Damien does anything.

Tracy is going to be watching from the van so that she can give me any information I need. I am not wearing an earpiece, as they are difficult to hide. I am therefore relying on my remote hearing to listen to instructions from the van.

The van is parked a block away from Tracy’s house and I complete the journey on foot. I head in the front door using Tracy’s key. Damien is the only person home and is sat on the couch playing computer games on a console. I discreetly deposit a camera on the windowsill where it can get a good view of the room, while at the same time initially being out of his sight.

I sit in a chair to the side of where he is. “Where is Mom and Pops?” I ask.

Damien grins at me menacingly, “Out visiting Gran and Gramps. No doubt they will be so upset when they learn their granddaughter is a slut.”

“Not half as much as when they learn the truth about their grandson,” I calmly reply. Looking him directly in the eye, I smile at him sweetly. “I have a hospital appointment tomorrow so that a cell sample from the foetus can be taken to conduct a paternity test.”

Damien throws the games controller to the floor and comes towards me. Grabbing my arm, he pulls me to my feet. With his face only a few inches from my own, he snarls at me. “You think you can blackmail me, bitch? You do what I say.”

We are stood face to face, his fingers digging into my arm where he is still holding me. Damien shoves his other hand down the front of my jeans and starts to rub and probe me with his fingers.

“I end up in the slammer, and several of my friends will enjoy ramming themselves into that tight little pussy of yours. They won’t be as caring and tender as me, little sister.”

“Take your hand out of my panties you incestuous pervert,” I angrily reply, slapping him hard in the face, sending his head sideways and leaving a large red handprint on his cheek.

Damien throws me to ground. I land face down and he jumps on my back.

“I will get you for that, bitch!” he shouts as he pins me to the ground while attempting to rip my jeans off. Both my arms are pinned under my body. However, I soon rectify that by making my arms travel through my body until they are free. I grab his gonads with my hand and squeeze until he cries out in pain.

Damien rolls off me onto his back. I quickly jump to my feet and try to run for the door, but he kicks my feet out from under me. I land on the floor again as he reaches under the couch. I am getting up again when I hear the distinctive sound of a revolver being cocked.

“What’s the matter Sis? Did you forget about Big Bertha? I thought you liked her cold caress inside of you?” Damien laughs at me while pointing a large revolver in my direction.

The police have been making their way to my assistance and to arrest Damien, however I am now remotely hearing calls to hold back. Tom Millward instructs me to disarm him. I am immune to bullets, but his officers are not. I nod my head slightly to denote I have heard the message, while at the same time not alerting Damien that there is anything amiss.

“You fancy adding murder to the charges against you?” I ask. “You can’t possibly get away with killing me. Give up before you give yourself the death penalty Bro.”

“Rapists don’t last long in prison, especially ones who bang their own underage sisters. I don’t have anything to lose and I can be long gone before the police arrive,” he coldly states. “Now I think it’s time for you and me to take a drive. Co-operate and I will drop you out in the countryside. You will have a long walk, but you will live. Any more crap and I pull the trigger.”

Damien slowly gets to his feet while keeping me in his sights. I cautiously stand. We are a few feet apart, and in clear view of the camera that I planted earlier. There is now enough video evidence for several offences.

“Walk to the garage and get in the trunk of my car,” Damien instructs, waving the gun at me and indicating that I should head through the kitchen. I consider my options then walk slowly as directed. I will let him lock me in the trunk, and then I will be free to appear when and where I choose.

Arriving in the garage, I open and climb in the trunk. Damien watches from a distance. The garage is double width and his car is on the far side, while the other bay is empty. Once I am safely curled up, he comes over and slams the trunk shut, locking me inside. We are now out of sight of the surveillance equipment I left in the lounge and the second wire is now locked in the trunk of the car. I end my projection and keep watch remotely as he decocks the revolver.

Damien is carefully making his firearm safe, holding it out in front of him. As soon as the weapon can no longer discharge accidentally, I appear beside him, as Lieutenant Scudder, the driver of our van, holding a police baton. I rapidly bring the baton down onto his hands knocking the revolver to the floor and smashing his fingers in the process. The gun clatters to the ground, and in one fluid motion, I spin through 360 degrees and the baton connects with the centre of his back. As he is bending forward, his spine is exposed and there is a loud crack as the baton strikes bone.

I kick the revolver under the car out of reach, as Damien collapses to the floor in agony. Seeing that he is now disabled, possibly in more than one sense of the word, I open the garage and wave the other officers forward who enter and quickly handcuff Damien.

I advise them to call for an ambulance, and then head outside and round the side of the house, out of sight. I re-project myself into the trunk of the car as Tracy, then bang on the lid and shout to attract attention. I am released from captivity and led back to the van where Chief Millward is waiting for me.

An ambulance has been on standby nearby and is on the scene within minutes. We drive back to the police station while I explain in detail what has happened.

I fully admit my actions in attacking Damien. I point out that the injuries inflicted were not fatal and were aimed to disarm and render harmless. If I wanted to kill him then I could have appeared behind him with a knife and slit his throat. My reasoning for my methods was that if the police, or me pretending to be an officer, were to order him to put the revolver down at gunpoint, then he would have opted for a shoot out.

While not totally pleased with having a potentially crippled criminal on their hands, they reluctantly agree that my actions were justified given the circumstances. The official report of the arrest would indicate that Tracy went in to confront her brother while wearing a wire. This would be supported by the video evidence.

Lieutenant Scudder is reluctantly ordered to say that he was first on scene having sneaked through the house and disarmed Damien with his baton.

On arrival, Tracy is taken inside to an interview room. Mr and Mrs Spencer, Tracy’s parents, are already at the station when we arrive. They were stopped from entering the street as Damien was being carted away to hospital, and escorted to our location.

I remotely watch Tracy’s interview room as there is a tearful reunion of mother and daughter. The police then begin to interview Tracy a second time. I decide that I don’t want to know any more details and tune out.

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It is depressing how the actions of one individual can cause the destruction of a family. It is now half past ten on Saturday evening, six hours since Damien was arrested. In that time the Spencer family has self-destructed.

The mother refuses to believe that her son is responsible for getting her daughter pregnant, despite the evidence to the contrary. The father is taking the side of his daughter and has disowned the son. Last we saw them, Mr and Mrs Spencer were being escorted to two different cells to calm down after nearly coming to blows in the middle of the police station.

As soon as Damien’s prints were taken and run through the police computer system, unsolved crimes started spitting out of the machine at a high rate of knots. It looks as if Damien is a one-man mini crime-wave. Actually, that is not quite true. The friends he mentioned earlier seem to be his partners in crime, although the police are still working on their identities. Now that they have identified one member of the gang it is only a matter of time before the rest are found.

The Spencer household is currently a crime scene. Not only did Damien have an unregistered firearm, which has now been sent to ballistics for analysis, it also appears half his possessions might be stolen property.

This is why I am currently lying in bed curled up with Tracy. With her parents helping police with their enquiries, she needed somewhere to stay. After some discussion, it was decided that given the emotional turmoil, she needed to be with friends she could trust.

Susan’s bed can be turned from a single into a double by pulling out a trundle from underneath the main mattress. All three of us are sleeping together. Tracy is in the middle between Susan and me. I smile as I think of the irony that only a few weeks ago I was trying to explain having a strange girl in bed, and now I am sleeping with two of them. Not that either of them can be described as strange, and I have shared a bed with Susan on a number of occasions when younger.

This wasn’t how I envisioned my first sleepover as a girl, but then, whenever can anything to do with me be considered normal? We have spent most of the evening talking and comforting Tracy. She has been through a lot already, and unfortunately, it’s not going to be getting any easier.

Tomorrow morning she has an appointment at an abortion clinic. Tracy has always been anti-abortion in viewpoint, and I know her mother has similarly strong views on the subject. However, faced with the close inbreeding involved, and the associated high risks of genetic deficiencies and health problems, Tracy has made the decision to terminate the pregnancy. Her father has already signed the permission forms. Mr Turner made sure all the paperwork was in place for us.

I am the last to wake up on Sunday morning. Tracy was first up, suffering from symptoms of morning sickness. This first alerted her to the possibility of being pregnant. She has been covering it up by claiming her lactose intolerance has been causing the problem. Tracy had to climb over Susan to get out of bed and this caused Susan to wake up. I wake up half an hour later, after Tracy’s nausea has started to subside.

After some breakfast, Aunt Janice drives Tracy and me to the hospital. Tracy wants somebody she trusts with her while she goes into the clinic. She is not on the best of terms with her parents, especially her mother. It seems they always favoured Damien. At Tracy’s request, I am to accompany her, while projecting as her mother. I am more likely to be allowed to stay with her as a family member.

We arrive for the appointment on time at 11am. It’s one of the few clinics open on a weekend. It seems they specialise in teen pregnancies outside of normal school hours. After the various methods of abortion are explained, Tracy is given an examination to confirm how far into the pregnancy she has reached. This includes an ultrasound. Tracy is too upset to watch. I comfort her as much as I can.

After discussion and confirmation that Tracy wants to go ahead, she is given a dose of mifepristone and told to rest for a couple of hours while it starts to take effect. A second appointment is made for late afternoon on Tuesday, after school, for the second part of the procedure. Normally the procedure wouldn’t be started so late in the day, but it was thought preferable that Tracy not miss school, which could start rumours.

Sunday afternoon we call at Tracy’s home to pick up some of her possessions. At a minimum, she will need some changes of clothing and her schoolbooks. The house is still being searched by the police, however under supervision of a police sergeant we are allowed in to pick things up. Tracy freezes as she walks up to the building and runs back to the car. It seems most of the attacks occurred in this house and she can no longer face going back inside.

In the end, I go inside with the sergeant and pick up the necessary belongings. It looks like Tracy will be living with Susan for several days until arrangements that are more permanent can be made.

It is with much apprehension that the three of us return to school on Monday. I have been the target of nasty rumours and open hatred at school before, so I know what to expect. Tracy has witnessed what can take place, and is fearful about what may possibly happen if it is generally known that she is pregnant. Her brother has threatened to spread stories about her regarding sexual promiscuity.

Susan finds Mary as soon as she arrives and takes her to one side to whisper the situation in her ear. Shortly afterwards Mary comes and gives Tracy a hug. Having taken over most of David’s old schedule, I share a large proportion of my lessons with Tracy. David always used to sit next to Tracy, but as Jennifer, I have been using different seats. I am now taking back my place at her side in order to support her. She stood by me when I was outed, I fully intend to return the favour should the worst happen.

We get some strange glances as I stick closely to Tracy throughout the day, sitting in my old seats once again. When queried on the subject, Tracy states that she is having family problems and that I am helping her work through the issues. It seems that word has gotten round that Damien has been arrested, however nobody seems to know the reason. There are some wild ideas floating around the school, but luckily none of them are correct.

After school on Tuesday, I once again accompany Tracy to the clinic pretending to be her mother. We arrive at 4pm, and are the last appointment of the day. After being given prostaglandin, Tracy is shown to a side room where she has to wait for the medicine to take effect. Luckily, it acts reasonably quickly, and with the aid of some painkillers, the procedure is completed within four hours. We arrive home shortly after 9pm. The hospital psychiatrist has prescribed a sedative to help Tracy sleep and she opts to take an early night. She is still sleeping in Susan’s room, but this time the trundle is set up as a separate bed. I stay until she goes to bed before heading home.

Thursday afternoon the three of us are about to leave school when I get an uneasy feeling that we are being watched. As Tracy doesn’t have a bike we have been getting a lift from my father. He has been dropping us at school in the morning and picking us up in the evening from Gloria’s house, except for Tuesday when Aunt Janice collected us directly from school to take us to the clinic.

I scout round the neighbourhood with my remote vision and spot a group of youths watching us from down the street. I immediately notice that they all have the same tattoo, a thistle ring going round their left wrist. Damien has a similar tattoo. I assume that this is not a coincidence and lead the girls back into the school.

After talking to Mr Spencer about our concerns, we are allowed to stay in the school library while the police are called to drive through the neighbourhood.

“I don’t like this waiting around,” I state to Susan and Tracy, “The police may move them on this time, but they haven’t actually done anything so I am not sure what they can do.”

“Don’t even think about it!” Susan immediately gets on my case. “I know how that mind of yours works. You are not going to project yourself out there into an ambush.”

“Why not?” I ask. “I can’t get hurt. It will be just like at the bank except nobody will be watching this time, so I can unleash full-on ghost effects.”

“Go for it,” Tracy instructs me, “from your description they are friends of my brother. Those bastards have probably been instructed to rape me again. My brother was always threatening to get his mates involved. Go out there as me and see if they react.” The outright hatred in Tracy’s voice is hard to ignore.

“OK, but the first sign your body is in pain or reacting badly I’m slapping you out of it,” Susan warns me.

I lie back in my seat and project myself into an empty corridor of the school. Sneaking out the front gates, I start to head directly past where the gang is still located. I note that they are standing out of sight of the CCTV system.

As suspected, as I pass the alleyway that they have been loitering in, they grab me and pull me into a disused building site, out of sight of the road. I don’t resist or struggle as they drag me by the arm with a hand over my mouth.

“Hello, Tracy, your brother says ‘hi’,” one of the boys tells at me, pulling a knife and holding it to my throat, “Any screaming and I cut out your vocal cords.”

I am wrestled to the ground and pinned down. Two men take an arm each, another two each take one of my legs. I am spread out with my arms stretched to the side and my legs held apart. The fifth and final youth lifts my skirt and pulls down my panties.

“I’m not Tracy, I’m Alice,” I state calmly, “Alice the Avenger.”

I morph my features and cloths to look like a younger version of Wonder Woman before vanishing in a puff of smoke. Predictably, this startles and confuses the five young men attempting to rape me. I cackle, projecting nothing but my voice into the area.

“Let’s get out of here,” one of them shouts and they all start running to the hole in the fence through which we entered. I project myself in front of them blocking their exit.

“Hello boys,” I say grinning at them menacingly as they screech to a halt in front of me.

The one with the knife steps forward and lashes out with the blade. I let it pass straight through my head. I laugh at him, and then punch him in the face as hard as I can. He staggers, and falls over backwards, as blood streams from a broken nose.

I have already decided how I want to handle this. I refuse to kill anybody. I won’t inflict anything that I consider could potentially be a fatal wound. Anything else is fair game. As far as I am concerned, these scumbags deserve whatever they get. They crossed the line by trying to rape me, and now the gloves are off.

Another one tries to karate kick me in the stomach. I let him pass through me before turning and kicking him in the back. This sends him head first into the wooden fence behind me, knocking him out.

A third assailant picks up a lump of wood and starts swinging it back and forth, while running in my direction. The wood passes through my body as an identical lump of wood appears in my hand. I swing it, smashing it into his upper right arm. The force snaps his humerus and leaves it bent at a funny angle. He falls to the ground, dropping his weapon, and he clutches his broken limb.

The other two start running in opposite directions away from my current location. The one to my right starts to climb the wooden fence bordering the alley. Before he can get over it, I run horizontally along the fence, defying gravity. As he reaches the top, I kick him in the shoulder, dislocating it. He falls to the ground in pain.

The other is attempting a similar manoeuvre on a fence the opposite side of the building plot. I disappear, reappearing instantly behind him, and pull him back into the compound. Tossing him to the ground, he lands in a heap on the hard rough earth, his ankle twisting under his weight.

I once again reappear in the gap in the fence as the others try to slip through while I am busy with the fence climbers.

“Going somewhere?” I ask.

They back away nervously as a red-hot branding iron in an @ shape appears in my hands.

Sirens can be heard as police cars scream to a halt in the nearby street.

“I suggest you surrender to the police and confess past crimes, unless you want me to hunt you down,” I state before fading out just as police officers reach the hole in the fence, guns drawn.

Returning to my body, I wake from my trance to see Susan and Tracy staring at me.

“What did you do?” Susan asks, concerned, “you have had an evil grin on your face for the last five minutes.”

“They will no longer pose us a threat,” I reply. Susan looks at me crossly. I sigh and count on my fingers as I list the injuries, “Knocked out, twisted ankle, smashed arm, dislocated shoulder, broken nose. All now in the custody of the police, hopefully so scared they will confess anything through fear of me coming back.”

“You’re letting your abilities go to your head. Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely. You nearly drove Dwain to suicide. Damien is going to be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, and god knows how much damage you’ve inflicted on those people out there. I was watching your face. You enjoyed it!” Susan yells at me, slapping me on the cheek before storming off.

“They were trying to rape me!” I yell after her.

I sigh and ask Tracy, “Do you think I went too far?”

She considers the question before answering, “I am not the best person to ask. If I could have gotten hold of Big Bertha, I would have blown my brother’s head off. He always kept the revolver hidden from me. The only times I saw it, I wasn’t in a position to try to wrestle it off him without risk of being shot. Given your power, I’m not sure I would be as restrained. Does it matter if you enjoy it, as long as you know when to stop?”

I ponder Tracy’s words for a minute before standing and saying, “Come on, it’s safe to leave now. Susan will calm down.”

We leave the school and slowly walk to Gloria’s house. I have kept my remote eye on Susan to make sure she doesn’t get into trouble. She’s sat on Gloria’s doorstep when we get there, a few minutes after her own arrival. She looks up at me.

“Yes, I did enjoy myself earlier,” I state, “I recognise that fact. Am I happy that Damien can no longer pose a threat to young girls? Yes. Am I happy that five fewer criminals are now on the streets? Yes. Am I happy that I was able to save the life of a child by effectively torturing Alison? Yes. Did I kill Damien when I had the opportunity? No. Did I attack those five men without provocation? No, I waited for them to drag me into the alley and rip my panties off before I acted. Did I try to kill those five? No, I only injured them. Have I taken any hostile action in revenge against Stephanie, Cherry, Britney, Terry, Mike, or Ben? No. In fact, only last week I was working with Stephanie and Freddy in a civilised fashion, actually helping Stephanie deal with her guilt over David’s death. Going after Dwain the way I did was a mistake. I let my emotions control me instead of thinking it through. I don’t intend to make that mistake twice. I am not about to make the ghost of David go on an undead rampage of killosity.”

I help Susan to her feet and unlock the door to the house.

“I’m sorry,” Susan says softly, “I overreacted. I’m just worried about you.”

I wrap her in a hug, “If I ever look like I am crossing the line, let me know.”

“I will,” she replies, and then adds, “and if you quote Skin Horse at me again I’m going to hit you.”

As soon as I am settled inside Gloria’s I start to compose an email to Tom Millward and Robert Turner, explaining exactly what has happened. I don’t want them accusing me of vigilantism by going round beating people up without justification. I need to make them aware that I was acting in self-defence, as I’m not convinced that the five youths will actually admit to what caused them to end up in hospital. If they had let me walk past, then I would have ignored them and not taken any action.

Shortly after sending the email, I get a phone call from Mr Turner.

“Your last escapade has caused quite a commotion,” Mr Turner states. “I have just gotten off the phone with Tom. We were already discussing the arrests when your email came through. We guessed you might have been behind it when one of the injured begged us for protection from Alice the Avenger.”

“Did they actually confess all, as I asked?” I enquired.

“Two of them have broken down and confessed all, the rest are taking the fifth. The police arrested all five for breach of the peace and disorderly conduct. While not serious crimes, it did allow them to collect and process their fingerprints through the system. Like Damien, their fingerprints and DNA have been linked to numerous crime scenes in the last few months. Well done, you have probably made a serious dent in the crime figures for the town,” Mr Turner compliments me.

He pauses before continuing, “We found out some useful information from the two who talked. Seems they have links to our favourite supremacist cult. The cult has been hiring these thugs to intimidate individuals they regard as inferior. Combining this information with the data already collected from Alison, and a few other sources, we now have a good idea regarding the identity of Number Two. I think we may have an opportunity to shut this cult down once and for all. Would you be interested in helping out if the need arises?”

“As long as it’s outside of school hours, and my father approves, I’m willing to lend a hand,” I reply. I have a unique talent, and it seems a waste not to put it to good use. I quite enjoy assisting the police every now and then.

After a short discussion it is agreed Mr Turner will get back to me later if he or Tom Millward need my abilities.

---

 
Friday evening Robert Turner pays my father and me a visit. My assistance has been requested in bringing the cult down. All the intelligence collected points to a meeting of senior figures. The person suspected of being Number Two is being tailed by plain-clothes detectives. However, he is exceedingly cautious and difficult to follow.

Attempts to try to listen in on conversations or use bugs have so far failed. The suspect regularly sweeps for electronic devices in his home, office and cars. He is also employing electronic countermeasures to prevent anybody from listening in. Even his phone calls are encrypted.

Given the lengths to which he is going, my talents may be the only thing that can penetrate what is happening.

After discussion of exactly what I am and am not prepared to do, we come to an agreement as to what will happen. I have agreed to act as a spy. However, nothing I hear or see can necessarily be used in evidence. Anything I find out will be treated as an anonymous tip off that the police can then act on to gather further, more solid evidence by means of search warrants. I won’t project myself into the situation unless there is an absolute need. I don’t mind using violence, but I want to aviod causing serious injury. I certainly do not want to be responsible for killing anybody.

I have seen death close up already at the bank heist. That time a police sniper did the deed. Although I did help in bringing the situation about, I was not actually the one to pull the trigger, and despite only being a subtle difference, it’s enough for me to be able to cope.

After an early night, I get up at seven in the morning to get ready for the day ahead. With Susan and Aunt Janice’s help, I am taking some additional precautions this morning. Although I intend to wear the burka again to hide my appearance, it may be necessary to remove it. It isn’t the most comfortable of garments and can be quite warm. I have therefore decided to change my look in case I need to remove it at any point.

“Mr Turner’s idea to dress you up in a burka was a good one,” my aunt states, “but we can make you look quite different with the help of some temporary hair dye and makeup.”

I have never really been into the girly activities of constant beauty treatments. Simple hairstyles and a little makeup is more my style.

“Now you will really know what it feels like for a girl,” Susan adds, picking up her large makeup case, grinning, “When I was little, this used to be my playground.”

I groan, look skywards and mutter, “Oh, father, rescue me!” I like being a girl, but I am still a tomboy compared to Susan when she gets started. “Hey, you need to keep in mind that I need to look average, not like some Hollywood material girl off the cover of Vogue.”

“I’ll remember,” Susan replies as she starts on her beauty routine.

My aunt has provided us with a temporary hair dye from the local drugstore, as well as some coloured contact lenses. It takes a while, but I soon have my red hair and eyebrows tinted almost black. I am using a long-lasting foundation to cover my freckles. My true blue eyes are now green and I add subtle makeup to them to make them look a different size to normal. The effect makes me look older, more like eighteen than fourteen.

I am wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved black blouse. I have a black bra and camisole. I decide for practicality and put on my hiking boots in case I need to leave the van and hike after the target. I don’t know what ground I may need to go over so these are the most sensible option. Having changed my appearance so that I am not easily recognised, I put the black burka on over the top so that the only parts of me visible are my hands and eyes. My eyebrows are a different colour from usual, not that they can be seen very well through the fine mesh veil in the eye slit.

Tom Millward may have an idea who I am, but we have deliberately kept my identity secret, with his agreement, for my own protection. The rest of the police force doesn’t know anything about me, and I intend to keep it that way.

My father drives me to Mr Turner’s office. The CD playing in the car’s stereo changes from ‘Like a virgin’ to ‘Die another day’. I am getting into the groove when my father reaches over and turns the music down.

“What you are doing is very honourable,” my father states, “but don’t let them take advantage of you, or let them put you in danger.”

“Papa, don’t preach,” I reply, giggling. He casts me a funny look as I point to the Madonna CD case sitting between us. “I have no intention of placing myself in the spotlight. I am well aware of the danger in using my powers, but I can’t stand by and let these people get away with their evil when I have a chance to make a difference.”

“Sorry,” he replies, the look of love in his eyes, “I am just worried about you my Angel.” We pull up at Robert’s office and I get out. “Bye Bye Baby,” my father calls as he drives off. Mr Turner is waiting for me inside.

Chief Millward picks Robert Turner and me up shortly after half past nine. We are using the surveillance van from before. Lieutenant Scudder is once more our driver.

We drive out of town and park in a lay-by on the edge of the highway. Our target for observation is a small log cabin about three quarters of a mile from our current location. This is within range for my remote vision. It’s slightly past the limit of my projection ability, but hopefully that won’t be needed anyway.

I will be using the trick I discovered back in Chief Millward’s office. I project myself into the van, once again as Alice in Wonderland. I am reproducing an exact likeness of Mia Wasikowska from the latest film adaptation. On my lap, I am holding a small flat screen TV. This is part of my projection, and it is showing what I can see remotely.

A video camera has been set up pointing at me to record what happens. Although it could never be used in a court of law, it might prove useful. While not easy to accomplish it is better than trying to do a running commentary of what is going on. I could easily miss details that the others can pick up with their own eyes and ears.

The log cabin is in the woodland in the surrounding area. The one noticeable feature about New England countryside is the amount of trees we have. The cabin appears to be unused most of the time. It is situated on a bend in a river. The meandering of the water makes it almost on an island. The cabin can only be approached from one direction, making it easy to guard. It seems to be referred to by cult members by the codename ‘La Isla Bonita’.

There is a single SUV parked in the clearing. It belongs to our prime suspect, Jonathon Walker. Mr Walker is a local businessperson, running a small manufacturing company constructing wooden garden furniture. There is nobody else present yet.

He is noted for refusing to employ any coloured workers. He has recently been sued for discrimination. The case against him failed, as he was able to demonstrate other reasons for not employing the person in question.

After a wait of four minutes, a second vehicle turns up. I recognise the two people who get out. Mrs Little, Alison’s mother, codename thirteen is one person. The other is a young male I recognise as Jessie Little. He graduated from school last year having been a member of our football team. I believe he is a cousin to Alison.

Mr Walker gets a metal detector out of his vehicle and waves it over the two newcomers before handing it to Jessie. Mr Walker then takes out a Revolver and hands it to him. All three of them don Ceremonial robes. These are in the style of the Ku Klux Klan with pointed hoods with holes cut in for the eyes. The only difference is the colour, instead of white these are blood red. Hung round their necks are chains with numbered metal plaques. Walker has the number two, Mrs Little has thirteen, and Jessie 45.

Jessie stands guard at the door while the other two enter. I follow them inside, however they are sitting in silence.

During the next twenty minutes, more vehicles arrive with members. Each of them is already wearing a hood covering their face. They are all checked with the detector, presumably so no listening devices can be sneaked in. All arrivals give Jessie a codeword, which he checks against a list to verify each person’s identity.

The vehicles seem to turn up at almost exactly two-minute intervals. This does not appear to be accidental.

Soon there is a crowd present in the log cabin, sitting round on beanbags in a semi-circle around Walker. Everybody remains silent while waiting for the last people to arrive.

The last to arrive is Number One. When he enters the room, everyone rises from their seats to take a bow before returning to where they are sitting. In total eighteen people, numbered from one to twenty, excluding sixteen and seventeen, are present in the cabin. Jessie remains on guard outside whistling the tune ‘Don’t cry for me Argentina’.

The leader opens this get together by reciting a rather disturbing incantation that could be described as something like a prayer - asking god to smite all those inferior in his eyes and do not conform to their ideal design for American life. I can’t see his face, but from the look of the skin on his hand, he appears to be quite old. He is talking with a slight German accent and I wonder if he has some connection to the Hitler youth. He might be old enough to have been a member of that organisation.

It would appear from the opening speech that these meetings only happen once every two months.

They then get down to business. The first thing on the agenda is the capture of sixteen and seventeen. From the conversation, it is obvious they are talking about the couple arrested when Donald was rescued. It seems that they are concerned about a possible security breach. Mrs Little is questioned as to if Alison could have been responsible. Mrs Little denies that this is likely as Alison doesn’t have enough information to be able to identify anybody else, and she wouldn’t dare repeat anything anyway.

Alison is congratulated on removing an undesirable, me, from the population, a point for celebration, but is heavily criticised for the method and being caught. She is considered a security risk and an order goes out for her to be permanently silenced. Mrs Little begs for her to be given one more chance, and instead she will receive a reminder of her duty to keep quiet, or she may not live to tell the authorities any information.

Twelve volunteers to take care of this. He has the same tattoo round his wrist as Damien Spencer and friends. He points out that several members of his gang have been arrested, and could end up in the same institution as Alison. If this happens then they will arrange for Alison to be attacked. It is suggested this could be an opportunity to further the breeding program, whether Alison agrees to any hanky panky or not.

Mrs Little objects, but is reminded that because of her daughter and her involvement in the kidnapping, she herself is wanted by the police and is in a dangerous position.

“You express yourself well, and are only here due to your past successes. You need to open your heart to the truth. You have been compromised. It would be crazy for you to remain here,” Number One explains, “Dear Jessie will be taking you on a permanent holiday across the borderline into Canada. There you can be hidden until such a time as the heat has disappeared. I am not a gambler. I cannot risk you staying here.”

The more senior figures don’t seem pleased but drop the subject. There is then some discussion as to who might replace the two missing numbers. Various other higher numbers are mentioned. No names are spoken, but the conversation does include clues to their identities.

Twenty-six will become the new seventeen. This person is referred to using female pronouns and it is mentioned that she owns a boat, the Lucky Star, which may come in useful for future operations.

Her brother, number thirty-one, will be promoted to eighteen. He works for Walker as one of the furniture makers. Eight recommends him highly as he has just made her pregnant as part of the breeding program. It would appear that eight’s husband is unaware that his wife is pregnant by another man.

Various plans for furthering their cause are discussed. Another two schemes for kidnapping are considered and rejected before a third is finally approved. The target is a young black girl living in a trailer park on the south side of town. The daughter of number nine regularly babysits the girl and can take care of the collection. The plan intended for Donald will then be executed. The child will be dismembered on video and the clip sent round to the local news media and displayed on the internet.

Now we know the next target and the time of the attack, so I can be there in the girl’s place. Instead of being read a bedtime story, I will be abducted. Once I have been snatched, I will signal the police to come and arrest whoever has me in their possession. I intend to wait until the last moment to be rescued, meaning that the maximum number of arrests can be made for kidnapping.

A bombing is planned for the gay pride march to happen next month in a town in the neighbouring state. Nineteen already has the explosives prepared. He will execute the plan, hiding the bomb and detonating it remotely using a mobile telephone.

Although exact details are not discussed, there is sufficient information for the police to be able to foil the plans. On several occasions it is mentioned that number two will finalise exact points where needed so that the full group aren’t aware of enough information should any of them be caught.

The whole organisation seems paranoid about security. It is no wonder that they have been so successful so far. However, that is all about to end. Our little operation will soon rain on their parade.

The meeting finishes mid-morning. Each person or group of people where sharing vehicles, leave at two-minute intervals. I follow them as they progress down the dirt track to the road. As each vehicle approaches the end of the private track, the hoods and robes are taken off to reveal the faces beneath. By the time they have all left we have photographs of all the participants and half of them have already been identified.

The number plates have already been run through the police computer system. Several are hire cars, and some are using fake number plates. Chief Millward has requested a few highway patrol officers to be positioned on routes back into town. The cars using fake plates will be stopped and the occupants arrested. This will allow search warrants to be issued and further evidence collected. It will be pure coincidence that they just happen to be coming back from the meeting when they are stopped. We don’t want to take them down too quickly and spook the others into going to ground.

One of the people, identified as number four, is a court clerk. The police have suspected a leak for some time and this person’s presence explains why some police raids have failed to find evidence. He must have been tipping off those who have warrants issued against them by the court.

It’s been tiring, but the outcome of the morning has been very successful. Four people are about to be arrested for driving around in vehicles with fake number plates. Plans are already being drawn up to stop the kidnapping, and the bomber will be monitored and arrested once the police have located where he is hiding the explosives.

Lieutenant Scudder pulls the van out of the lay-by and we head back towards the town. As we near the outskirts, Chief Millward receives a call on his phone.

“Lieutenant Scudder, get the blue light out, there is a terrorist attack happening near the waterworks,” he instructs our driver after the phone is hung up. “Homeland Security has tracked a group of terrorists to a warehouse nearby and a fire fight has broken out. They are calling for backup from local police to isolate the area while they deal with the threat. Get us there as fast as you can. Alice, your talents may come in handy for finding out what’s going on.”

Lieutenant Scudder pulls a light out of the glove box, reaches out the window, and sticks it to the roof. A siren is switched on and we accelerate towards the town.

We are only a few miles away so our target will soon be in range of my remote vision.

I concentrate and focus on our destination. I soon locate it by the number of police and military officers running around. They are surrounding a warehouse next to the waterworks. I look inside the building and can soon see what is causing a commotion.

A teenage girl is lying on the ground in the middle of the floor. The beautiful stranger is surrounded by fire. Her clothes are scorched, but she seems unaffected by the flames that are burning up the surrounding crates.

A teenage boy in a military uniform walks up to her and stretches out his arm. As he raises his hand, the girl floats off the ground. As she levitates upwards, I can’t see any visible means of support.

He is joined by a second teenager, a girl, her uniform showing the rank of warrant officer. The sound of gunfire causes them to jump. A mercenary opens fire on them. The boy holds his hands up and the bullets travelling towards them stop in mid air. The girl shoots lightning from her fingertips, electrocuting their attacker. A second mercenary attacks them, and is again dispatched with a ray of light.

Two more teenagers in uniform rush to assist their comrades. Suddenly they all fall to their knees, clutching their heads in pain. The levitating girl gently returns to the ground. The boy waves his arm sending his friends sliding across the floor. Two more mercenaries run up and start dragging the now barely conscious boy and scorched girl in the opposite direction. I follow them back to the other end of the warehouse. A woman and teenage girl are standing at an exit, holding hands.

The woman is in her late forties, and wearing a business suit. The girl she is holding hands with is in her late teens and has bright blue hair.

I am looking down on the scene from about nine feet in the air. As they turn to leave, the blue haired girl stops, letting go of the woman’s hand. She then looks directly into my eyes and grins.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Alice,” the sound of her voice thunders through my head, but she doesn’t actually speak, “Bad girl! You’ll see me later, Goodbye!”

The power of ‘Goodbye’ kicks my vision backwards away from the scene. The encounter leaves me dizzy and I am no longer able to see the warehouse.

After a short distance, we pull into the car park of a diner on the edge of the main road.

“Lieutenant Scudder, why are we stopping here?” Chief Millward calls out to the driver.

“The steering feels weird. I am just going to check to see if we have a slow puncture,” he replies as he gets out of the van.

Two round objects bounce into the back of the vehicle. There is a blinding flash and an ear-splitting bang as the first object explodes. I’m disorientated and can’t see or hear. Instead, I try using remote vision.

I can see the second device thrown at us. It appears to be hissing, releasing gas. I try to focus on it to throw it out of the van, but my limbs are becoming heavy and I can’t reach it. I begin to cough wildly. I try projecting myself next to it, but it is too late and I start to pass out. Unable to keep it together, I can feel myself falling deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

---

 
The pounding in my head is receding and I slowly regain consciousness. I open my eyes and look around. I am sitting in the middle of a tent, chained to a chair. My burka has been removed.

Opposite me is a TV and video camera. Lieutenant Scudder’s face is on the screen looking at me.

“Nice to see you’re awake,” he says, “Before you try anything, I would like to point out that you are currently connected to a car battery. Any tricks and I zap you.”

I look over to my right. There is a bank of twelve car batteries hooked up to a black box. Wires are running from the box to the TV and video camera. Another set of wires are running from the box and are wrapped around my wrist. I feel a sudden jolt of electricity flow through me and I scream in pain.

“That was only a low voltage setting, it can go much higher if needed,” Scudder laughs from the TV. “I’ve been listening in. I know your effective range. We are in the middle of nowhere and I am far enough away that you can’t touch me. I also have this button,” He waves a control pad in the air, “that I can zap you with if you try anything. Now sit tight until my buyer arrives.”

The image on the TV screen disappears. I assume that the camera is still operational. I decide to err on the side of caution and not to project myself just yet. I sit staring at the camera while I check out the surrounding area with my remote vision.

First, I closely examine the chair and myself. I am tightly chained to the high-backed wooded chair. My hands are restrained in handcuffs, which are in turn chained to leg irons. The cuffs and irons are tight against my skin, and there is no chance of being able to slip out of them. There is a heavy chain looped around my waist and through holes in the chair’s frame. It’s also looped through a large metal ring attached to a stake emerging from the ground. The arrangement is held together with several sturdy-looking padlocks.

I could probably free myself if I projected with a pair of bolt cutters. However, I still have the problem of the electrics. I will need to take those out first. I could chop the wires with insulated cutters so that I can’t be shocked. There doesn’t appear to be any backup mechanisms in place.

Although my burka has been removed, I am still in disguise. The hair dye, contact lenses, and make-up are still intact. I don’t currently look like my normal self.

Next question, where am I? I look outside the tent. I am on the edge of a large rectangular clearing amongst tall trees. The ground is hard and compacted. There are windsocks fluttering in the breeze a short distance from my location. It appears that I am beside a makeshift runway. I take my vision upwards into the sky to survey the surrounding area. There is no civilisation as far as I can see. Dense woodland covers the area I can make out.

There is a track leading up to my location. I follow it and it emerges onto a road. The road appears to be a main one, however it must be getting on for a mile and a half as I can see it, but I am losing the ability to hear as well. There is a small shack where the track meets the road. A car is parked outside. Looking inside, I can see Lieutenant Scudder sat watching me on TV, while lying back on a sofa. He keeps glancing at his watch impatiently.

He said he was waiting for a buyer to turn up, so I guess I’m for sale. He has gone to a lot of trouble to make sure that I’m incapacitated. There is no way I can project far enough to reach him.

I continue to explore the surrounding area, but there are no other signs of life in the vicinity. Every now and then people drive past on the road, but I am too far away to be able to make myself known to them via projection.

After about ten minutes, a large black SUV pulls up at the shack. I watch remotely with interest as a tall woman in her late forties climbs out of the driver’s seat and enters the cabin carrying a large briefcase. It is the same woman I saw at the warehouse abducting the two teenagers.

I examine the vehicle. The two hostages are inside. The boy is handcuffed on the back seat, next to the blue-haired girl. The other girl, the one who had been on fire, is wrapped in a blanket in the trunk. In the front passenger seat is one of the two goons from earlier.

I turn my attention to the inside of the cabin.

“Where is the girl?” the woman asks Lieutenant Scudder. I am using all my concentration to be able to hear at the limit of my range.

Pointing to the TV Scudder replies, “She’s tied up next to the runway. Be careful as you approach, she can project herself half a mile. She’s a ruthless bitch, wouldn’t surprise me if she suddenly tries to appear behind you and cut your throat.”

“Don’t worry, I have a countermeasure in the car, she will be rendered harmless long before we get to her,” the woman smiles as she answers.

“Where’s my money?” Scudder asks.

The woman throws the case on the floor in front of him, “Here,” she says. The lieutenant bends down and opens the case, but finds it empty. As he looks up at the woman, she shoots him between the eyes. “Sorry, change of plan,” she coldly states.

She returns to the car and starts to drive in my direction. I decide it’s time to escape. I quickly project myself into the tent and cut the wires leading to my wrists. I then chop the chains using projected bolt cutters.

Having freed myself I exit the tent and run towards the tree line, however as I do so my head begins to pound and I fall to the ground incapacitated by a migraine. I try to get up and crawl away, but the pain becomes more intense. It feels like every pain receptor in my body is firing simultaneously. I am overcome with intense feelings of terror, and I can hear an evil laugh reverberate through my head as a series of horrific images pass through my mind.

The black SUV pulls up alongside me and the woman gets out.

“Nice try, Alice, however my pet dominator won’t let you escape. If you refuse to co-operate I will be forced to make Lucy hurt you,” she states and points to the teenage girl with blue hair, who is getting out of the vehicle. I try to project myself behind the woman with a knife, as Scudder suggested earlier, however I am unable to do so.

“You can forget about your talents as well, they are being suppressed,” Lucy’s voice once again sounds in my head.

The pain gets more intense and I feel myself blacking out.

“Oh no you don’t, I’m not letting you pass out,” Lucy states. I open my eyes to find myself in a cave. A chandelier with candles is providing the illumination. Lava bubbles in pools on the floor, the space filled with intense heat and a strange red glow.

“Where am I?” I ask. I am lying on my back chained to a wooden bench in the middle of the room, naked.

Lucy is standing over me with a red-hot poker in her hand. She stabs me in the thigh and I scream in pain.

“Welcome to my torture chamber. I have pulled your mind into mine. This little corner of my imagination is where I conduct my interrogations. In here, I can conjure up any nightmare of my choosing. What you see and hear may be a dream, but the pain is real,” she states as she twists the burning hot poker in my leg.

Red ants surround me and start to crawl over my body. I can feel them biting me and burrowing under my skin. I start to hyperventilate and I close my eyes as the ants reach my face.

All of a sudden the pain and heat stops. I feel a cool breeze on my cheek, and I open my eyes to find myself back in the forest. I still have a pounding headache, but it has now receded to a manageable level. Lucy is standing ten feet away grinning at me.

I hear the drone of engines and look down the landing strip as an aircraft touches down and taxis to our position.

“Excellent timing,” the woman states, before signalling the rest of the occupants of the vehicle to join us.

The captured teenage boy, bound in handcuffs, is let out of the car by Lucy. The large man in combat gear emerges from the other side and goes to the rear of the vehicle. Opening the trunk, he lifts out the unconscious scorched girl and carries her to the plane, and we all follow.

The plane is a small business model with a high wing and two turboprop engines, one on each side. The engines have been powered down and the propellers are stationary. We climb the steps and enter the aircraft on the front left side, just behind the cockpit. Inside, down the left of the plane are six seats, one behind the other. There is a gangway down the middle. On the other side is a box, slightly larger than a coffin.

Lucy heads to the back of the plane and takes the rear seat. The boy takes a seat, leaving a place between himself and Lucy. I sit directly in front of him. The man places the unconscious girl in the box and closes the lid, before taking the front seat.

“What are you doing? Won’t she suffocate in there?” I ask alarmed.

“The box is being fed oxygen, and there are chemicals to soak up the carbon dioxide. It is merely a precaution in case of second emergence,” the woman states. I look at her blankly. “Brian, be a good boy and explain the situation to our newcomer here while I go speak to the pilots.”

She turns and enters the cockpit. The engines roar into life and we start to take off.

The teenage boy behind me starts to speak as we climb away from the ground. “First emergence is the name given to when one of us firsts starts to demonstrate our talents. About a day after first emergence comes second emergence. This is when the body undergoes spontaneous sex change. During second emergence a person’s talent becomes uncontrolled and can pose a risk.”

I hear Lucy’s voice in my head, “The girl, Sarah, is a pyrokinetic, and she is due to change soon. The box is asbestos and should protect us if we don’t land in time. Don’t worry, I am keeping her suppressed for the moment.”

The boy, who I assume is Brian, groans. “Why can’t you just talk like everybody else, get out of my head you bitch.” He scrunches his face up as if he is in pain. Lucy laughs to herself at his discomfort. I guess that she’s the cause.

“Lucy here is a dominator and dampener,” Brian explains, “she can get inside your head and incapacitate you while at the same time preventing the use of your talents.”

“I gathered as much, I was watching earlier when you got captured,” I reply, “Was that you stopping the bullets? Neat trick.”

“I’m a telekinetic from the Center, a branch of the Department of Homeland Security dedicated to finding and protecting emerged individuals. I was part of a team sent to retrieve Sarah and prevent her from causing a bonfire when she changes. How did you see that?”

“It’s my talent,” I say, “I have the ability to remotely view and astral project. What I don’t understand is how you, Lucy, managed to kick me out of there. I was only viewing; I didn’t have a physical presence.”

The voice returns to my head, “I could still sense the presence of your mind, even though you had no physical form. You’re quite a strong one, I will enjoy cracking you later.”

We seem to have reached cruising altitude as we have now levelled off. The woman comes back from the cockpit.

“Nicely explained, Brian, I will look forward to learning more about what our glorious government has been up to when Lucy interrogates you later. By the way, my name is Doctor Mustard, I will be looking after you during your conversion,” she states.

I hear Brian groan behind me and ask, “Is that your real name or are you another colour coded operative for the Syndicate?”

“Why yes, you are so well informed. Why don’t you explain to Alice here who we are?” Doctor Mustard encourages.

“The Syndicate is the creation of Jason Carson, the billionaire computer programmer. His son is one of us and he set up the Syndicate to find a cure, while at the same time exploiting and experimenting on all the emerged he could find, brainwashing some into perfect weapons for hire.”

There is a sudden whooshing sound and the asbestos box starts to heat up. The whooshing is joined by crackling as electricity arcs between the box and the fuselage. All the lights in the cabin flash and burn out. The plane starts to shake violently and the distinctive smell of burning electronics wafts from the cockpit.

Lightning arcs from the foot of the box across the aisle and into the mercenary sitting at the front of the plane. He screams as the electricity passes through him into the fuselage. The smell of burning flesh fills the cabin.

A ball of lightning forms at the foot of the box. The light it emits is blinding and I can feel the heat from it scorching my skin.

“Shit! She has electrokinesis as well,” the doctor shouts as she dives to the floor, out of the way of the growing ball of light and flame. The ball shoots towards the sound of her voice, but misses her and carries on forwards into the cockpit. Screams and explosions can be heard as the pilots are engulfed in flames and the lightning discharges through the electronics. I am looking at the box beside me, when out of the corner of my eye I notice smoke coming from the engine below the wing. I look forward into the cockpit. The pilots and a lot of the instrumentation are on fire. Through the smoke, I can see that we are diving straight towards the cliff face of a mountain.

---

 
“Terminate her before she kills us all,” Doctor Mustard commands. The headache I have had since first meeting Lucy recedes as she focuses all her attention on the box. The sparks stop and the box begins to cool down.

“She’s dead,” Lucy speaks, sounding exhausted, sweat pouring from her forehead.

I test my remote viewing and it’s now working again. I am able to see into the cockpit. Most of the instruments are burnt out and the co-pilot is dead, covered in burns. The pilot is madly trying to issue a mayday, but the radio is fried, as are his hands. The right engine appears to be on fire and we are in a steep dive. The pilot pulls back on the controls to raise the nose, and he banks the plane sharply to fly through a gap in the mountains. Activating the extinguishers in the right engine, he is able to put out the fire. We are now flying on one engine, and it doesn’t sound very healthy.

I don’t know if Brian has realised that Lucy is too tired to use her talent, or if she is concentrating on him rather than me. I decide to take advantage and take her out while she is distracted.

Up until now, I have always maintained that I won’t inflict a fatal blow with my power. However, Lucy is one very sick and twisted individual. If the images that she projected into me earlier are in any way accurate memories, then the Syndicate makes the antics of the cult seem tame. I have read about some of the atrocious experiments carried out by the Nazi party, and these people seem just as bad.

This is a life or death situation, and I’m likely to have only one opportunity. I am therefore going to strike hard and fast. If I try to incapacitate Lucy and fail, then she will torture, and possibly kill me. I can’t guarantee knocking her unconscious with a single blow. I can however deliver a lethal attack. I therefore reason it is my only course of action.

I take a deep breath and project behind her with a knife. I try to stab her in the throat, inflicting the same injury as Alison did on my projection of David. Instead of impaling her, the knife simply passes through harmlessly. Lucy has somehow turned my solid projection ghostlike.

“Nice try, Alice, but you have to do better than that,” I hear Lucy’s voice echo in my skull.

Every pain receptor in my body fires simultaneously and I’m instantly in excruciating pain. I can hear Lucy’s manic laughter in my head as she once again invades my thoughts. I try to project a physical presence, but it’s like wading through treacle.

I try imagining a wall around me to block out the attack.

“Oh, that’s so clichéd,” Lucy sniggers at my attempt as the wall starts to crack and disintegrate. “You can’t keep me out of your head. My psychic link is too strong.”

I feel myself being sucked through the hole in my imaginary wall and I once again find myself in Lucy’s twisted mind, back on the wooden bench in the lava-filled cave. The heat is intense, but I stagger to my feet, the rock floor burning my soles as I stand. Lucy is stood in front of me with a whip, and starts to flog my bare skin.

I fight through the pain, catching the whip in my hand and pulling it from her grasp. It instantly turns into a snake, which bites my wrist. I can feel the poison flow up my arm, burning through my veins.

“I have just killed Sarah in here, do you want to join her?” Lucy asks angrily.

An axe appears in Lucy’s hand and she swings it at me. I dodge the blade and it embeds itself into the wooden bench. Lucy looks exhausted, something that I may be able to use to my advantage. She has been keeping Brian and Sarah suppressed for hours, and now me as well since we boarded the plane. Lucy had to use all her effort to kill Sarah. Now she is struggling to do the same to me.

I ignore the pain being inflicted on me. Lucy comes at me again with the axe. As she swings it at me, I don’t flinch. Instead, I focus my thoughts on imagining a sword. Just as the axe is about to hit my ribs a broadsword appears in my hands, blocking the axe’s path. The clang of steel on steel catches Lucy by surprise. I launch forward, kicking her in the stomach. The force throws her backwards into one of the lava pools. She screams and the cave starts to collapse. I notice a small crack in the cave wall. A dim light is coming through from the other side. I focus all my concentration on projecting myself through the hole.

The pain suddenly stops and I find myself standing in a strange room. More precisely, it seems to be two rooms merged into one. I survey the scene around me. Neither of the two rooms are complete, the ceilings and most of the walls are missing. Instead, I can peer out into blackness.

At my end of the room is a stone fireplace with a painting of a sailing ship hanging above the fire. The mantelpiece is covered with greetings cards. Over in the corner is a large Christmas tree, easily seven feet tall. Under the tree are a number of presents waiting to be unwrapped. There are two leather chairs in front of the blazing open fire. I can feel the warmth on my arms, and can smell the scent of mulled wine. I recognise this as being my Grandmother’s, specifically from the Christmas when I was eight. She died five months later and her home was sold.

The other end of the room appears to be the bedroom of a young boy. A pine bed is directly opposite me. A chest of drawers is beside it with a lamp on top. A large toy chest with ‘Luke’ stencilled onto the front is against one wall, its lid open. Scattered around the floor are toy cars and comic books.

A floor length mirror is stood next to the drawer unit. It is angled so that I can see my reflection. I’m projecting as Jennifer, but a younger version. My freckles and red hair are now on a young girl of about six or seven. I am dressed in a red and green Christmas party dress.

Stting opposite me is a little boy of about the same age. He is wearing a pair of Spiderman pyjamas. I assume this must be how Lucy used to look before her change.

“How did you get into here? This is my private place, my most cherished memory,” the boy shouts at me, “You should be dead by now!”

“I guess I must have projected myself here,” I reply, “The question is, ‘What happens now?’”

We stare at each other for a few moments. The young boy starts to cry. I walk over to him and give him a hug.

“I don’t want to leave this place. Here I am free from Lucy, from the evil bitch she has become,” Luke states through his tears. “The Syndicate filled me full of hate. I can’t go back to that.”

“You don’t have to, it’s not too late to make amends,” I say. He pushes me away and climbs onto the bed.

“You don’t understand. I’ve been brainwashed. I have a chip in my skull that will kill me if I try to fight,” he replies, “I have made my decision. You are going to have to kill me, please put me out of my misery, and make the torture stop. You have temporarily knocked Lucy out. She will come back and kill us both if you don’t.”

He hands me the pillow and lies on his back on the bed. Crying, I take the pillow and press it into his face. I hold it in place as he starts to suffocate. The room around me starts to fade into darkness. I feel myself floating away from the scene. The last thing I see is an image of me standing over the bed, holding the pillow on the boy. The bed and two figures drift backwards into the distance and disappear.

I wake up back in the plane. I turn round to see Lucy collapse onto the floor. Her lips have turned blue and she is no longer breathing.

Dr Mustard gets back to her feet and shouts, “What have you done? Lucy!”

I turn to face her as she pulls an automatic pistol and aims it at my head. I am frozen in fear as the trigger is pulled. I see the bullets travel towards me and stop in mid air, a few inches from my nose. They then reverse direction and embed themselves into Dr Mustard’s chest. She slumps to the floor, dying. Her last act is to fling her arm sideways and fire the gun at the window in the door.

Brian isn’t ready for this and the bullets shatter the window. The sudden explosive decompression rips the door from the plane. It collides with the left wing, tearing a lump out of the structure. The plane tilts violently to the left. Dr Mustard and the big bloke sitting up front are sucked out of the plane as it goes into a nosedive.

I grab onto the seat in front as the air rushes past us. The air pressure quickly equalises, but there is still severe buffeting from the speed we are travelling.

I remote view into the cockpit, the pilot is now either unconscious or dead. I make sure I am well strapped in, and project myself into the cockpit in ghost form. This way I am not sucked out of the plane. I check for a pulse on the pilot but can’t find one. I hit the release on the belts of the obviously dead co-pilot. He floats up out of his seat and out of the way. I look back towards Brian, who winks at me.

Having strapped myself into the co-pilot’s seat I try to gain control of the plane. Pulling back on the controls, I bring the nose up while at the same time applying right stick and rudder to bring us back to straight and level flight. The plane judders and shakes, but slowly responds. I pull us into a slight climb and our air speed drops considerably. The amount of air blowing into the cabin is now greatly reduced, enough for Brian to be able to get out of his seat and carefully make his way to the cockpit.

He takes the pilot’s seat as we attempt to assess the situation. Smoke is now pouring from the remaining engine.

“We have no instruments, no engines, and nowhere to land,” I shout to him above the noise of the open door, “The radio’s fried, as are all the electrics. I doubt we have landing gear either, flaps are not responding.”

Being a modern aircraft nearly everything is fly-by-wire. Luckily, the main controls seem to be traditional physical connections. I am an avid gamer and have spent many hours playing flight-sims on my home computer, so I know the basics, even though I have never done it for real.

There is a loud creaking noise as another lump of metal tears itself from the left wing. I have to apply near maximum stick and rudder to maintain straight and level flight and stop us going back into a spiral. The plane is starting to shudder again and the left wing is flexing alarmingly.

“I don’t think that wing is going to hold long, we will have to attempt a crash landing, we don’t have any choice,” Brian shouts at me.

“Can you help us land with your telekinesis?” I ask.

“No, the maximum I have ever shifted is 30 stone, this plane must be a hundred times that mass,” he replies.

“I have an idea, can you hold the plane while I test something?” I enquire. He nods his head.

I end my projection then project myself out of the plane. I imagine a parachute into existence on my back and pull the ripcord. I suddenly decelerate and start to float down to the ground. After a few seconds, I am forced to end my projection as I get out of range of the fast-moving plane.

I project myself back into the co-pilot’s seat and take back control of the plane from Brian.

“We’re going to bail out, I can project us a parachute,” I state as I put the plane into a climb to gain as much altitude as possible while also losing excess airspeed. “I can’t be in two places at once. While I am projecting here, my body is unconscious. I need to keep this plane straight and level so that we can safely jump. You are going to have to get back there and drag my unconscious form out the door with you. As soon as we’re clear, I can sort us out a parachute. Try not to knock me too hard or I will lose concentration and my projection. Whatever you do, don’t let go of me.”

“OK, I trust you Alice,” Brian calls back as he makes his way to the rear.

Brian spots and grabs the first aid kit that is tied securely to the cockpit wall. Once released, he carries it in his teeth as he carefully makes his way past the door, and back to where I’m sitting. He removes a bandage from the kit and unrolls it, then binds my right arm to his left, from the wrist down to the elbow. We are now firmly tied together. Brian undoes the seatbelt holding my body, and it gently floats up out of the seat.

Using telekinesis, Brian floats me down to the door. Using all his strength, he positions me so that I will cleanly exit the plane. He lets go of the seat and jumps through the door. As soon as Brian and my body are safely away from the plane, I leave the cockpit and return to my body. The plane immediately loses control and veers into a nosedive. As the speed increases, the left wing breaks off and the plane plummets towards the ground.

With the ground rapidly approaching, I pull myself round and grab Brian’s other hand. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him close to my body. I then project myself clinging onto his back, bear hugging both of us. A parachute appears on my back and straps materialize tying all three bodies together.

The chute deploys and we begin to slow down. I keep growing the parachute in size until we are drifting down at a sensible speed. Surveying the area, I can see a town in the distance. I steer us towards it as we slowly drift down. The plane has crashed in open fields to our left. We can see the smoke.

“It’s going to take a while to reach the ground. What else can you tell me about this Center and our kind?” I ask.

Brian explains how a terrorist attack at a genetics lab sixteen years ago caused pollution to enter bottled water, and the effect it had on pregnant women who drank the liquid. He then explains the purpose of the Center, a safe refuge for people like us to live and work, to protect us from those who would exploit us, while also safeguarding the public from the misuse of our talents.

“So, what’s the age range of those at the Center?” I query.

“The oldest will be turning seventeen in a month’s time. The majority of us are sixteen, although we do have a fifteen year old who will turn sixteen in a couple of months,” Brian tells me, “We do have one twelve year old, although we don’t know how she is so young.”

I start laughing. Brian asks me what’s so funny. I stop laughing and ask, “What will happen to me? Is it compulsory to join the Center, or do I get the choice? It’s been nearly two months since I changed sex. Only a few close relatives and friends know that I have changed, my talent has allowed me to continue to appear as my old self. I’m quite happy where I am.”

My chuckle was down to realising why the Center hasn’t found me. They are looking for sixteen-year-olds. I only turned fourteen a couple of months ago. My mother didn’t die in childbirth. She was killed in an accident at a fairground. I was born by emergency caesarean section after she died. Although I always suspected I might be intersex, no medical tests ever proved it. David never disappeared, and he’s now dead. I have just made Brian think I am still using my original male appearance when in fact I am attending school as Jenny.

I suspect the forms Robert Turner found are connected to the Center. I wonder if they will twig that they have already given me a new identity. It seems they haven’t so far. The Center sounds attractive, but I am happy where I am. I would rather stay with my friends and family. Besides, I’m nearly two years younger than all the other residents are. It may not sound a lot, but it will mean I would always be playing catch-up academically.

“You’ve seen the Syndicate operate,” Brian replies, “They are only one faction out to collect emergents, you could be placing yourself and your family in danger.”

“I don’t think so,” I reply, “you’re the only person outside my circle who has seen my face. The man they shot at the shack before coming to the airfield was a corrupt police officer. I have been helping the police with my talents, but none of them knows my identity, I kept myself hidden under a burka. He grabbed me and abducted me before trying to sell me to the Syndicate. They killed him instead of paying up.”

While Brian may have seen my face, he hasn’t seen what I normally look like. The make-up is still hiding my freckles. I know he was looking into my eyes on the way down. The tinted contact lenses are still making them appear green. My hair is almost black from the temporary dye. By Monday, all these changes will have disappeared and I will be back to being a blue-eyed, freckle-faced redhead.

The Syndicate’s only connection with me was Scudder, who they killed. The Center’s intelligence officer has already visited my school once. If she comes back, she will be looking for a sixteen-year-old boy, not a fourteen-year-old girl.

“I don’t know,” Brian ponders, “We’ve never let someone refuse to join us. Normally there isn’t a choice. The change is too great to allow you to continue your old life. Your case is different due to your talent.”

About two feet from the ground I end the projection and let go of Brian. We both fall to the ground and roll over in a field of corn. I cut the bandages binding our arms together on the way down, so that we could land easier. We get up and dust ourselves off before starting to walk in the direction of the nearby town. We reach a road and flag down a farmer driving an open top truck. He lets us climb in the back and we drive towards the town centre.

“As wonderful as the Center sounds, it’s not for me. I refuse to abandon my friends and family,” I state.

I scribble my Alice email address on a scrap of paper and hand it to him, “I can be contacted here. If you can prove I am at risk by emailing my name, date of birth, and current address, I will reconsider, until then it’s time to part company.”

I fade from view, leaving Brian alone in the back of the speeding truck. I sit up from my hiding place in amongst the cornfield. Brian never noticed me switch to a projection. I take my small wallet out of my pocket and curl up in a tight ball. I project myself next to my body with the appearance of a six foot six bodybuilding blond surfer boy in his early twenties. I project a large rucksack around my physical body and lift it onto my back. Picking up the wallet, I start to hike across country in the direction of the train station. I have $50 and a debit card. I suspect the magnetic strip on the card is a write off, but the cash will at least get me part of the way home. I can phone home from the station and arrange for somebody to meet me halfway.

I don’t know what the future holds. I may well end up at the Center, but for the time being, I think I will head home and lie low. Besides, ‘Alice the Avenger’ already has a prior engagement. I have a little girl to impersonate to prevent her being kidnapped and executed.

---

 
“Sorry, the grotto is closing for lunch, we are not accepting any additions to the queue,” Susan tells the third family in a row after putting the sign out. There are currently twelve children left in line to see Santa before our lunch break.

Susan and I are dressed as elves and are once again helping in Santa’s grotto in Platterns department store. I say once again, but this is my first year as Jennifer, rather than my old identity of David. I underwent a spontaneous change of sex a few months ago.

I am one of a small proportion of individuals affected by a genetic mutation caused by contaminated bottled water. Not only have I changed sex, I have also gained some neat abilities. I can project myself out of my body in any form I choose, and remotely view anything up to two miles away.

Today is Saturday the 18th of December. There is exactly one week until Christmas and we have been busy all morning with organising the children waiting to see Santa. The grotto here is very popular: at its peak, the queue must have been 50 people long. Each child gets a couple of minutes with Santa and a small present. This year all the gifts are small soft toys, about six inches tall. There are three different types, a lion, an elephant, and a polar bear. They are in boxes sealed with a bow. We know which are which based on the colour of the box, yellow, green and red respectively.

One of the jobs of the elves is to keep Santa topped up with a supply of presents to give out. The presents are on forklift pallets out back. We have to stick the bows on and bring them through to the grotto. The bows come separate, as it’s easier to stack the boxes when they don’t have them on.

“OK, that’s the last one,” I tell Santa as the final child leaves. The ‘at lunch’ signs have been put out and Susan has been stopping people trying to join the queue. Santa is being played by Nick Carpenter, a retired employee who used to work in the menswear department. He makes an excellent Santa and even has his own genuine white beard, which is a lot better than the fakes you often see people wearing.

“Are you girls in this afternoon, or will I have different assistants?” he asks as we head through to the staff room.

“We are working till half four when Fiona and Samantha take over,” I reply.

“OK, I will see you after lunch,” Nick states as he dons his thick winter trench coat and hat and heads out the back door. He lives two blocks away in an apartment, so goes home for lunch. Susan and I retrieve our sandwiches from the staff fridge and get coffees from the machine. We make ourselves comfortable in the staff break room, which has several couches, ex-display models that couldn’t be sold. After eating, we both lie back and doze for a little while before we need to return to work. It is tiring constantly being on one’s feet.

Normally we would only do half a day, but the store is short staffed due to illness, so we are working a double shift. We will be relieved mid afternoon and our replacements will work through to when the grotto closes at half seven this evening. The store remains open through to nine pm, but not the grotto.

Santa only visits the store four days a week. He comes in Thursday and Friday afternoons, and all day Saturday and Sunday for five weeks in the run up to Christmas. Tomorrow is the last day that children can come and visit.

We are just finishing our coffee when we hear a loud bang. The windows rattle and car alarms go off. I immediately scan the area with my remote vision to see what’s going on. There has been an explosion in an apartment block nearby. One wall of the four-story building has been blown out, causing brick and concrete to be scattered over the road. Fire is quickly spreading through the upstairs apartments. Looking at the epicentre of the blast, I see the remains of a gas boiler.

Quickly scanning the area, I locate the gas supply valves in the basement and isolate them by projecting myself into the building. I am in viewing range of the fire station and I notice that the fire engines will be here in a few minutes. However, I can see that they may be too late. Two people are trapped on the top floor.

They are cornered by the fire and can’t reach the main staircase. The fire escape on the outside of the building has been blown away by the explosion. The structure is rapidly filling with toxic black smoke. I swiftly project myself into the apartment as my alter ego, Alice the Avenger.

Despite my best efforts to remain low key, Alice is starting to become known round town. She is rapidly becoming an urban legend, a real-life counterpart to Batman, who seeks out and beats up criminals before handing them to the police. The police refuse to comment on her existence, and I think the Center has been leaning on some of the journalists, keeping my superhero-like activities out of the public spotlight.

The Center is still trying to track me down. They haven’t succeeded yet. I am in regular contact with them via email, and they are still trying to persuade me to join them. I told them that I would reconsider once they can tell me my real name. As of yet they only know me as Alice.

My projection of Alice doesn’t look anything like my normal self. I have modelled her after the old Wonder Woman TV series, so I look like a younger version of Lynda Carter. Instead of blue shorts with white stars, I wear full-length blue leggings. As a replacement for the star on the headband, I have a large ‘A’. Admittedly, my choice of appearance does attract attention, but I generally only appear when necessary, usually to scare my opponents. If I am going to be demonstrating my powers, I think it appropriate to dress accordingly.

In reality, I have red hair and freckles, not the thick black hair that I portray as Alice.

In the apartment are Freddy Forrester and his younger brother Felix. Freddy is in my class at school and was an adversary to my former male self. Since my change, I have at least been on speaking terms with him, but I don’t regard him as a friend. Freddy’s fourteen and I think his brother is ten.

“I’m Alice, and I’m going to help you get out of here,” I say to the startled and scared boys as I appear in front of them.

“The door is jammed, I think the floor is sagging twisting the frame,” Freddy replies.

I project an axe into my hand and proceed to smash a hole in the door big enough for them to crawl through. Once in the hall I project a large fire blanket over the three of us and we swiftly move through the building towards the exit. Using the blanket for protection, we are able to walk through the flames blocking our path.

I am met on the sidewalk by several fire fighters. They have cleared the bottom two floors of occupants and were then going to make their way up. I scan the building, but there are no other people at home. I let the fire crew know that there is nobody else to evacuate.

There are now several ambulances on scene with paramedics treating people injured in the blast. The majority of the building was unoccupied, most of the tenants being out shopping or at work.

It is then I notice who is being lifted onto a stretcher and loaded in an ambulance. Nick Carpenter has been hit by flying debris. His face is bruised and bleeding, his neck has been braced, and his arm is in a splint.

I run over to where he’s being treated. A police officer tries to stop me as I approach, but I ghost myself and walk straight through him.

“Nick! Are you OK? Speak to me!” I anxiously ask him. He groans and mumbles something before passing out.

I end my projection and return to my body in the staff room. I immediately jump to my feet and run out onto the shop floor. Susan chases after me. I spot Mr Plattern and Uncle Richard talking in a corner and rush over to them.

“We have a problem,” I announce, “Nick’s been injured on his way back to work. I have just seen him being put into an ambulance. He was caught in the gas explosion on Baker Street.”

“Crap, I better go phone his wife. The grotto is due to open in five minutes, we will have to shut it down. That’s not going to go down well with the customers.”

“I think there may be a spare Santa costume in the cupboard, and Jim can cover my area,” Uncle Richards states.

“OK, do what you can, try to keep the kids happy, the parents spend more money that way,” Mr Plattern replies before dashing off.

The three of us head into the grotto, out of sight of the rest of the staff and customers.

“Jenny, I have a big favour to ask,” my uncle says.

“There isn’t a spare costume is there?” I reply sighing.

“Um, no there isn’t. Can you project as Santa? At least for this afternoon,” he asks.

“Alright, but you will have to fill my place on crowd control out front,” I answer before finding a hiding place from which I can project. I end up sitting behind a fake wall at the back of the grotto. It’s a wooden wall with a window looking out at a fake north pole.

I visualise the traditional Santa and appear on the throne ready to receive the children. Susan goes to work keeping me supplied with presents and showing the children and parents in and out. Her father keeps the queue moving out front.

I spend the next five hours trying not to strangle any of the clients. I am fed up with the crying, whinging, temper tantrums, and immature behaviour, and that’s just from the adults. I am not sure which is worse, the snotty nosed brats, or their snotty parents. I am sure half the kids couldn’t care less about seeing me. They are only doing it because their parents drag them here and insist upon it.

You may be wondering why I am even volunteering for working here If I dislike kids so much. I came to work here last year as David as I knew that they only had girl elf costumes. It was an excuse to wear a dress and pretend to be a girl while seeming to help others. As an assistant, you don’t spend all your time in the grotto. You have to keep going back to the store to put the bows on the presents and bring them out front.

The costume consists of a predominantly red patchwork dress that comes down to mid thigh, under which we wear stockings and knee length boots. There is an overcoat outlined in fur, similar to the one Santa wears. On our heads, we have snow-white wigs, pointy ears, and small floppy hats with a bobble on top. Very girly and very cute, there is no way a boy would ever consider wearing such an outfit, unless he’s a CD or T*.

I enjoyed it last year, mainly from the thrill of pretending to be a girl. Now that I am a girl for real, it’s not as much fun, especially as I now have to pretend to be male again. In addition, this weekend just happens to be my time of the month. I am still getting used to my new hormones and it’s making me extra cranky. I do genuinely enjoy seeing the small kids who are in awe of Santa and actually want to give him their list. It’s a pity that these are the minority. It is a good job I am not responsible for ordering the presents to go in the parcels, otherwise half the kids would be going home with boxes of coal.

When I finally get home, I’m exhausted. Projecting as a large fat man takes more energy than projecting as a thin person. I have already made it clear that they need to find another Santa tomorrow. I am not doing that again.

I spend Sunday relaxing and recovering.

My latest exploits as Alice are the talk of the school on Monday morning. Freddy has been telling everybody who will listen about the beautiful girl who saved his life on Saturday, although luckily he is leaving out some of the details. I used to call him Thicky, but he does have enough sense not to talk about my rather unusual abilities, probably thinking that nobody would believe him. He is in love with a capital ‘L’. Susan and Tracy are most amused. Personally, I find the whole idea rather revolting.

Thankfully, this is a short week. We only have four days school and have Friday off. As I come out of the last lesson on Thursday, I switch on my cell phone and check for messages. I have a text saying that my uncle will be collecting Susan and I. He is waiting outside when we leave the building. Getting into his van, we head into town. I wonder where we are going until I see the familiar office building of Mr Turner come into view.

Robert Turner works for the District Attorney’s office. Inside we find him and Police Chief Tom Millward. It appears they have a favour to ask of me, or more precisely, Alice. I start to get worried when Tom, Robert and my uncle all get down on their knees to grovel.

“Please will you play Santa for the kids’ Christmas party,” Robert begs.

“The replacement Santa Mr Plattern found has been arrested on child molestation charges,” Tom states.

“We are desperate for somebody to present gifts at tomorrow’s charity event,” Robert adds.

“If you don’t do it then one of us will have to done the costume and we are nowhere near as good as you. We all look too young and fake. Please think of the children,” Uncle Richard says, “All the kids invited have been through tough times lately and need cheering up.”

Each year our local Rotary Club organises a Christmas party for disadvantaged young children. Local businesses provide gifts to kids who are in difficult circumstances. These usually include families that are on the breadline, and those who have been affected by illness or tragedy. Felix Forrester has been given a last minute invite due to being made homeless and losing all his possessions.

I sigh and reply, “OK, as you have asked nicely I will just once, but it will only be a quick visit. Santa is very busy this close to Christmas so can’t hang round for long, just enough time to hand out some presents and that’s it.”

We sit and discuss arrangements for the next hour. All three men are Rotarians and form the organising committee for this year’s party.

The venue is a local community hall belonging jointly to the local Scout and Girl Guide brigades. It’s a large log cabin to the north of town surrounded by woodland. The main room is a large open plan area that stretches upward into the high-pitched roof. The interior is almost churchlike with thick wooden arches supporting the ceiling. The end of the room is dominated by a large stone fireplace. Either side of this are large glass windows looking out into the woodland. Off the main room is an entrance hall, which gives access to the bathrooms and kitchen area. The kitchen opens into the main hall via a serving hatch.

A small staircase leads up to an office and storeroom that sit in the roof space above the kitchen, foyer and bathrooms. I will be hiding upstairs in the storeroom on a sun lounger.

Both Susan and I will be dressed again in our elf costumes and using the character names of ‘Patch’ and ‘Sugarplum’, that we have been using while assisting Santa.

We arrive at the venue shortly after one pm in a Plattern’s van driven by my uncle. In the back, we have the sack of presents that we picked up earlier from the shop storeroom. We take it into the kitchen where Robert Turner and his wife, Janet, are laying out the party food. The guests are due to arrive at around two, with Santa making a brief appearance at three. The party will continue to half four.

Janet and Susan stand in the entrance hall greeting the children and their escorts as they arrive. They send the kids into the hall to play games, while their escorts are sent to see Robert who takes notes and confirms the child’s details. We have a system arranged whereby he has a clipboard of information, and will turn to the relevant page when Santa talks to each kid. Using my remote vision I can read the data and therefore make Santa appear omniscient without me having to memorise loads of facts.

In total, we are expecting eighteen special guests plus escorts. Every child is escorted either by a parent, an elder sibling, or in some cases a baby sitter. Tom Millward has brought a number of the guests in a minibus where they don’t have their own transport.

Using my remote vision, I can see the guests approaching down the road before they arrive. I am alarmed by the occupants of one of the approaching vehicles, and I quickly dash upstairs to my hiding place before they come in the front door. Escorting a pair of twins who have recently been orphaned are two teenagers from the Center.

Brian is a telekinetic who I met earlier this year. With him is a girl who I have previously witnessed shooting lightning. Looking outside I can see several additional vehicles parked down the street. A teenage boy with green hair is taking up position in a tree opposite the main entrance.

I consider doing a runner. However, I don’t want Santa to be a non-show. I don’t know if they are here for me. It’s possible one of the other teenagers could be an emergent. I decide to stick to plan.

I project myself as Santa and descend the stairs. Tom hands me the present sack from the kitchen and I make my entrance into the main hall shouting “Ho, Ho, Ho.”

I am soon surrounded by young excited children. Having regained order I make them sit on the floor in front of the chair that has been positioned for my benefit. Once seated, I speak to each child and hand out presents.

Some of the kids are overcoming depression, and are being quiet and reflective. I do my best to cheer them up and encourage their involvement. One of the children is particularly reluctant to participate. Katie, a seven-year-old girl, is sitting off to one side with her arms crossed trying to ignore everybody. I try to get her to come and join the others but this only seems to annoy her.

“You are nothing but a big fat phony!” Katie yells at me. The other kids look on in anticipation, a few of the younger ones scared by the temper tantrum.

Katie turns and picks up a big bowl of jello off the buffet table and throws it at me. I am so surprised by her actions that I fail to duck, and I’m hit full in the face. The plastic bowl clatters to the floor and I’m left with lumps of the strawberry flavoured dessert covering my face and beard. There is a stunned silence as I slowly wipe the jello from my eyes.

“Katherine Gertrude Braithwaite!” the girl’s mother shouts, “How dare you. Apologise this instant!”

“Go rot in hell!” the young girl shouts back.

The mother and daughter stand staring at each other. I think the mother is shocked by the child’s outburst and open defiance.

“Young lady,” I say slowly and deliberately, “you have just earned top spot on my naughty list. You won’t be receiving any gifts from me this year.”

“I don’t care! All I want is my sister back!” Katie shouts angrily, tears running down her face, her fists clenched at her sides.

I turn to Robert. He scribbles a note on his pad. ‘Sister: Bethany Braithwaite died in a car crash six months ago, aged 16.’

“Not even Santa can bring back lost loved ones Katie,” I say softly, “I wish I could, but it’s not possible.”

“She isn’t dead. There was no body. Adults are liars. They lie all the time. They say everything will be all right and it isn’t. Bethany said she would come back and she didn’t,” Katie sobs while still venting her frustration at me. “You aren’t Santa; you’re just some bloke dressed up in a red suit, another lie!”

Some of the smaller children are now very upset and are crying. I will probably regret this later, especially with Brian and friend here, but I can’t let this scene go on spoiling the atmosphere for the rest of the partygoers.

“Fine, in that case I will leave. You don’t have to believe in me, and I know its tradition for me to leave coal in naughty kids’ stockings, but in your case, I won’t bother making the effort. The rest of you will find your presents as usual. Goodbye,” I say walking over to the stone fireplace. Turning to face the watching children, I tap my nose three times and turn into a ball of light. I hover in front of the fire for a couple of seconds before disappearing up the chimney.

Brian turns and leaves the room, followed by his companion. Once in the corridor he bursts into tears himself. Wondering what happened I appear beside him. This time I project the form that he last saw before I left him on the truck, my usual self, but with green eyes, black hair, and no freckles.

“What’s the matter Brian?” I ask concerned.

He doesn’t answer, instead his friend asks, “Alice I presume? I’m Kris. Do I take it that you were playing Santa?”

“Yes, the man who was going to play the part was injured in a gas explosion last week. I was called in as a replacement,” I explain, “When I saw you come in I assumed that you were here to trap me, however I get the feeling you must be here for a different reason.”

“I’m Bethany,” Brian says softly, crying into his friends shoulder.

“One of our precogs had a premonition. They saw a young girl being chased from this lodge by a group of teenagers, Brian and I were in pursuit after them. She falls off a cliff, and is caught by Santa in his sleigh,” the young woman explains, “The premonitions are usually accurate, but we couldn’t see how until just now.”

We are interrupted as Susan bursts through the door shouting “Jennifer!” She stops dead when she sees me talking with our guests.

“Alice! Thank god you’re here,” Susan quickly recovers, “Katie has just bolted out the fire escape and is running off through the woods, and we need all the help we can get.”

I don’t hesitate. Using my remote vision, I locate the running child and point in her direction. “That way,” I shout as I vanish. They quickly head in the direction I pointed. There are already several teens in pursuit of the child, with a couple of adults trying to keep up. The others are looking after the other children in the hall.

I project myself in front of Katie and try to grab her, but she dodges me and carries on through the woods. Cursing, I try again, this time making myself invisible so that she can’t see me to dodge. We are only a few yards away from the cliff and I won’t get another opportunity. She runs straight into me and I grab hold of her. Unfortunately, her momentum knocks my projected form over and we both tumble and roll down the slight incline leading to the cliff. Keeping a tight hold of the child in one hand, I grab a branch as we pass and bring us both to a stop just before we reach the edge of the sheer drop.

Katie grabs the branch and clings to it, wrapping herself around the wood. Seeing that she is safe for the moment, I project myself to the top of the slope to stop anybody else running off it. I shout for them to stop, and the pursuers come to a halt. Brian pushes his way to the front of the gathering crowd.

“She’s safe for the moment,” I say. Although my back is to her, I am watching Katie closely with my remote vision. “She’s near the edge, but clinging tightly to a tree. We just need to bring her carefully up. I can project a rope and repel down to her.”

I hear the sound of snapping wood and spin round to see the branch holding Katie break. Brian stretches out his hand towards the child and instead of falling, she appears to be hovering in mid air, the wood she has in her hands no longer attached to the ground.

“I can’t hold her long, Alice, the branch is too heavy. Fulfil the prophecy,” he instructs.

Realising that the premonition is coming true, despite our best efforts, I do as instructed. I project myself back as Santa, but this time project a small sleigh pulled by a single reindeer. This is the smallest projection I can think of that meets the earlier description. The larger the projection, the more energy it takes. This will be the largest projection I have ever tried. While my projections have defied physics before, I’m usually in ghost form. This will be the first time I have done so when carrying a weight. I quickly move underneath the child, as she drops into the seat beside me.

The seat is solid enough to support her and carry her into the air. I was worried that she was going to fall straight through my projection, but so far, it appears to be working. I realise that I won’t be able to keep this up for long so swiftly steer the sleigh towards safe ground. The only clear landing spot is back at the lodge. I crash-land the sleigh as the rest of the adults and children come running out to meet me.

The party from the cliff is in hot pursuit and arrive just in time to see Santa and his sleigh vanish from sight. Katie is left in mid air as the seat under her disappears and she falls to the ground. Exhausted, I can’t maintain the projection any longer and let the blackness of unconsciousness overcome me.

I suddenly feel a warm tingly feeling and I find myself floating, looking down at my body. A girl I don’t recognise is holding my hand. Kris is stood nearby with Susan, looking on worried.

“How is she doing Liz,” Kris asks.

“Fine mom,” the girl holding my hand replies, “she has slipped into a hypoglycaemic coma. It seems that using her talent has drained all the sugar from her body.”

“This has happened before,” Susan says, “it occurs when she overexerts herself.”

I focus on returning to my body and slowly wake up. I can feel the energy flowing into me from where my hand is being held. The teenage girl seems to somehow be recharging and healing me. I guess that she is another emerged, and that this is her talent.

“Thanks, I needed that,” I say.

“Sorry Alice, but you collapsed again, I didn’t know what to do,” Susan states, tears falling down her face, “I was about to call for an ambulance when these people offered to help.” Turning to the other people in the room she asks, “I take it you are from the Center?”

“Yes, how much do you know?” Kris asks Susan.

“Only what Brian told me,” I say, looking across to Susan. “She is a close friend and one of the few people who know my secret identity.”

Susan is nervous, realising keeping my identity secret now is becoming increasingly hard. They only have to ask the partygoers who we are, most of them know our names. Once the Center has that, then I am at their mercy.

At least both Susan and I are wearing wigs and over the top makeup, so our normal appearance is somewhat hidden. Everybody has been calling Susan ‘Patch’ since before the guests arrived, so hopefully they won’t have her name.

“What happens now?” I ask.

“Usual procedure is for you to accompany us to the Center and for one of my team to erase the memories of everybody here,” Kris states. “But I can’t do it. I can’t bring myself to wipe what is obviously the most joyful memory these kids have. You have brought these children the best present they could ever have, belief in Santa Claus and in the Christmas spirit. However, I don’t see any other option.”

“There is always another option,” I say, “I think I can convince everybody to keep quiet about what has happened here. Santa can ask the kids not to say anything. Once I explain that nobody will believe them and they might be picked on, I am sure they will remain silent. As for the teens and adults, well they will meet my alter ego, Alice the Avenger. I have directly saved the lives of several people in there. My existence is starting to become common knowledge.”

I project myself back into the room as Santa, “at least let me try, you can still have the memories erased if it goes wrong.”

Reluctantly Kris agrees to my suggestion. She instructs Liz to remain with my now sleeping body. Susan also stays with me. Kris and my projection of Santa head out of the storeroom and back to the main hall. On the way out, Kris orders a man dressed in a business suit to join Liz. I recognise him from my last encounter with the Center. He was previously dressed in military uniform. It is obvious that they have brought some soldiers with them, but this time they are dressed in civvies.

I will have to work out a way of escaping from this lot without endangering any of my friends. I think Susan must have realised what is going on, and warned Robert and Uncle Richard not to say anything, as they are not acknowledging my presence.

As we enter the main room, I notice Tom is in the corner talking to Brian. They obviously recognize who he is, and they know I assist the police through him. Using my remote senses, I can hear Tom explaining how he arranged for me to assist by playing Santa and that I brought Patch along as an assistant. He’s telling Brian that he’s the only person here who knows about me and that nobody knows Susan’s identity.

As soon as Santa walks into the room, he is surrounded by the young children. After sitting them all down, I carefully explain that they shouldn’t talk about what they have seen in case they are bullied by nonbelievers.

Katie is sat to one side, dejected. After I have finished talking to the other children, I go over to her.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, “I know everybody is trying to protect me, but nobody will tell me anything and I’m fed up of being lied too. I may be a kid, but I’m not stupid.”

“I can tell you the truth, what is really going on here, but are you sure you want to know?” I ask, “You would have to keep it secret and that is one of the hardest tasks.”

“Please,” she begs. I glance over to Kris and Brian, who are now standing to one side watching.

“This is totally against policy. However, Alice has proved that the policy isn’t always appropriate in all cases. If you want to have contact with your sister then I will permit it, if successful then we may be able to consider changing procedure. It’s your call Brian, do you trust your sister, and can she cope?” Kris whispers to him.

“Yes, and yes,” he whispers back, looking at me. I nod at him and wink.

“Are you familiar with the x-men comics and films?” I whisper into Katie’s ear. She nods. “Those characters aren’t real, but there are people out there that have weird and wonderful abilities. I am one of those people, and so is your sister. Their existence is kept secret so not to scare or panic everybody. My talent is I can appear as whomever I want. You’re right, I’m not really Santa Claus. Bethany can make things float in the air. She stopped you from falling when the tree broke.”

“She’s here? She’s alive?” Katie whispers back excitedly.

“Yes, and yes, but when we get our powers, we undergo a drastic physical transformation, completely changing appearance. Bethany had to disappear because nobody would recognise her or believe who she is. Your sister is now working for the government helping others like her,” I say to Katie quietly so nobody else can hear.

I notice that Katie’s mother has been distracted by Kris, who has taken her out of the room. I hear Brian whisper, “Follow me.”

I stand up and take Katie’s hand, leading her out of the main hall and upstairs to the office where her mother, Brian, Kris and another teenage girl are waiting. Katie’s mother is asleep in a chair.

“Sorry sis, but I don’t think mom can cope with the new me,” Brian says. In his hand is a small origami elephant, which floats up in the air and lands in Katie’s hands. As the intricately folded paper floats through the air Brian starts to recite a poem, “It was six men of Indostan, to learning much inclined, who went to see the Elephant, though all of them were blind, that each by observation, might satisfy his mind.”

“And so these men of Indostan, disputed loud and long, each in his own opinion, exceeding stiff and strong, though each was partly in the right and all were in the wrong!” Katie replies as she flings herself at Brian and envelops him in a hug. I guess that this poem must be special to the two of them.

Kris and I leave the room, leaving the reunited siblings to talk. I have one more duty to perform. Standing in the hallway outside the main hall, I change my appearance into Alice the Avenger. I ask Kris to bring two of the people from the main hall while I wait out of sight in the foyer. She goes to fetch Fred and Tom. Freddy is here escorting his younger brother to the party.

“Alice! It’s good to see you again, I never got to thank you for rescuing me,” Freddy states as he enters the room.

“That’s okay, Freddy,” I reply, “I need a favour, from both you and Tom here. You have both seen me in action, so know that I can make things appear and disappear, and that I can walk through walls. I can also change appearance, this isn’t how I normally look. I was playing Santa in there earlier.”

“I did wonder,” declares Freddy, “I saw Nick Carpenter being taken away in the ambulance and knew he was originally due to play Santa. I saw your concern over his injuries, and when weird things started to happen earlier, I sort of put two and two together.”

“I need you to explain to the other teens and parents how the scenes earlier were possible. Several of the others have seen me in action in various guises. If my existence becomes public knowledge then I will have difficulty in operating and will have to go into hiding. I don’t want to put my friends and family at risk,” I explain.

“No problem, I think we can manage that,” Tom answers.

“I understand. Don’t worry, you can count on me, I will make sure the events here remain secret,” Freddy adds. I kiss him on the cheek and disappear in a puff of smoke. Freddy and Tom turn and walk back into the main hall to pass the word around.

Kris heads back towards the room from where I have been projecting. Entering the room she finds Liz missing and the soldier bound and gagged on the floor. Liz runs back into the room as Kris unties the guard.

“What happened?” Kris asks.

“You came back and told me Ray was injured having fallen out of his tree. I went to help him. The thing is he had only just fallen when I got there, so we realised that you couldn’t have sent me. I healed him as fast as I could and came back here,” Liz replies. I have been spying with my remote senses and listened in on some of the radio chatter between the Center operatives. I was able to learn the name of the green haired guy in the tree.

I project myself back into the room as Bugs Bunny, uttering the immortal “Eeeh, whatz up doc?” while munching on a carrot. The sight of a six-foot tall anthropogenic lagomorph standing in the room surprises Kris and she discharges a lightning bolt in my direction. I respond in true Looney Tunes fashion by turning my head and ears soot black. The charred remains of the carrot dissolve into dust.

Liz is trying very hard not to burst out laughing. I turn my projection into my Alice the Avenger persona.

“Sorry about the deception, but I needed to remove my body to safety,” I say calmly, “I can’t believe you actually fell for the oldest trick in the book.”

While Kris momentarily left me alone to fetch Freddy and Tom, I had projected myself as her to order Liz out of the way. The soldier was carrying a tazer, and it only took a second to steal his weapon and use it upon him. I dealt with Ray by invisibly pushing him out the tree. This had two benefits, it meant nobody was watching the window and it also kept Liz occupied fixing Ray’s broken leg.

I then left Susan to tie up the tazered soldier and escape with my unconscious body out of the window. Uncle Richard was waiting for us outside, having sneaked out of the side door from the kitchen. While I kept Kris and Freddy busy talking, they lowered me to the ground. The two of them were loading me into the back of the van when I returned to my body and woke up. I quickly changed the plan. I had spotted an access to the under floor crawl space hidden behind a large bin. Susan and I crawled through the hole while my Uncle drove off in the van as a decoy. By the time Kris had made it upstairs, I was successfully hidden.

“With my body safely hidden, I can now unleash whatever projections I deem appropriate to project myself, my friends, and my family, from harm. I realise you now have more clues to my identity, and it’s only a matter of time before you identify me, but it won’t be today,” I state. “You are going to collect your friends and leave immediately. Brian may stay behind if he wishes to have more time with his sister, but he will do so alone. Remember I can see and hear everything that is going on, and if I see any of you trying to question anybody here about me or my friend’s identity, I will use violence.”

Mid-sentence I disappear and reappear instantaneously next to Kris holding a large knife, the point a hair’s width from her neck.

“OK, you win this round, Alice,” Kris coldly states. “You have achieved what the rest of us can never have, acceptance by your friends and family and the ability to carry on with your life like nothing has happened. I can understand and respect your desire to protect that. However, if you use your talents irresponsibly, I will hunt you down.”

Kris turns and leaves the room. The other two follow her out. All the Center personnel gather and return to their vehicles when signalled by Kris. They wait in their cars while Brian says farewell to his sister, before they all drive off.

I remotely follow the Center vehicles until they are out of range. We follow them in Robert’s car, positioning ourselves halfway between the lodge and their vehicles as they leave town. Given my two-mile range, I am able to keep my eye on both the lodge and the motorcade until they are four miles apart.

Exhausted, we head home for a well-earned rest, to enjoy a traditional family Christmas, hopefully in peace.

Merry Christmas

---

http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Blindmen_and_the_Elephant

I carefully snap the gold ribbon and take off the red paper. I’m unwrapping a Christmas gift from my grandmother.

“What’s she got you this year, Nathan?” my father asks as I stare dumbfounded into the box, frozen on the spot.

My mother comes up and looks over my shoulder, “Oh dear, it looks like she’s muddled the labels up. I guess that must have been meant for Sally.”

I pull the gorgeous maroon dress from its box and hold it up in front of me. Holding it against me and looking down it is possibly the closest I’m going to get to wearing this. I would so much like to slip it on, it’s painful.

“Hey, don’t look so disappointed, son, we can sort this out,” Dad says. “I bet the old dear is confused again. She really should get someone to help her wrap things.”

My mother gives my father a withering stare. The grandparent in question is my mother’s mother, and Dad recons she is starting to suffer from dementia.

“Wait,” my mother says looking in my direction, “she did get help.”

“I wrapped up all of her presents, except my own,” I say. “I spent most of all last Saturday helping her. I also wrote the labels, as her handwriting is becoming shaky.”

“She obviously missed one, and then labelled it wrong,” my father adds, using logic to understand the mix up.

We are interrupted by the phone. My mother answers it. Aunt Anne, her sister, is ringing us to wish us a happy Christmas. As she is taking, I reach for the second parcel from my grandmother. I was given very specific instructions on which order to open my gifts. She told me that the gifts would make better sense in the correct order.

I delicately unwrap the gift, wondering what it can be with both excited anticipation, and dread that it may be exactly what I want, but would never admit to anybody.

I hold up the silky lace slip, feeling the soft fabric between my fingers.

“Hold on one sec, I’m putting you on speakerphone,” my mother states as she puts down the handset and presses a button on the device. “Has Sally opened her presents from mother?”

“Yes, why?” the voice of my aunt fills the room.

“It looks likes Nathan has Sally’s Christmas presents,” mother replies, “I was wondering if perhaps she’s got them back to front.”

I remember wrapping a dress and slip identical to the ones now sat beside me. All Sally’s presents where wrapped in blue and silver, and I wrote the labels for them myself. That means she either undid and repacked the gifts, or she bought everything twice.

“It doesn’t look like it,” Anne replies, “unless she intended to give Nathan a red Christmas dress with matching slip, panties and shoes. There is also a large teddy bear, a set of princess pyjamas, and some jewellery.”

As she reads out the list of items I rapidly open the other gifts, my heart pounding in anticipation and fear. I know exactly what Sally got for Christmas, having wrapped them, and an identical set of gifts are now sitting in front of me.

“Beside’s which, Sally is smaller than Nathan and these wouldn’t fit,” Anne laughs down the phone. My cousin is three years younger than me at eight.

With a shaking hand I pick up the dress and look at the size on the label. It is not the same size as I wrapped for Sally. It is larger.

My mother sees what I’m doing and examines the labelling herself.

“Is there a problem? What’s mother sent to Nathan?” Anne asks.

“The same,” my father dryly responds.

“The same?” my aunt queries.

“Exactly the same,” I call out, “I helped wrap Sally’s presents. These are almost identical except for one small detail.”

“The size?” my father asks, cottoning on to what my mother and I have already realised.

“This dress should be a perfect fit for him,” my mother states in bemusement. “I know she said she likes to treat both her grandchildren equally when buying gifts, but this is ridiculous, even by her standards.”

I can hear giggling in the background over the phone. Sally must have worked out what is going on from my aunt’s side of the conversation.

“Has he got a dress like mine?” I hear the young girl call out in the background, before bursting out into laughter.

“This isn’t funny, young lady,” Aunt Anne tells her daughter, “how would you like it if you got loads of football shirts and boots?”

My cousin hates football. I can’t say I’m fond of the sport either. This seems to shut her up. She then asks to speak to me.

“Sorry Nathan,” Sally says having been handed the phone. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you. I’m sure you will look very pretty in the dress. Are you going to wear it today? I’m wearing mine, and we could match.”

I have no idea if she is being serious or sarcastic, but this is a very interesting question nether the less. I have fantasised many times about the magic of Christmas letting me wake up Christmas day as a girl. It would literally be a dream came true. There are two big obstacles to living the dream. Do I dare and will my parents let me? I take a deep breath and let the words, “Yes I will,” slip from my lips.

I’m not sure who is more shocked: my dumbfounded parents, the unusually silent Sally on the phone, or myself.

“You’re not seriously going to make a fool of yourself?” my father questions. “You would look ridiculous.”

“So,” I reply, “everybody who is going to be there already knows about what I’ve been given, which in some respects is the most embarrassing part.”

My family, and my aunt, uncle and cousin, are all going round to my Grandmothers for Christmas dinner.

“What about your Grandmother, she may be upset when she realises what she’s done,” my mother interrupts.

“Serves her right,” my dad chuckles, “if she’s embarrassed about what she’s given her grandson, she’s only got herself to blame. The dotty old bat.”

My mother gives my dad an angry stare before calling out into the phone, “we’ll see you later. I’m going to phone Mother and find out what’s going on.”

We quickly say our goodbyes to Aunt Anne, Uncle Tom and Sally, before mum hangs up the phone and attempts to dial my grandmother. The phone rings, but there is no reply.

“Damn, she either can’t hear the phone, or is ignoring it,” my mother declares as the fourteenth ring emerges from the device. “Now what are we going to do?”

I decide it’s time to take the initiative again. If my dream is going to come true, then I’m going to have to work for it. I carefully pick up the presents and state, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get ready to go out, and as it traditionally takes longer for girls to get ready than boys, I better get started.”

“Hold it right there, mister,” my father states as I start to leave the room. “We can’t get those exchanged once they’ve been worn. The joke has gone far enough. Let’s put them back in the packaging. Hopefully your grandmother has kept the till receipts, she usually does for cloths.”

I can’t fault his logic. Trying them on for size is one thing, but wearing them for a day before taking them back is another. I know some people would be crass enough to do it, treating the shops as a free hire service, but not us.

Once again I’m faced with a tough decision. I can quit now and let my heart’s desire slip through my fingers, or I can grasp it with both hands, hold on tight, and face the possible consequences.

I squeeze the fabric tight in my fingers. My father tries to take the presents from me, but I tighten my grasp.

“Nathan, give them here,” my father instructs, anger creeping into his voice.

“No!” I shout, my voice echoing round the room. I hadn’t intended to yell as loud, and both of us are surprised by the outburst. My father, caught off guard by my unusually forceful behaviour temporarily lets go of the garments. I seize the opportunity and sprint as fast as I can away from his grasp.

Bounding up the stairs as fast as I can, I reach my bedroom and slam the door behind me. I drop the presents on my bed, having no time to be as careful as I feel I should, as I vault over it. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I shove the bed sideways with all my might. The length of the bed is only a few inches shorter than the width of the room. By sliding the bed sideways, as far as the other furniture allows, it overlaps the door by six inches. This is enough to wedge the door closed, preventing my parents from entering.

I only just manage to get the bed positioned before one of my parents tries to open the door. The failure to do so results in banging on the door, and my father demanding for it to be opened.

“If you don’t open the door, then you can forget having those exchanged,” my father angrily calls through the door. “You can also think twice about keeping the rest of the presents you’ve got as well.”

“Fine!” I shout back. I’m shaking with nervous energy and tears are obscuring my face. I don’t care about anything else except the chance to be myself.

“Right, if you don’t want to come out, then you can stay in there,” my father states. “We’ll see you this evening when we get back from Grandma’s.”

“That’s enough, from both of you,” my mother interjects. Her next sentence I struggle to hear, as she has lowered her voice, “John, calm down and go get ready to go out. I don’t know what’s going on here, but for some reason, Nathan seems to want to wear that stupid dress. My mother may have her moments, but she isn’t that senile. This is no accident. Those cloths are our son’s size. This isn’t some labelling mix up, this was planned. She obviously intended for Nathan to wear them, and in any case, Sally can always make use of them when she grows into them.”

I hear footsteps going back downstairs and all is quiet. I dab my eyes with a tissue and wipe away the tears.

I climb onto the bed, reach up and open the cupboard above my wardrobe. The storage space contains extra blankets that are very rarely used. It is a good hiding place. Inside is one final gift from my Grandmother.

She took me aside and gave me this extra gift, telling me to keep it separate and hidden. I didn’t understand what she was telling me at the time, but things are starting to make sense. My grandmother told me that she got me something unusual for Christmas, and she may have made a big mistake, in which case not to worry or be offended. The final gift contains an explanation.

With some trepidation I tear the paper on the box. Inside a shoe box there is something wrapped in an opaque carrier bag, and a letter on top. I unfold the paper and start to read.

Dear granddaughter, for that is what I suspect you are. I hope and pray I’m not making a complete fool of myself.

I know your father criticises you for your effeminate behaviour, and I’ve seen the look of envy when Sally wears pretty clothes. When you have stayed with me over the summer when your parents were both working, I noticed how you always seemed to get on better with the girls in the neighbourhood, avoiding the boys as much as possible.

I also noticed how you sidestepped telling them your name, instead asking to be called by the gender neutral nickname of Biscuit, claiming you were embarrassed by your own name. I thought it odd until your name was revealed and saw how upset you were when the girl’s realised you were a boy, although you hid it well.

You never asked to be called by a girl’s name, presumably you didn’t dare, but you never corrected them, even when they referred to you with feminine pronouns. The fact that you spent several hours with those girls, without any of them realising your physical gender, suggests that you must be both comfortable and naturally capable in that role.

Indeed, I have never seen you as happy and relaxed as when in that short time you seemed to be accepted at face value.

I may be misreading the signs, in which case this whole incident can be written off as the ramblings of a demented old woman. However, if you do consider yourself to be a girl, or have any doubts about being a boy, then please don’t hide yourself any longer. I promise to do whatever is needed to support you.

You don’t have to use any of the items in this box, but I have included them should you feel the need. I don’t care what you look like, as long as you are happy, but I suspect you may want to make an impression, and these will help your self-image.

Granny.

I read the letter several times before placing it on the bed beside me. Her assessment is accurate. I thought I hid myself well, but she saw through my feeble attempts at pretending to be a boy.

I have been too scared for too long. I can’t go on living like this, denying my true nature. I empty the contents of the box onto the bed. There are a few extra items that Sally wouldn’t need for her outfit, but help me no end.

Being older, my grandmother has provided me with a training bra, and also some pads in which to fill it with. I also have been given a dancers belt, and instructions on how to use it. Although I am not yet well developed, I can see how such a device could be helpful in hiding the piece of anatomy that I really don’t like.

She has also taken a gamble and included a long wig. Sally has long hair, and I guess she picked up on how I usually end up combing it for her when we are together. The colour isn’t quite a match for my own, but as it only appears to be a cheap costume piece, I have no complaints.

I take some deep breaths to calm my nerves, and then start work on my transformation. I have imagined doing this many times, but to actually do this in reality may prove more difficult.

I start by stripping naked, discarding my pyjamas into the laundry basket. Given the choice, I will be wearing the new girlish ones tonight. I open the packet of panties and pull them up my legs. I tuck myself in and pull them into position. While not totally flat, they do hold me in reasonably well. As this may be a long day, I decide to go with it rather than using the gaff. I’m going to be in enough emotional discomfort without adding possible physical discomfort into the mix.

It takes me a little while to position the bra and pads, but with the help of some notes on how to adjust things left by my grandmother, I’m able to accomplish the task. I can’t accuse her of not being thorough; she seems to have thought of everything.

I have a mirror on my wall above my bed, and I sit in front of it so that I can apply some make up. I’ve never done this before, but I’ve watched videos on YouTube, so have an idea of what to do. I’m well aware of the “less is more” adage, so resist the temptation to go over the top. I’m going to look a big enough fool, without looking like a clown.

I carefully apply some mascara from the small makeup kit provided, and then outline my eyes with a black marker, to highlight them. A small dash of green to my eyelids compliments and contrasts the red of the dress. A small amount of blush and some lipstick complete the look.

For a first effort I’m satisfied. I don’t even bother to try and analyse if the face in the mirror is that of a girl or a boy. I know from experience the answer is always girl, no matter what I do.

I position the slip around my waste and carefully manoeuvre myself into the dress. I have to use the hook of a wire coat hanger to pull the zip up my back, as I’m struggling to reach.

“Are you ready yet, we leave in five minutes,” I hear my mother call up the stairs.

“I just need to comb my hair and put my shoes on,” I call back.

I carefully role the white tights with Christmas tree motifs up my legs, they also help to hold me in and flat where it matters most. I place the wig on my head, securing it with the clips to my own hair. Holding it firmly in place I brush it into shape. The long wavy hair tickles my ears and hangs down over my shoulders. I adjust the bangs hiding the front edge, so that they are just above my eyes.

Finally I place the red t-bar shoes on my feet. They have a slight heel, more than I’m used to, but not high enough to cause me to lose my balance.

I take my coat off the hook on the back of my door and carefully put it on so not to scrunch the dress. It is a plain black coat and is unisex enough in style that it doesn’t look out of place.

I carefully move the bed back to its normal position, and taking a deep breath, open the door to my room. I can hear my parents moving around downstairs, so with much trepidation, I begin to descend to my fate.

I see dad, dressed in his coat, carry the bags of presents out to the car. My mother is already stood outside holding the door key.

“Hurry up or–,” my mother starts, but never finishes the sentence as she looks up and sees me. Without saying a word, and keeping my eyes straight ahead, I walk past her towards the car, which is parked on the road outside our house.

As I walk the short distance down the pavement to where it is parked, I pass my father going in the other direction.

“Morning,” he says as I go by. I stop dumbfounded as he walks right past me, seemingly failing to recognise me.

“Is Nathan coming?” he asks my mother, who is too shocked to speak. Instead she simply points at me. I can see the surprise come to my father’s face as he looks back and realises who I am.

“Nathan is most certainly not coming,” I reply, “however, I am, so please can we get a move on, it’s cold out here.”

“How? Where?” my mother stutters.

“An extra gift from Grandma that she asked me to keep hidden. It seems she intended that I should be able to look convincing,” I answer.

My father unlocks the car, and without any of us saying another word, we climb in the vehicle. The journey is spent is silence.

I recognise my uncle’s car as we pull up outside my grandmother’s house. As I climb out of the car, trying to be as graceful as possible, a girl on roller-skates slides to a halt in front of me.

“Biscuit, is that you?” she says in slight surprise.

“Hello Jenny,” I reply. “New pair of roller-skates?”

“My old pair where getting rather worn out, and a bit tight,” she answers. “I like your dress, I thought that might look good on you, girl. I’m glad you’ve decided to end your tomboy phase.”

I blush at the compliment and it takes me a couple of seconds to process what she said. She is referring to me as a girl, even though she knows I’m male.

“You’ve seen this dress before?” I ask.

“Er, yes,” she shyly admits. “Your gran wanted some advice on what girls our age like. I’ve never been a lover of frilly dresses myself, but figured you and Sally would probably go for the fancier styling. I saw Sally arrive earlier, and she seemed quite impressed.”

Jenny’s phone beeps at her and she quickly bids her farewell. Her mother has just texted her that lunch is ready. As she skates off, I turn and walk up the garden path. My parents have been unloading the car while I have been chatting, and are now waiting for me at the door.

The three of us walk into the living room, where my grandmother, uncle, aunt and cousin are waiting.

“Oh my god,” Sally exclaims at seeing me. “Nathan, you look stunning.”

My grandmother clears her throat and raises her eyebrow, and Sally immediately has a guilty look come over her face, as if she has said something wrong.

“Oops, sorry Biscuit,” Sally quickly adds.

I give my grandmother a questioning look. It would appear Sally has been instructed to use my chosen nickname.

“Would you care to explain why my son is currently doing a Shirley Temple impression?” my father asks.

“You where thinking what is that demented old fool is doing now, treating her grandson as if he was a granddaughter,” my grandmother replies. Turning to me she asks, “Was my theory correct.”

I nod as I respond, “one hundred percent accurate.”

“I take it you haven’t explained this to your parents,” she states, to which I shake my head.

“How do you want to proceed? We can talk in private about this if you prefer,” she kindly offers, ignoring the obvious hostility from my parents.

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’ve managed so far today, I think I can manage the final hurdle,” I reply.

“The floor is yours, Biscuit, or do you have another name you would prefer to use? I made the assumption that you wouldn’t want to go by your usual one.”

“You’re right,” I reply, “Nathan isn’t a girl’s name, and I’m most definitely a girl. Please, call me Emily.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Emily,” my grandmother says as she wraps me in a big hug.

I savour the moment, safe in her loving arms, hoping the next few minutes don’t explode into a nasty fight. As I cuddle the older woman, I wait for the silence to be broken.

It is my grandmother who speaks first, “Sally, please fetch the big white envelope from the top of the bureau. Inside you will find some leaflets. I would like you to give one to everybody. I’m not the best at explaining things, so I googled up material to help.”

I take a glance at the leaflets Sally is distributing. I knew my grandmother was getting into the internet and becoming a silver surfer, and she has obviously been doing some careful research on the subject. The envelop contains copies of several leaflets explaining transgenderism.

I was expecting open hostility from my parents, especially my father, but instead they seem to be taking the news calmly, and are actually reading the information provided.

“While you adults read the material, and you’re not getting lunch until you do,” my grandmother instructs, “I will finish cooking the meal with the help of my two granddaughters. I have some pretty aprons so your dresses don’t get dirty, unless you prefer to read as well, Sally. I assume Emily probably already knows the definitions.”

“I get the jist,” Sally responds, “Girl brain, boy body, square peg, round hole, trying to bash the two together leaves a wonky mess.”

I can see the impish grin on her lips. Sally is a known joker and an excellent wind up merchant. I know she is isn’t being mean and take her bait. I could use some humour to lighten the mood so respond, “who are you calling a wonky mess, squirt.”

Seeing me wiggle my fingers in a tickling motion, she decides to beat a hasty retreat through to the kitchen.

“Girls,” my Aunt calls out. “Behave.”

I turn and look in her direction. Her smile is infectious, and in one word I know I have her acceptance.

I grin back and follow Sally through to the kitchen with Gran. The only thing needing to be done is to turn on the vegetables. Instead, she has us finish setting the table, polishing the best silver for use, and placing the crackers from there box.

The dinner is excellent, and I’m especially careful not to drip down my dress, even though both Sally and I are still wearing the aprons, just in case. The meal is eaten in silence, something unusual for this house. I guess there is a lot more to digest than just food this afternoon. I note my parents are keeping a close eye on me, but try my best to ignore their stares.

After lunch, Sally and I are sent through the other room to watch a film, while the adults wash up. We are so involved in the story that we fail to notice that we are still alone when the movie ends. I can hear voices coming from the dining room, and it doesn’t take much to work out the subject of conversation.

With trepidation, and backed by Sally, we walk through to where our families are gathered. The room becomes silent as we open the door.

“Emily,” my mother addresses me, “I don’t fully claim to understand this, but I love you, and we will work through this no matter what.”

I always hoped my mother would accept me, but was too afraid to find out. I turn to my father.

“I always wondered what it would be like to have a daughter. I guess I’m going to find out,” he states before wrapping me in a hug.

“I guess it’s a good thing the sales start tomorrow,” my mother says. “It looks like we may have to buy some more cloths.”

With a sigh of relief, it looks like my Christmas wish is coming true. All thanks to an observant old lady, risking being branded mad, and her crazy plan to get me to open up.

Blackmailing Biscuit
Chapter 1 of 4

© 2013 D.L.

I rolled the stockings up my hairless legs, making sure that the seams were straight. I attached them to the black suspenders that I fed through underneath the lacy French knickers so that they could be removed without disturbing the stockings. I was actually wearing two layers of underwear, as I had an extra pair of plain knickers underneath the extremely frilly lacy pair on top.

I tucked myself, but not tightly. Unlike the numerous other times I have cross-dressed, this time I didn’t have to worry about trying to pass. As everybody at school would know I’m male, it’s not important if I have a slight bulge. In fact, it may be odd if I don’t. The one thing I could guarantee was that my underwear would be on show. The skirt of the school dress is exceedingly short, only a couple of inches below the top of my suspenders and barely reaching halfway down to my knees.

I fastened the blue and white diagonal striped tie around my neck, adjusting the collar of my white blouse and tucking the tie into the top of the dark grey dress. The dress was slightly tight round the bust due to the overly large bags of birdseed that I positioned in my bra. I am going for the Barbara Windsor look concerning my proportions.

Leaning forward into the mirror, I applied my lipstick, bright red of course. I had already overdone my eyes with mascara and blue eye shadow. I drop my makeup into my school bag in case I need to touch it up later. Giving one final look in the mirror to make sure that none of the clips from the hair extensions were visible; I slipped my shoes on my feet and headed for the door. I have styled my false hair so that it is in two braids that cover my shoulders and hang down to my breasts. My actual hair is a lot shorter and only just reaches my shoulders. I usually wear it in a low boy ponytail.

I descended the stairs with my school bag and walked into the kitchen where my mother and friend, Stacy, were waiting.

“Holy cow!” Stacy exclaimed at my entrance.

My mother spun round and gave me a long look. “That skirt is too short, and you look ridiculous with that amount of makeup on your face,” she stated, before smiling and adding, “Perfect!”

I giggled in a very schoolgirl like fashion, and took a seat, being careful not to flash my knickers too much.

Stacy is in equally bazaar attire. She was wearing a fluffy towelling dressing gown over the top of satin pyjamas and a pair of moccasins on her feet.

“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” my mother asked, “This is the last opportunity to back out.”

“Having spent most weekends and all of the school holidays for the last three years living as a girl, I don’t think one extra day is going to faze me,” I replied.

“This is different and you know it. This will be the first time dressed in front of your peers. Even Stacy has only ever seen photos,” my mother responded with caution. “I’m still worried that this might not come across as a joke. You play the part too well.”

“I’ve already discussed this with the doc. I’ve been over the discovery scenarios and consequences many times. If my blackmailer really wants to expose me, then I would rather it happen on my terms,” I answer.

I was diagnosed with Gender Dysphoria shortly before by twelfth birthday. I’m currently fourteen. I openly admitted being transgender after my grandmother decided to buy me girl’s clothes for Christmas. It came as quite a shock but it served as the kick up the backside I needed to come into the open, at least to my family.

My ultimate aim is to transition and live as a woman. However, I’m in no rush and I’m not yet certain surgery is the solution. The thought of being chopped up doesn’t appeal, although neither does living as a man. I’m on hormone blockers to block puberty.

I spend around half my time living as a girl. I stay at my grandmothers during the holidays and I effectively keep my two lives separate. Those who know me here only see me as a boy, and I live as a girl when staying with my grandmother, so those living nearby never see me as a boy.

With the exception of family members, everybody else I know only sees one of my two modes. Only a select few know my secret. I’m able to live in both roles without detection, but I’m happier and seem more natural with a feminine presentation.

Unfortunately, one of the people at school has found evidence of me dressed as a girl, and is threatening to expose me. I have thought on many occasions about this scenario. I have kept my activities secret for fear of ridicule. I am a private person and don’t want the attention. However, there is no way I am giving in to blackmail. I would rather expose myself than give in.

I can be stubborn like that when I want to be. It was my stubbornness to wear the dress that Nan got me that exposed my desires in the first place.

Picking up our school bags, Stacy and I proceeded outside and climbed into my mother’s car for the drive to school. The reason for our unusual attire is that the school is allowing us to come in fancy dress in order to raise money for charity. It is the last Friday before half-term and normal lessons are going to end at lunchtime.

We have a normal school uniform, which for today only you can buy yourself out of wearing. If you are willing to pay double, then you can come in costume instead of plain clothes. Given that Halloween is next Thursday, I suspect a large proportion of any costumes may be based around that occasion. The only restrictions are that any costumes must be sensible and not interfere with your ability to participate in lessons. Mr Blobby costumes are banned.

I will be one of several St. Trinians pupils attending. I won’t be the only cross-dressed boy. The rugby team are apparently coming as American cheerleaders. Quite where a bunch large rugged blokes are going to find delicate looking outfits I’m not sure, but apparently they have.

I won’t even be the only boy in my class in a skirt. Scotty is coming in full highland regalia, including kilt. However, if anyone teases him about wearing a skirt, then they’re likely to receive a Glasgow kiss (that’s a head-butt if you are not familiar with the term).

Pulling up at the drop off point, Stacy and I got out and started walking into the school. I get a few wolf whistles as I walk past some of the boys. They are not people I know, and I smiled to myself as I wondered whether they realise I usually attend as a boy.

About a third of the pupils are in civvies, the rest are in fancy dress. I can’t see anybody not taking the opportunity to forgo the uniform. The current fashion seems to be to come dressed in nightwear, at least amongst the girls. Vampires seem to be a popular theme, and several of the smaller kids are in skeleton costumes. Most of the shops only supply costumes in little-kid sizes, so not many of my fellow students use shop-bought outfits. Halloween is less than a week away, so that has influenced a lot, but not all, of the costumes. It’s Friday the 25th with Halloween next Thursday. It’s the last day before the half-term break.

Our headmaster, Mr Faraday, was stood in the entrance with several other teachers, inspecting outfits to make sure that nobody has gone too far. We have already been warned that anybody going over the top will be asked to change, and anybody using this as an excuse to be sent home will end up in detention. Turning up as a Teletubby would not be tolerated. All the male teachers are also in fancy dress, mimicking stereotypical Victorian schoolteachers complete with mortarboards and canes.

“Good morning ladies, what have we here? Stacy, I see you got up late this morning, don’t panic you’re not the only one,” Mr Faraday said smiling. He doesn’t do much in the way of teaching, but we do have him for one lesson a week for general studies.

I know him on a more familiar basis than my classmates as he is one of only two staff members, the other being the school nurse, who knows about my medical status. I don’t fancy the stress of transitioning while at school, but if my secret should leak out, then I may change my plans. It is already getting to the point where it is becoming increasingly difficult to hide the physical changes, or lack thereof, of not going through male puberty.

“And an exchange student from St. Trinians,” Mr Faraday continued, “I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m the headmaster, Mr Faraday, and who might you be?”

I can see he’s trying to place my face, obviously recognising me to a certain extent, but unable to figure out my identity.

“I’m Emily, Sir. Emily Bridges. You may know my cousin Nathan,” I say with a wink and watch as his draw drops for a moment as he works out who I am. He knows I live part time as a girl, but has never seen me en femme.

He quickly recovered, “well welcome to Lakeside High, I hope you have a good day. Your skirt is shorter than regulation length, but as it’s your first day, I will let it slide once. Good day ladies.”

He then excused himself to go intercept a student arriving in a full suit of armour. I know Steve and he was talking about coming clad as a knight in shining armour. I happen to know the costume he has on is only to wind up the teachers. There is no way he can possibly sit down in what he is currently wearing. He has a tamer version consisting of chainmail that he’ll be dressed in for the rest of the day.

Heading inside to registration, I got a few more wolf whistles as I walked the corridors. I get a few raised eyebrows and double takes from a few people who know me. Only a select few people knew I was planning this, and only Stacy knows the true reasons, so it’s a surprise to most.

To confuse our classmates, I swapped seats with Jessica. She came dressed in Jedi robes and had her head covered in a hood. We have the same hair colour, so we decided to see how long it would take everybody to notice.

We took our seats at the front of the class. We were some of the first to arrive and everybody filed in behind us. I kept my back to everybody, hiding my identity. Stacy sat on a table facing backwards and gave me a commentary of what was happening behind me.

Mr Jones, our form teacher, came in and took his place up front. Everybody settled down and he started to call the register.

“Jessica Anderson,” he asked, looking in my direction. I had my head down looking at the desk, so he doesn’t have a direct sight of my face.

“Here, Sir,” Jessica called from my usual spot, dropping her hood in the process. This caught everybody off guard, as they had all assumed I was sitting in my usual seat. I could hear some murmurs, and Mr Jones immediately called for silence.

“Nathan Bridges?” he asked, looking back in my direction in puzzlement.

I smile and answer, “Here, Sir,” in the most sexy voice I can manage. I blew him a kiss. The room erupted into a mixture of laughter and wolf whistles.

“Dude, you are so gay!” Robert calls out to me.

“One hundred percent lesbian and proud of it,” I replied, smiling.

Technically we are pushing the boundaries of the schools zero tolerance approach to homophobia and bulling. However, it is widely known that Robert lives with his gay farther and his partner. They were the first couple in our town to take advantage of civil partnerships when they were brought in. Given his home circumstances, he is one of the few people who can get away with such a comment in jest.

He is also dressed as a fairy, complete with home-made magic wand. He had on a white lacy dress with and a pair of wings fashioned out of paper and garden wire. Robert is very tall, almost six feet, but also skinny. It looks the dress is probably one of his little sisters old party dresses as it appears to be made for a six year old. The dress, which looks to be designed to be loose, is very tight on him, but does fit. It is however nowhere near long enough and the bottom of what is presumably supposed to be an ankle length skirt barely covers his hips.

Our teacher got everything rapidly back under control, and after congratulating me on my costume, continued with the register.

We have just finished when the speakers in the ceiling crackled and Mr Faraday’s voice filled the room. “Good morning students, and welcome to a fun packed freaky Friday. I hope you are all in the mood for raising some money for Children in Need."

We are a bit early in our fundraising events as the main televised event isn't for another three weeks. However, it was decided the last day before the break was the less disruptive time to stage the fundraising.

"I have a few announcements to go through. Firstly, there are a number of students today who are cross-dressed, both boys dressed as girls and a few girls with fake beards pretending to be boys. As this could cause confusion and embarrassment, the two bathrooms opposite the music room have been designated unisex for today. Any student can therefore use either bathroom, irrespective of their actual gender. So if you decide to use these bathrooms, please bear this in mind.”

I smile at this announcement. I wasn’t sure going into the girls bathroom would be a good idea, and I was worried that I might get a bit of opposition from boys not realising I’m male. What I’m wearing would make using the urinals awkward, not that I ever use them anyway, preferring to sit. Normally in girl mode I wouldn’t think twice about using the female facilities, but there is a high chance of being spotted by someone who knows I’m male, although I doubt anybody else would notice.

“This was requested by the Rugby team as they are all dressed in mini-skirts and tights and felt it would be easier not to have to use the urinals,” our headmaster continued. “Speaking of which, and I never thought I would ever have to make such an announcement, I have been asked to tell you that any adventurous girls who would like to try out using the urinals are welcome to do so and that sixth former Mary Brown will be outside the music room selling aides to facilitate this. For those of you who don’t know her, she will be dressed as Florence Nightingale in a Victorian style nurses uniform.”

This causes a few murmurs to go round the room. I know several girls who are extroverted enough to take that option, even if there are boys stood beside them. I think I will be using the girl’s unisex bathroom if the need arises.

“Lessons will progress as normal until lunch time. After afternoon registration, there will be the elections for the student councillors. I hope that all nominations have been made, seconded and accepted. There will be opportunity for short presentations by candidates, in the form of a debate, before voting will take place,” the tannoy crackled as he continued to speak.

This is where my day could get interesting. Somebody is trying to blackmail me into standing down from the election. I do not intend to do so. Therefore, I will wait and see what happens.

“This will be followed by a number of charity related activities instead of normal lessons, although I will warn you they are designed to be education,” a groan went round the room as the headmaster announced this. “Please study hard this morning, and then have fun this afternoon. That is all, thank you.”

Mr Jones came round the class collecting the uniform buyout money, finishing shortly before the bell rung for the first lesson.

The morning progressed as normal, despite everybody being in weird clothing. I get some strange looks by my classmates, and teachers, but nothing too nasty. I’m accused of being girly and a sissy, which I simply acknowledge and agree with. After all, as I am cross-dressed in a miniskirt, both statements can be considered accurate.

At break time, I find my classmates in the canteen. I know Stacy is conspiring with some of the girls to drag me into a very feminine discussion on the pretence of trying to embarrass me. We both know it won’t, but instead it will be an opportunity for me to simply fit in as a girl, even if for a short time.

A couple of the girls, Charlotte and Mary, attempt to embarrass me by discussing feminine hygiene, but I don’t take the bait. Instead, having an idea this might happen, I have a couple of questions to hand that turned the situation around. The conversation was quickly moved onto safer grounds, much to my and Stacey’s amusement.

We end up discussing makeup, and in particular how the style I’m wearing would work well for me if it was toned down to less extreme measures. I did the job myself, but don’t take credit, saying that I had help from my mother.

Half way through the twenty minute break period, I tell the other girls I need to visit the bathroom, and get up to go to the girls toilets near the music room that have been designated unisex. What surprises me is that some of them decide to tag along and also use the same toilets.

I’m not surprised at Stacy, as she partially sees me as a girl anyway, even though I haven’t dressed as myself in front of her. It is Jessica and Janet who catch me off guard and it is a somewhat surreal experience carrying on our conversation as we relieve ourselves in adjacent cubicles.

This isn’t a new experience for me, as I have used female bathrooms on a number of occasions, including several times with girls my own age. My friend Jennifer saw to that.

Jennifer lives next door to my grandmother, and we became friends when I stayed over the summer while my parents both worked. This was one of the first times I was truly able to let my usual guard down and be myself instead of hiding.

My grandmother had told me that a girl had moved in next door, and I had seen her arrive home from my bedroom window while unpacking the afternoon I arrived.

Each day I would take a book and sit in the small park down the road. After a fortnight of seeing me come and go, she came into the park with a couple of her friends. Jennifer introduced herself, saying she had seen me leave my grandmothers, and assuming correctly that I must be staying with her over the summer and I probably didn’t have any friends here with which to socialise. I deliberately introduced myself by the gender neutral nickname of Biscuit, and refused giving my name saying it was embarrassing.

I didn’t try and deceive them, but neither did I correct their assumption that I was another girl. I had grown my hair as long as I dared, and had put in a ponytail, slightly too high for a guy, but not quite as high up as a girl. Combined with the white t-shirt, khaki shorts, white sports socks, and white trainers, I looked more like a tomboy than a male, but not enough, at least I thought, to raise suspicion in my grandmother.

I had spent most of the day with them, and for that short time I was fully accepted as one of the girls. Luckily on that occasion, I didn’t need to use public facilities, as we ended up back at Lucy’s house for lunch, and ended up playing twister in her back garden.

I was so relaxed by this point that I didn’t even consider the dangers of close body contact combined with the possibility of someone looking up my shorts, given the unusual angles we were contorting ourselves into. Not that they would have seen much, as I was wearing plain white tight underwear that did a good job of holding me in. It wasn’t until we all landed laughing in a heap on top of each other and Natalie’s elbow ended up perilously close to my crotch did I realise how dangerous the situation was getting. I very much doubted the girls would have knowingly let a boy have such close contact.

That sobered me up and made me realise I needed to extract myself from the situation very carefully. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the opportunity. Half an hour later, Jennifer’s mother, Juliette, came to collect the two of us, and regrettably, my grandmother came along for the ride. I had phoned her to let her know where I was, and obviously on learning I was with Jennifer, had spoken with her neighbour.

I knew as soon as I saw them step out into the back garden I was in deep trouble.

“Sorry to break up the fun girls and boys, but it’s time for Nathan and Jennifer to leave,” Juliette stated, looking round in puzzlement trying to spot a boy amongst the girls in front of her.

Any hope of keeping my secret vanished in a puff of smoke, as all eyes fell on me. All the other girls knew each other, so as the only newcomer, I was the logical candidate, especially as I had refused to tell them my real name.

I tried to act nonchalantly, replying lamely, “well I did say I have an embarrassing name.” I couldn’t look the girls in the face and, and despite the warm late afternoon sun, there was a distinct frostiness in the air.

Jennifer quickly said farewell to her friends, while I tried to sink into the shadows. We travelled the short five minute drive back home in silence.

The next few days I spent moping about the house in a state of depression, angry with myself for being so stupid. While I could potentially ignore the other girls, it was difficult to avoid Jennifer as she lived next door. She eventually dragged me outside again and I ended up spending time with her and the other girls, but the initial magic had gone.

They continued to call me Biscuit, but now that they knew I was a boy, they were a lot more reserved in their behaviour towards me. The conversation steered clear of any feminine topics, and there were no activities suggested that would end up with further close physical contact. I also withdrew back to my shyer introverted male persona.

It was Jennifer who brought me back out of my shell, although I didn’t realise it at the time. While the others seemed to distance themselves from me, she continued to treat me as a girl, and openly talked about subjects her friends seemed reluctant to include me in.

Gradually, I had started to feel more at ease with myself, and by the time the holidays were up, the other girls were starting to warm to me.

I didn’t become aware how good a friend she was until Christmas time. She spent a lot of time with my Grandmother, and did her garden for her during the autumn, taking over from me after I went home. She also helped her learn how to use the computer she had bought. It was while helping to recover some lost files that Jennifer found out my grandmother was researching transgenderism. She looked in the browser cache to find a file my grandmother had attempted to save, and found some of the pages she had visited on the subject.

The two of them then discussed my girlishness and conspired together to try and bring me out of my shell. Jennifer helped my grandmother pick out a dress as my Christmas present, setting me up for a shock on Christmas day, and the catalyst for coming out.

I started to live part time as a girl, when staying with my Grandmother. I didn’t have the confidence to dress in public as a girl near home. I was so much happier presenting as a girl, and I was soon included back into her circle of friends as a girl. Only a select few knew my secret, basically the ones who were present that first day. The rest of the girls I met never knew or realised what I was.

I ended up going on many shopping trips with them, and using public restrooms, both with girls that knew about me and ones who didn’t. The last time I spent with Jennifer and Lucy was a couple of weekends ago, picking out the very outfit I am now wearing.

I never thought that I would be sharing bathroom facilities with the girls at school, as I never intended any of them to see me en-femme.

I don’t have many close friends, having always been an outcast. The closest friend at school is Stacy, and that is mainly because we live next door to one another. We have been close friends since were toddlers, and she is the one person who I have always let my guard down around.

I only started to form a protective shield around myself after starting school. I was picked on by some of the kids for being girly. I never really considered my gender until primary school. I knew I was a boy, and that boys and girls where physically different, but only started to learn about the social norms of what girls and boys should like when going to school. It was then that I started to realise I didn't quite fit in with what was expected.

I soon realised it was a bad thing to advertise my girlishness, so learned to put on a masculine charade around other people. Over the years we had remained friends, but we had drifted apart slightly due to peer pressure.

Stacy was a popular girl, and although she didn’t really take notice of my gender, other girls did. They weren’t comfortable having a boy around, and I didn’t want to make Stacy feel awkward by forcing her to choose between her other friends and me. I therefore withdrew myself further into my shell, only daring to let myself out when alone with her, something that happened less and less as the years went by.

I hadn’t realised how depressed and isolated I had become until I came out. The more I opened up, the more I found it hard to present as male. However, I was still too scared to be myself at home, except on special occasions. Too many teens in my neighbourhood go to my school, and although I wouldn’t have a problem with Stacy knowing, some of the other girls nearby I can only describe as spiteful little bitches, and I have no intention of letting them make my life hell.

After my initial coming out, we kept my problems in the family, and it was the difficulty that my parents had not to slip and use the wrong name or pronoun that made me decide to separate my lives in two. Jennifer and her circle of friends, although they know I’m Nathan, they’ve never used that name, and for the most part, hardly ever used male pronouns. I was always Biscuit or Emily round them. It’s therefore very unlikely that they would be likely to slip up, so I could be myself without too much risk.

I didn’t want to risk my secret being revealed, and although I trust Stacy, I had to be sure that she wouldn’t accidentally out me.

I had come to an agreement with my parents to use my nickname for the most part, as this was gender neutral, and wouldn’t cause problems. Stacy picked up on my new nickname, having explained it was given to me when staying with my grandmother, but not going into details. At my request, she started to refer to me by that name, but it took her several weeks to get used to calling me Biscuit rather than Nathan.

For safety I decided not to tell her my feminine name, under the principle that if she doesn’t know it, she can’t accidentally use it.

Unfortunately I made a complete balls-up of keeping my lives separate, accidentally bringing Stacy in on the secret.

About four months ago, we were both sat working on some homework in the dining room at my house. Although we spend time in each other’s houses, we don’t tend to go into each other’s rooms. It’s not so much our parents are worried what we might get up to, it’s that I don’t want Stacy in my bedroom where she could accidentally see some of my girl clothes. Although I tend to only wear unisex or male cut clothing, I do have a few feminine items at home.

As Stacey doesn’t come into my room, I don’t tend to go into her room if I can avoid it.

We were both working on laptops. Both our houses have wireless internet, and the properties are close enough together that we can both use our own broadband connections. I needed to send some files across to Stacy, and the easiest method was via email.

As I have two identities, I have two email accounts. Needless to say, I managed to accidentally open the wrong one, and it wasn’t until Stacey asked why the email she had just received was from someone called Emily, did I realise what I had done.

In retrospect, I might have been able to talk my way out of the situation if I hadn’t spent the next few minutes swearing and banging my head against the desk. That clued Stacy in to the fact I’m deliberately maintaining two online identities.

At first I told her to ignore it and forget about it. However, Stacey wouldn’t take that for an answer, and every time she thought she could get away with it when nobody was listening, would call me Emily, even when at school.

After a week of nagging, I caved in and admitted I live part time as a girl and possibly spend the rest of my life as one.

Blackmailing Biscuit
Chapter 2 of 4

© 2013 D.L.

Having come out of the toilets we headed towards our lockers to drop off our books and pick up our gym kits for the next lesson. I find a letter shoved into my locker. The catch is slightly loose, enough for the paper to be slipped in between the door and the frame. Taking hold of it with my sleeve, I picked it up and after excusing myself from the other girls, headed to the west corridor, where I knew Mr Jones was on patrol. I walked past him and winked. Seeing me holding the paper cautiously, he nodded in my direction as I passed. I continued on to the school office, and took a seat out of sight of anybody who may be watching. A minute later Mr Jones turned up.

“I take it you have another blackmail letter?” he asked. “Are you going to tell me what this is about, this time?”

“I haven’t read it yet, but I assume so,” I replied. “I hoped I wouldn’t need to do this, but it looks like I need to get this in the open.”

After speaking to the secretary, he escorted me into a side office, where we take a seat round a conference table and open the letter. Mr Faraday joined us a few moments later.

“Janice said I was needed, what’s going on?” Mr Faraday asked as he entered and took a seat. A worried look came to his face when he saw it’s me sat in the room.

“Somebody is trying to use blackmail to affect the outcome of the student elections. Nathan here is the favourite candidate of my class, and has been receiving notes,” Mr Jones explained. “He came to me yesterday and told me that he had received a letter instructing him to pull out. He wouldn’t say what it said, but told me to be on the lookout for any weird rumours.”

“Is this connected to your medical status?” Mr Faraday enquired, being careful to word the question vaguely.

I unfold the paper and lay it on the table for the teachers to see. The printout from a colour inkjet printer contains a photo of me from last summer, when I was dressed in a pale yellow sundress. I have matching yellow ribbon in my hair tying my long brown hair up in a high ponytail. I grew my hair as long as I could get away with during term, then had extensions sewn in until I needed to return to school. I spent the summer staying with my grandmother, who lives a couple of hours away, experimenting with being a girl.

Underneath the photo is a message, “Drop out of the elections, or this goes public. You have until noon to publicly announce withdrawal. You failed to heed my previous warning, so I hope you enjoy the guess the student competition this afternoon.”

Both teachers examine the note as I state, “Yes, this is directly connected to being transgendered.”

For the benefit of my form tutor, who had yet to be informed I add, “I live part time as a girl. A fact I try to keep secret, but always realised may not be possible. I intend to transition to being a girl full time, although not yet. I wasn’t going to try to live full time until after I leave school. Trying to come here as a girl would cause no end of problems for both me and the school, and I don’t want to go through that if I don’t have to.”

“That explains a lot,” Mr Jones stated, “Several of the teachers have commented how outgoing you are behaving today. I presume this is why you have been seeing the school nurse a lot recently?” Mr Jones asks.

“My Prentiss,” I reply, referring to my P.E. teacher, “noticed I wasn’t developing like other boys and asked the nurse to examine me. I’m on hormone blockers, so I’m deliberately not going through puberty. Although I don’t feel comfortable using the boy’s changing rooms, I fear I may stand out more by being excluded. Although my doctors were willing to provide a medical certificate excluding me, I decided to continue as normal for as long as possible, although it’s getting to the point where I’m starting to get some funny looks. Nobody has said anything yet, but I’m the least well-endowed of the boys, and I have a small amount of chest growth.”

“Mr Prentiss is very observant,” Mr Jones stated, “we have had bullying of students in the past who suffered from gynecomastia, so I can understand why he would get the nurse involved if he thought there might be a medical issue.”

“I know exactly where and when that photo was taken and by whom, my Aunt Anne at my Cousin Sally’s birthday party last April. She took photos of all the attendees and put them on a private gallery on the internet so that they could download the pictures,” I explain. “Sally’s friends only know me as Emily, and none of them attend this school. I don’t know of any connections between them and anybody I know here. I am very careful to keep my two lives separate.”

“What about this reference to the guess the student competition?” Mr Jones asked. “Have you submitted a photo to be used as a question?”

“No, but I have a nasty suspicion that one may have been entered for me,” I replied, “I just hope it’s one that I can easily explain away as being deliberately misleading for the competition.”

Mr Faraday left the room and returned a minute later with the question and answer sheets that will be used later. There are twelve photos for each year, and students can try to guess the identities of the individuals for a small entrance fee. Several photos are from school sporting events, some are from the drama club productions with individuals in costume, and a few are simply people disguising themselves.

I’m relieved to see that the photo of me can be explained as being deliberately staged for the competition, even though it isn’t. It is from the same party and is cropped from a larger image. It shows my head and shoulders only, so it isn’t clear exactly what I’m wearing. The top of the dress simply looks like a yellow t-shirt. My face is almost entirely hidden behind a balloon that I’m blowing up. I’m known for having long hair, so I can say that I deliberately combed it girly to confuse people for the contest.

“I’ll withdraw the competition and claim there has been a printing issue,” Mr Faraday says, sighing.

“Don’t bother,” I reply. “That particular photo isn’t very damning and I can say it was staged for the contest. Note my hairstyle today almost matches the photo as a clue. The fact I’m dressed as a girl today does show I’m game for a laugh and not afraid to cross-dress.”

“You aren’t cross-dressing though are you?” Mr Jones reasoned. “You always seem timid and withdrawn in class. You are the opposite of that today. Not only are you more outgoing, you are practically oozing confidence.”

“You’re right,” I answer. “I always have to hide myself, and I become very self-conscious trying to act masculine. I don’t have to worry about that today. I can be as girly as I like, and if anybody questions it, then I’m playing the part.”

“I take it you’re not withdrawing from the elections,” Mr Faraday stated.

“Certainly not! Neither do I expect you to be able to do anything about my blackmailer. I’m in a catch 22 situation here. I can’t easily reveal I’m being blackmailed. If I don’t reveal the reasons why, then the rumours could be worse than the actuality. I could also be accused of faking it in order to get a sympathy vote and discredit my competitors. My only hope is that by you knowing there may be the chance the perpetrator can be spotted before they carry out the threat.”

“Okay, we will keep an eye out for any more photos of you in a dress. I will have Janice check all the material printed, and also see if we can find out how your photo ended up on the list,” Mr Faraday stated, adding for Mr Jones benefit more than mine, “As always, what you told us about your medical status is confidential and doesn’t leave this room without your permission.”

We ended the meeting just as the bell rung for the next lesson.

I am one of the last to arrive at the sports block at the end of break. I noticed that the girls were grouped in a bunch whispering to each other. I had a sneaking suspicion they are up to something. Maybe I’m paranoid.

Mrs Phelps, the girls’ games mistress, came out of the building and called for us to line up. We formed the usual two lines, one for each gender. I stand with the boys as per usual, despite my current presentation.

“Hey, Emily, you’re in the wrong line,” Katie shouted at me, “Get your butt over here!”

“Yeah, you can’t be showing all those boy’s your knickers, come join us instead,” Janet added.

A bunch of the girls beckoned me over, while some of the boys whistled and cat called, encouraging me to switch sides. I glanced at Mrs Phelps, who didn’t seem bothered about the fuss.

“I bet you have a girls P.E. kit as well,” Katie stated.

“She does, I’ve seen it,” Stacy replied. I let her see what I was going to wear yesterday.

To the cheers of the boys and giggling of some of the girls, I decided to humour everyone for the moment, casually crossing and stand with the girls, shrugging my shoulders as I did so.

“It doesn’t really bother me which changing room I use. I find it highly embarrassing to undress no matter who is watching. The only slight advantage of changing with the boys is that they have seen me naked before,” I declared, “If you’re happy to have me in the changing room, then I’m willing to join you.”

I haven’t taken the option to remove myself from P.E. as I don’t want to stand out from the crowd. I don’t feel comfortable changing in front of the boys, but have been putting up with it. Changing in front of the girls is only slightly less stressful. There won’t be the comparison going on between myself and other males to highlight that I’m now underdeveloped, as the girls probably don’t have a frame of reference for comparison. On the other hand, they might be more likely to notice that I’m beginning to bud, having all gone through the process themselves.

If I have to change in front of anybody, then I suspect I will find it easier amongst girls. I have partially stripped in front of Jenifer and Lucy, and although embarrassing, I didn’t find it as uncomfortable as I usually do at school. Although that is possibly because I trust them and know they won’t make fun of me.

I smiled at Katie and add, “However, while you may have no issue stripping naked in front of me in order to shower at the end of the lesson, I doubt all the other girls would do the same. Besides, I can’t see the school allowing it anyway.”

“Actually, as the numbers of boys and girls are both odd, joining the girls for today would even things up and make it easier for setting up balanced teams,” Mrs Phelps stated. “Would you like to play hockey instead of Rugby?”

“I’m not a fan of rugby, so I’m happy to join the girls, and yes, I do have a St. Trinians regulation sports kit with me,” I answer.

“In that case, Emily, please lead the way into the girls’ changing room,” Mrs Phelps instructed. “Don’t get changed just yet, just go in and sit down.”

I’m not sure who is more surprised, me or the other girls. The teacher gestured for me to move. Taking a deep breath, I decided I’ve nothing to lose, so walk into the building into a room I never expected to see inside.

I waited for the other girls to sit in their usual places before finding a spot to sit. Katie and Janet make a space between them, gesturing I can sit with them. I don’t necessarily trust them, but reason I’m as safe there as anywhere else in the room.

Stacey was sat on the bench opposite. We have actually seen each other naked, having shared baths as toddlers, but we haven’t done that for many years.

“Alright everybody,” the teacher addressed us. “Simple rule, I’m not asking anybody to undress in front of a member of the opposite sex if they do not want to, but neither will I prevent it from happening. Nathan, if you are comfortable changing in here, please go ahead. Otherwise, you can use my office if you prefer. As several of you insisted Nathan should be allowed in here, I assume you have no inhibitions about the situation. Everybody who isn’t comfortable can wait until Nathan has left the room.”

Mrs Phelps was calling everybody’s bluff. I can see a lot of glances being exchanged. I note that some of the girls immediately start to strip off, one or two even remove their bra’s to swap to sports ones, although they are keeping their backs to me. Most of the girls are waiting for me to disappear before they start to change.

I lean over and look at the toilet cubicles. There are two. One appears to be much larger than normal. The boys changing room has a similar sized cubicle, designed to be large enough to take a wheelchair.

“It may take me longer than usual to change. These suspenders and stockings are a bit fiddly and I’m not used to them. It’s not fair to keep everybody waiting. Therefore if nobody minds, I’ll use the disabled toilet over there,” I state. “If you all want to go ahead and change, I promise not to come out until Mrs Phelps gives the all clear.”

I stood and picked up my sports bag. The teacher nodded as I passed her and entered the enlarged cubicle, shutting the door behind me. A normal sized cubicle would be cramped, but here there is sufficient space to change.

I put on a blue sports skirt that barely covers my bottom. I remove the outer pair of lacy panties I’m wearing and replace them with a plain white pair, suitable for being on view. I will definitely be showing them off when running around. I carefully remove the stockings and suspenders, packing them neatly into my bag to be replaced by long white sports socks and my usual studded football boots.

I’m wearing homemade false breasts, and I can’t run around in them, as they are rather large and likely to come out. I therefore switch to a padded training bra under a plain white polo shirt.

As it is chilly out, I add a pink tracksuit top. The polo shirt is thinner than my rugby shirt I normally wear, and that is bad enough. At least today, I might actually be warm. As I’m used to bare legs in shorts, I don’t think the skirt will make much difference, but at least my body can be warmer than normal. The girls are allowed to wear sweat shirts for P.E. which I never thought fair.

“You can come out now, Emily,” Mrs Phelps called. I exited the stall and walked over to sit on the bench where a place was reserved for me. Once I am sat down, the teacher called the register. I'm almost caught out when she calls, ‘Emily Bridges’ which causes some giggling amongst my peers.

“Emily, you can leave your bags here. At the end of the lesson you can come in, pick up your bags, and then use my private shower,” the teacher declares. “The rest of you, same rules apply. If you want to strip off and head into the showers with Nathan watching, you can do. However, I suspect most of you will probably want to wait until he leaves the room. I will end the lesson a few minutes early, and I won’t be pushing anybody to undress until Nathan has gone.”

We head outside and across to the hockey pitch. The boys were already on the rugby pitch and I hear my feminine name shouted along with some wolf whistles as we all walk past.

While boys do get to play hockey, it isn’t very often. We are normally limited to playing rugby and football, both sports on which I’m not keen. Hockey is a bit better, and I actually start to enjoy myself, even if I’m slightly rusty. I think a lot of the enjoyment comes from being with the girls. I relax and let my mannerisms switch fully into girl mode.

It doesn’t seem that long until the final whistle blows signalling the end of the lesson. Normally P.E. lessons seem to drag on and on, but this time it feels a lot less time.

“Okay girls, time to hit the showers,” Mrs Phelps called. I heard some whispering behind me as we headed towards the facilities. I’m near the front of the line of girls crossing the grass towards the building. Katie distracted me by asking me about how I found shaving my legs. I admit I like the feeling, but hadn’t realised how much colder my legs feel without the hair to protect them.

We entered the changing rooms and the teacher crossed the room and started the showers. Two of the girls ahead of me are already pulling their tops off as soon as we walk through the door; others make their way to the benches and slowly start to remove their shoes.

“Hey, that is a nice jacket where did you get it from?” Janet asked as I reach my bag, “can I try it on, it looks warm?”

“Sure,” I answer slipping it off, “It’s from Next. I got it in a sale a few months ago.”

Janet donned the garment and turned to a mirror on the wall. She asked a few of the other girls for their opinion on the style. While she is messing around, I crouch down and untie my laces. I can’t walk through the building in spiked boots, so remove them. I automatically remove my socks as well. My leg is muddy from where I slipped over earlier in the lesson.

“Emily! Janet! Stop gossiping and get a move on! Now!” Mrs Phelps called from across the room. Being shouted at to get a move on is a regular occurrence for me in the school changing rooms. As I’m always reluctant to undress, I’m usually one of the last into the showers. I immediately go into autopilot without thinking about my surroundings.

Both of us replied, “Yes miss,” and hurriedly start to remove our clothes on her command. I pulled the top off over my head with my left hand as I swiftly unhooked my bra with a flick of my right, letting them both fall from my body into my bag.

I was vaguely aware of some naked bodies passing me on their way to the showers, but this didn’t register as being odd. Over the summer, whilst living as a girl at my grandmothers, I have been to the local swimming pool on a number of occasions. In each case I was with a group of girls my own age, and under the supervision of my grandmother, I used the ladies changing rooms. The group of girls I was with knew my secret. I would wear my swimming costume under my clothes, as did the others, and on arriving quickly strip and head to the pool as swiftly as possible.

When leaving the pool, we would head into the showers. I made sure to keep my lower half covered at all times and then use one of the modesty booths provided to dry and change. While I kept myself covered, some of the girls I was with decided not to bother covering themselves in my presence, and I'm therefore used to seeing naked girls.

I unzipped the skirt hooked my fingers into my panties, flicking them all over my hips. Before they even hit the floor, I had grabbed my towel and bottle of shower gel out of my bag. I am in the habit of not looking down at my body, so I automatically focus my attention to the contents of my bag. I bit the corner of the towel and the string from which the bottle can hang, freeing up my hands so that I could grab my shower cap.

I dashed across to the showers, putting my hair into the cap as I carried the items with my teeth. I dropped the towel on the floor near the entrance, where several other towels had already been deposited, and stepped under the running water.

Blackmailing Biscuit
Chapter 3 of 4

© 2013 D.L.

I started to wash myself down, beginning at my shoulders and working down. The sound of laughter, gasps and wolf whistling in the background didn’t initially register until I look down at myself and realize I’m stood naked in amongst a group of girls. I froze on the spot, paralysed with fear and embarrassment.

“You’ve gone awfully pale. Is something wrong?” a naked Maria states from my side. I turn to face her and see a worried expression on her face.

“I’m not supposed to be in here,” I softly say.

“Why not?” Samantha, who was stood showering on the other side of me, asked. “The same rule applies to you as it does to us. Nobody is being forced to undress in front of a member of the opposite sex, but we can choose to do so if we want. By that logic we are equally guilty of exposing ourselves to you as you to us.”

I stepped out of the shower to where the rest of the class were looking on in amusement at my predicament. I’m more embarrassed about letting my guard down and running into the shower without thinking than I am about being seen naked. I find undressing for P.E. uncomfortable anyway, and I’m used to having to put up with it every other lesson. After the initial shock started to dissipate, I actually start to feel more comfortable in here than I normally do in the boy’s changing room, despite the obvious difference in my physical appearance.

“I’m sorry, everybody,” I said, looking at my audience. “I forgot where I was for a moment. I didn’t intend to shower in here but I sort of went on autopilot when shouted at. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“No, you forgot what you were, and that is an important difference.” The room fell silent except for a few astonished gasps as the nude figure walking towards me spoke. While my behaviour is somewhat surprising, it is nowhere near as shocking as that of the girl in front of me. The only parts of Natasha usually visible are her hands and face. The rest, including her hair, she keeps covered, at least while there is any possibility of being seen by a male. I understand that she does usually shower with the other girls, but like me is last in and keeps herself as hidden as possible under a large towel for as long as practical.

I glanced across at Mrs Phelps, who appeared to be in deeper shock than me. I get the impression that she never intended for this to actually happen, but the situation went beyond her control. She appeared to be on the point of hyperventilating, and two of the girls escorted her out of the room. Most of the attention is on me, so only a few people notice her distress and departure.

Natasha looked round at everyone and added, “I was about the only person here who wasn’t cheering for Emily to join us. So how come now that she’s here, I’m only the fifth person to head to the showers with her?” Turning back to me she continued, “Ignore them and take as long as you like. If they want suddenly to become a bunch of prudes now that the consequence of their actions has come about, then they can put up with being late to lunch. By the way, you still have a patch of mud on the back of your leg, so I suggest you wash it off before getting dressed.”

“You seriously expect us to get changed with a boy in the room?” Stephanie snidely replied, “That’s a bit hypocritical coming from you, Miss ‘Holier than thou’, ‘I must keep my modesty at all times’. I’ll be interested to hear what your parents think about this.”

Natasha stopped walking into the shower and turned to face Stephanie. “I follow the doctrine laid down by my parents and my religion. How I choose to interpret that is between my deity and me. I agree it is improper for a woman to be naked in front of a man outside of wedlock, but I also do not believe there is a man in the room with us.”

“I’ll admit Nathan here is certainly more boy than man,” Stephanie wiggled her little finger in the air. Most boys would be offended at that remark, but I simply accept that as fact. Having seen the other boys, I know I’m one of the smallest in that department. However, it’s still larger than I would like. She continued, “I didn’t realise you had an age limit. You certainly freaked out when Jason tried to swipe your scarf a couple of years ago. There were only younger boys to see you then, but you still made a fuss.”

I see Natasha pause and compose herself before replying, “Sorry Emily, if what I am about to say causes you embarrassment. There is more than one way to interpret gender. I do not believe it is as simple as a person’s sex. Emily here may be male, and even that is debatable given her lack of masculine development and the puffiness of her chest. Even so, I still think the person in front of me is a girl, all be it one with a small birth defect that I’m willing to overlook. I may be wrong on my assumptions, and I don’t expect her to either confirm or deny my suspicion. If I’m proven wrong in time, then that is my mistake and I accept that possibility."

Natasha walked past me as I slowly recovered from the shock. The boy’s up until now haven’t noticed or said anything about my chest. However, the girls, being intimately familiar with the effects of female puberty, appear to be more observant of my physical state. I knew there was a risk of being discovered, but I hadn’t counted on having it pointed out to the whole room.

I noticed a few of the girls twitch nervously, wondering whether to undress so respond, “Don’t feel forced to undress if you are uncomfortable. I don’t want anybody regretting doing so later due to peer pressure. I know what it’s like to have to undress in an environment you are not comfortable in, in order to conform, and I don’t want to inflict that on others.”

I turned and stepped back into the shower next to where Natasha was now washing herself. Stacy, Janet and Katie joined us a few seconds later. Stacy simply smiled and winked at me, as the only girl who officially knows my secret. Although thanks to Natasha, most would probably be thinking about it.

I quickly washed the mud off and rinsed the soap away. I ignored the other girls in the showers with me, making sure to stare at the wall when not looking at my own body to see if it's clean. I walked to the exit, brushing as much water as possible off me as I emerge. I picked my towel up and started to wipe myself down.

I didn’t bother to wrap or hide myself as I walked across the room, drying myself. I could see the rest of the class staring at me, presumably paying my physical development, or lack thereof, close attention. I saw no point in hiding my body, as most of them had opportunity to see me as I dashed into the shower, and I was too shocked to cover myself when I got back out. Thankfully, I haven’t become aroused at the situation, possibly due to the fear and anxiety of being naked, despite the visage of naked flesh I have witnessed. The hormone blockers also help in that department.

The door to the changing room opened a fraction and the voice of our headmaster called through the gap, “All of you who have yet to start changing, please come through to the sports hall now, the rest of you, please make your way here as quickly as possible. I need to speak to you all.”

About a quarter of the girls have headed into the shower, or were in the process of removing clothing. Just over two thirds of the girls leave the room. Stephanie whistled the tune to ‘There may be trouble ahead’ as she departed. What surprises me is a number of girls who have yet to make a move decided to stay sat in the room, even though they could easily have left having not started to undress.

I suspected they wanted to show their support, but were hesitant about showing themselves. Not wanting to make them feel uncomfortable, I deliberately concentrated on getting myself dressed, telling them, “I’ll keep my eyes away from the showers. I promise not to look directly at anyone else. Just keep your back to me if you are uncomfortable about being seen.”

I hesitated as I pulled my knickers up past my knees. Up until now, I hadn’t tucked myself as I normally do, which felt odd. Even though it may have seemed strange to those watching, I decided to go into full girl mode. I carefully arranged my genitals as I put my underwear into position, the tight fabric hiding the evidence that I’m different to the other girls.

I relaxed slightly as making the detested part of my body disappear brings me contentment. I was planning on hiding how familiar I am with wearing girl clothes, but considering the speed in which I removed them without any difficulty, pretending to struggle now is an act I am in no mood to perform. I therefore continued to dress myself without issue as swiftly as possible. By the whispering I could hear, it sounded like my lack of difficulty with dressing was being noticed. So was the fact that I seem to have more chest development than normal.

I am one of the first to finish dressing, and started to head to the door, being very careful to look down at the floor and not at anyone. I’m stopped by Katie, “Don’t go yet, I think it might be an idea if we all went in together. I think safety in numbers may apply here. We are all equally guilty of undressing in front of each other, and I don’t want you to take all the blame for this.”

Some of the other girls agreed, so I sat down again, keeping my gaze to my feet.

“Okay, we are all decent. You can stop diverting your eyes now.” Stacy declared for my benefit. I looked up to see everybody was at least in underwear if not fully dressed, those who were shy keeping their backs to me anyway. “Are you going to do some makeup before stepping out?”

I nodded and proceeded to the mirror, where a few other girls were also preening themselves. I rapidly and expertly reapplied the makeup I did this morning. This gathered a few stares and comments from some of the girls, as well as some compliments on my skill. I smiled back. I could see the quizzical expressions on their faces, but none of them had the courage to ask me outright, so I decided to end the speculation.

“Natasha, your assumption about me is correct. I’m transgendered. A girl trapped in a male body. I would like to thank you all for being so accepting of having me in here. Personally, I would rather be changing in here every lesson, but I know that will never happen. I certainly won’t be changing in the boys’ room anymore. Assuming I’m neither arrested nor expelled, I will either be withdrawn from P.E. altogether or arrangements will be made for me to change in private.”

I’m immediately wrapped in a hug by Stacy. “I wondered if you would be forced to come out today, but I never imagined it would be like this. The blackmail maybe, but not like this.”

“Blackmail?” Jessica says in surprise.

“Somebody is threatening to circulate pictures of her to make her pull out of the elections this afternoon,” Stacy elaborated.

“I have no intention of doing so, and I wasn’t going to say anything about it, in case I got accused of trying to get a sympathy vote," I replied. I then continued to explain about the notes I had been receiving.

With some trepidation, surrounded by a group of girls, I walked slowly into the gym where the head master and the rest of the class were waiting for us.

I took note of the slightly worried look on the headmaster’s face. I also observed the smug grin Stephanie was displaying. Mr Faraday did a double take as Natasha entered the room behind me. I don’t think he registered the fact that she was missing from the room until that point.

“Care to explain yourself?” Mr Faraday asked in my direction. The grin on Stephanie’s face grew wider as my discomfort rose.

“I was invited to join the girls and I took up the offer. There isn’t much else to say on the matter. I hadn’t intended to go as far, but l didn’t anticipate that I would lose track of my surroundings as easily as I did. I have already apologised to the girls for my lack of situational awareness.”

“First of all, nobody is in trouble, at least not yet,” Mr Faraday stated. “As far as I’m aware, no laws have been broken. There are laws on decency and public exposure, but I wouldn’t describe the changing room as a public place. In addition, you all mutually agreed to make what is normally a girl’s changing room into a unisex environment. Therefore, you can’t claim that seeing a member of the opposite sex in a state of undress was unexpected.”

I’m not as sure that seeing me naked was expected. I doubt most of the girls truly believed l would undress in front of them. As for the legal aspect, I do have a carry letter from my doctor for such situations, something Mr Faraday knows about.

“What I am concerned about is if any of you feel that you were bullied, forced or tricked into exposing yourself in front of a person of the opposite sex. You don’t need to say anything now, but if any of you wish to raise a complaint, then please come speak to me or any other member of staff in the next few days. I will understand that you may want to discuss this with your parents first,” the headmaster continued. “Nathan, that specifically includes you as well as you have as much right to feel coerced as anybody else in here. From what Mrs Phelps was able to tell me, you weren’t exactly a willing participant in these events.”

“While l may not have been intending to join the girls in the showers, I don’t blame anybody else for what happened. It was my own fault for not concentrating on what I was doing,” I decided to reply directly to the headmaster, despite not needing to do so.

With nobody else wanting to put in any complaints, Mr Faraday asked if there were any other questions.

“Will you be sending any letters home? I personally don’t have any problems with what has happened, but my parents may think otherwise,” Natasha asked.

“No, I don’t think that necessary unless you specifically want me to inform them. If anyone wants a note to take home, let me know.” The room was silent as Mr Faraday waited for a non-existent reply.

“So that we don’t have a repeat of this situation in the future, from now on I am banning any further usage of changing facilities by members of the inappropriate gender.”

“Hold on,” Jessica asked, “as Emily is obviously a girl, does this mean she is now banned from using the boys changing room? Will she be changing with us from now on?”

“I think you need to get your eyes tested,” Stephanie laughed. “I think Nathan definitely proved he’s male, albeit a very small one.”

“I never said that she isn’t male, just that she is a girl. Physical sex and gender isn’t always the same thing,” Jessica countered, “Mr Faraday, where did you intend her to change from now on?”

At first, I assumed that Jessica was being funny. She certainly got a few sniggers from some of the girls. However, they were the ones not present at my declaration of being transgendered. I think a lot of those in the know realised immediately that she was actually being serious.

“I’m glad at least one you was paying attention in class when we covered LGBTQI topics a few weeks ago. I was wondering if any of you would notice my deliberate choice of words,” The headmaster stated.

I don't think the issues we covered in the past few weeks are part of the standard curriculum. Certainly none of my friends at other schools have undergone similar lessons. I think Mr Faraday deliberately added them to the agenda raise awareness of the issue and soften the impact of my eventual change of presentation.

"The answer to that question really depends on Biscuit. Until I receive notification otherwise, Nathan is a boy and therefore is required to use the male facilities. However, if she were to declare herself as transgendered, and this was backed up by a medical diagnosis of Gender Dysphoria, then I would be required to make alternative arrangements," He continued to say, looking away from Jessica and focussing on me part way through the answer.

The ball was now back in my court to decide if I want to take this any further. Mr Faraday is well aware of my status, but as agreed, he was letting me decide if I came out or not. He obviously didn’t know what was said in the changing rooms. At this point, about a third of the people in the room already knew my status, and therefore what I was about to say. The others looked on in anticipation at my reaction.

Taking a deep breath, I declared "Mr Faraday, I hereby formally request to be recognised as transgendered. With immediate effect I wish to present, and be treated as, a girl. I believe you already have all the paperwork ready from my doctors for my transition?"

The room fell silent with anticipation awaiting the adult's response. He paused to look around at the expectant faces before answering, "Emily, as previously discussed, the school formally recognises your gender identity as female and we will treat you as such. As a girl, it is inappropriate for you to be asked to use the boy's facilities, and therefore will not be required to do so. As to Jessica's question, from now on Emily will use the same facilities as the rest of the girls with two exceptions. Unfortunately, as Emily is well aware, it is inappropriate for me to ask that a male use the female changing rooms, regardless of their gender identity. It is apparent that a number of you are not comfortably sharing the facilities with her, and I will not force anybody to do so. Emily will therefore use the private cubicle in the teacher's office. The other exception is in regard to the toilet facilities. Emily, you may use any of the girl's toilets, except for the girls’ bathroom next to the canteen. That way any girl who is not comfortable with potentially having you enter the room can use that facility without worrying about you being present. I will send a memo to that effect around at this afternoon’s registration."

Our school is almost 'H' shaped, with the canteen being in the centre. Each wing of the school has a set of toilets, with an additional set in the centre next to the canteen. The drama studio and music room is not part of the H, but are sticking out of one side. This is where the bathroom I used earlier is located. If you ignore the toilets in the sports block, which is separate building a short distance from the main school, I have access to five of the six girl's bathrooms on site. This is much better than my initial worry that I would only have access to the three unisex disabled toilets available. Anybody who cares deeply enough to avoid the possibility of me entering the room with them won't be massively inconvenienced by having to walk a long distance to use an alternative lavatory.

I suspect some may argue that it should be the other way round, and that I should only have access to the one of six, so only I am inconvenienced rather than potentially everybody else. Having discussed the issue with Mr Faraday before, I know that his opinion is that it shouldn't matter as all disrobement is done behind a cubicle door anyway, so there is nothing for me to see. It's also a big statement on the school's part that they are treating me as any other girl, irrespective of my physical appearance. It was actually my idea not to use all the facilities available to me to proactively counteract any arguments or objections thrown at my transition by other students. If they feel that strongly about the issue, then they still have one facility guaranteed to be transsexual free.

Seeing the stunned silence before him, with no further ado, Mr Faraday dismissed the class so that the remaining girls could change. The bell for the end of the lesson rung, and some of the girls dashed off to change, as to not to waste their lunch hour. A number of the more accepting individuals congratulated me, and I received several emotional hugs.

After most or the girls have departed, l asked Natasha, “Are you going to be in trouble if anyone tells your parents about this? You effectively said you don’t want them to find out, but I have a feeling Stephanie is spiteful enough to cause you trouble.”

“I sort of hope she does,” Natasha answered. “My parents couldn’t care less and will tear her off a strip if she tries to get me in trouble. Yes, I do wear this scarf for religious purposes, but that isn’t the only reason. They would be perfectly happy for me not to wear it. In fact, I often don’t bother when we go out at the weekends. The real reason I started to wear the headscarf in the first place is that I suffer from alopecia. Luckily, I haven’t had an outbreak for a few years. The school that I used to go to had a number of pupils who already covered their heads for religious reasons, so it was less embarrassing to use that as a reason rather than admitting my hair was falling out. When I moved here, I kept on wearing it out of habit. It is also my way of standing out from the crowd.”

I was simply glad to get out of the situation, without either myself or anybody else, being in serious trouble. One of the eligibility criteria for becoming a student representative is that you have an unblemished record. Any serious disciplinary action voids your ability to be elected. I did wonder if this might have been a ploy to get me in trouble but I disregarded that as unlikely.

As the day was fine, I decided to stay outside to eat my lunch in relative peace while the majority headed to the canteen.

“So, are the rumours true?” Charles asked as he sat down beside me.

“What rumours specifically?” Even though only a short time had passed, l suspected that countless rumours were already spreading through the grapevine about me. I needed to know which before answering.

“Did you shower with the girls?”

“Some of them, yes. But I’m not saying who, or what I saw.”

“We thought it must be a joke,” Clive added. “We assumed if that actually happened, you would have been arrested by now.”

I explained the conversation with the headmaster. They didn’t ask about me being transgendered, and I didn’t bother to volunteer that information.

We were interrupted by an out of breath sixth former skidding to a halt in front of us.

“Are you Emily Bridges?” she asked. I nodded and she continued, “You’re needed in room 16a immediately.”

“What’s going on?” Clive asked before I could respond.

“I’m not sure exactly, but someone was putting pictures of you on a wall and Mr Jones caught them. I gather they were doing it without your permission. I was asked to find you and make you come.”

Her poor choice of words caused raucous laughter to break out amongst the boys. I couldn’t help but giggle as the poor girl turned bright red.

I realised that the person front of me didn’t have a clue I was a boy and didn’t appreciate the significance of the photos. It would appear my fears about being exposed were justified. Although having already come out, the threat was now redundant. I made my way towards the classroom with the boys in tow. I was eager to discover who was behind this and if they knew that they were now wasting their time. As the girls in my class knew, I assumed that perhaps it was one of the boy’s, who may not yet have heard my declaration of my status.

Blackmailing Biscuit
Chapter 4 of 4

© 2013 D.L.

Miss Carter, one of the English teachers, was stood blocking entry to the room. The glass window in the door, which usually allowed a view inside, was covered by a sheet of flip-pad paper.

“Ah, Biscuit, you may go in. The rest of you stay outside. Please stand back and don’t try to sneak a look unless you want to join the others in detention.”

Following the teacher’s instructions l cautiously entered the room in trepidation as to what might be inside. Given the nature of Miss Carters reaction, I suspected I wouldn’t like what I am about to find.

I don’t see anything immediately obvious in the room. Steve and Fred are sat at desks looking extremely nervous. Jessica is standing with her arms crossed looking very annoyed. Mr Jones is sat at his desk waiting. Before he had a chance to explain, Mr Faraday arrived and asked, “What is going on here?”

“Jessica found these two messing with the projector,” Mr Jones responded. Each of our classrooms is fitted with a digital projector. These are used in class when a video is needed. A live video feed can also be relayed from the media classroom over the network. Mr Jones flicked the switch to power on the device. These particular models take a few seconds to boot up, during which they output plain white light. Instead of the expected white rectangle appearing on the wall, an image of me in the party dress is rendered. To make sure that there is no mistake; my name is displayed above my head with an arrow pointing down. Underneath are the words “Cross dressing Genderqueer”.

“A small piece of film has been stuck on the lens,” Mr Jones explained. “Jessica is here because she saw what happened and also because she inexplicably seems to know about the blackmail threats.”

I turned to Mr Faraday, "Jessica knows about the blackmail because l told her. I hadn’t intended to, but while we were getting dressed Stacy let slip by saying that she was surprised that it was P.E. that caused me to out myself and not the blackmail. As l had already told them about being transgendered, I explained the situation.”

Jessica seemed to relax as I confirmed her story. Fred and Steve seemed surprised that I had already come out. I guess they hadn't heard, otherwise they would have known their prank was already redundant. The two teachers then started to interrogate the two boys. However, they refused to say anything, opting instead to remain silent.

I suspected, and I think the teachers did as well, that one of the other councillor candidates might have conspired with them. The other candidates are Robert, Scotty and Stephanie. Given Robert’s home situation and general acceptance of alternative lifestyles, I very much doubted his involvement considering the homophobic nature of the threats.

On the other hand, Steve is best friends with Scotty, and Fred is dating Stephanie (at least this week, their relationship runs very hot and cold).

The two teachers were tag teaming the boys, pointing out just how much trouble they were potentially in. This didn't seem to be helping the situation.

"First, you make threats causing Nathan a great deal of stress and worry. Secondly you tried to manipulate a democratic election by forcing out one of the candidates. Then you sabotage school equipment, which could have potentially caused untold damage, which alone is enough to at least warrant suspension. Finally you choose to use deeply offensive comments to publicly humiliate a fellow student," Mr Jones declared.

I could see that the teachers’ analysis of the situation was deliberately emphasising the seriousness of the supposed crimes, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised that the situation was exaggerated. I couldn't help starting to laugh at the situation.

"I'm sorry," I said when I finally regained my composure, "I can fully understand the seriousness of the blackmail and damage of the projector, but as much as I know I probably should be, I don't find that image on screen offensive. Cross dressing Genderqueer? Really? Is that the best you can come up with? I normally come to school as a boy, yet I'm standing here in a classic schoolgirl uniform. I think that counts as being cross-dressed, although technically I could argue I'm cross-dressed when wearing trousers. However, since I usually present myself as a boy in school, I'm not disputing that definition. While 'queer' by itself can be considered offensive, I've seen 'genderqueer' in serious literature as a term that some people used to classify themselves. I consider transgendered a more appropriate term for me than genderqueer, but I'm not overly bothered by that slight inaccuracy."

I looked at the two sheepish individuals sitting in front of me. "You were counting on that, weren't you? You've deliberately picked the lamest possible insults you could have come up with. It’s not difficult to come up with something better. Freak, pervert, sissy, faggot, cocksucker, tranny, transvestite: any of those terms would have worked better. Just throwing in some swearing to emphasis the point would have been an improvement. It's as if you're trying to go out of your way not to upset me, which begs the question, why the hell are you doing this in the first place?"

"Did someone coerce you into this?" Mr Faraday asked, "Because it seems to me that you didn't want to cause offence, yet you still went ahead with it."

"We didn't want to hurt you," Steve admitted with a sigh, "we just wanted you to admit what most of us suspected anyway, that you're a girl."

"When we got the picture, we weren't actually surprised. It actually made sense when we saw it," Fred added. "You're a bit introverted when any of us lads talk to you, yet get you in amongst a bunch of girls, and after a few minutes you lose your self conscious and go all girly. It's actually quite amusing to watch as you gush over the latest fashion mags, making the rest of the girls look practically masculine in comparison."

"I do not gush," I stated firmly. "I admit I sometimes let my guard down, which I'm usually very cautious about, but I don't go that girly. You're exaggerating."

"Yeah, right," Steve replied sarcastically, "if anything Fred's understating it. You're definitely the most effeminate boy in the school, mannerism wise, and if the choice of dress in the photo is anything to go by, your fashion sense is more filly than any other girl I know. I suppose next you'll be denying that the underwear you're wearing isn't lacy."

"In case you hadn't noticed, this is supposed to be a costume," I countered. "St. Trinians girls are known for their sexy undergarments. I am wearing what is befitting for the character."

"So you are wearing lacy knickers then," Steve said, grinning at the confirmation. I hadn't realised that he was only guessing. "You could have made do with plain white panties, it's not as if we would have seen them. You've managed to keep them well hidden, despite many of us trying to sneak glances. I guess it proves you have experience of being in a skirt."

"If I hadn't of been invited into the girl's changing room, you would have got a good glimpse of them when I undressed for P.E. I figured if I was going to make a fool of myself, I would give everybody a good laugh in the process by going all the way."

"There is going all the way, and then taking it to extremes," Fred countered. "None of the rugby team have had hair extensions put in. I notice that the ends of your hair is damp, so I assume that you're not wearing a wig, otherwise you would have taken it off to shower. Several of the lads had bets going as to if you would turn up in a dress, and if so, how far you would go. Robert bet that you would take the opportunity to be yourself for once, which is why he decided to take a risk and dress as a fairy in support. Scotty was convinced you'd never dare."

"Under normal circumstances, Scotty would have been right," I admitted. "I only came dressed like this due to the notes you sent. There was no way I would ever give into blackmail."

"We know," Steve answered. "In fact we were counting on it. We never expected you to pull out, and are glad you didn't. The reason why you're the favourite to win is because everyone knows that once you've decided something you see it through. Part of the job is to represent the class, and if you can't even stand up for yourself, then how could you possibly stand up for all of us? If you pulled out, then you wouldn't have been fit for the position anyway. As it is, you've got our vote, assuming we still can."

"This was never about the election," Fred added, "that was only an excuse. The aim was to get you to open up so you didn't keep trying to hide in your shell. You're always so gloomy when trying to force yourself to be masculine. It’s depressing. We figured that you would be a lot happier if you could just be yourself. We deliberately made the image here as friendly as possible, and tried to keep the caption as accurate and inoffensive as we could. We were hoping that with the evidence on screen we would be able to directly ask the question 'Are you transgendered?' and that you wouldn't then try and deny it. Unfortunately it seems that you have managed to out yourself already rendering all our efforts pointless anyway."

"You succeeded, just not in the way you imagined," Mr Faraday reasoned. "Emily has already stated that she wouldn't have come as herself if you didn't send the notes, and the girl's wouldn't have had a reason to invite her into the changing rooms if she was dressed as a boy. While your intentions may have been honourable, your methods are certainly not. You could have asked Emily in private about the photo in a less confrontational manner that wouldn't have caused several days of torment over whether she was going to get exposed or not. Not only that, by blowing her cover, you have potentially exposed her to possible danger from anyone not sympathetic to her condition."

"Like who?" Fred asked. "Everybody suspected she was a girl anyway. Rumours have been going round for months, yet no-one has had anything negative to say on the subject, certainly none of the boys, and we've been quietly collecting their options for the past couple of weeks. Stephany has been doing the same amongst the girls where she can. I think the only people not to have been asked are Biscuit, obviously, and Natasha. She is the only person not likely to accept the situation, but even then I don't think she would be problem if everybody else gave their support. She hasn't said anything nasty about Robert's parents."

"So Stephany is involved in this conspiracy as well then?" Mr Faraday said picking up on Fred's admission. "Jessica, has Emily's situation been discussed? Who suggested she should join you in the changing room?"

"Stephany asked me a couple of days ago if I thought Biscuit was more girl than boy. Given the increased focus on diversity and acceptance in recent weeks there has been some speculation that the school has been preparing for some form of announcement. Given that we already have some openly gay students, some of us were thinking that there may be a transgendered student either present, or about to attend."

"So you thought of me?" I asked. "I thought I was doing a good job of hiding it."

Jessica laughed before replying, "Yeah, right. I think the boys are right about you 'gushing' isn't far off. We ruled out the possibility of one of the existing students undergoing a real life test given that everybody undresses for P.E., at least in our year group. Also, there hasn't been any talk of a new student transferring in, and we wouldn't normally expect that to happen mid-term anyway. That leaves the possibility of someone about to transition. Your name came up as a possibility and things started to fit."

"I wasn't intending to transition, at least not until the sixth form, but given today's events, I'm going to do so anyway," I clarified.

"As to who suggested Biscuit join us, that was Katie. She thought it would be a laugh given how you were dressed."

"Great, so I'm the laughing stock of the…," I started to say but was interrupted by Jessica.

"No! That is not the case. We realised if our suspicions were correct that you would be uncomfortable in with the boys, even more so today with what we guessed you must be wearing underneath your skirt. We weren't making fun of you by inviting you to our line. While we didn't know if you would accept our offer or not, we fully expected Mrs Phelps to intervene and prevent you from joining anyway, at which point we planned to petition for you to use the staff cubicle, as we knew you would never think to ask yourself."

At this point it was Mr Faraday's turn to laugh at my shocked expression. "I offered Emily that option months ago. It was only today that she finally decided it was time to take me up on that offer. I could have forced the issue by banning her from the boys’ facilities, but I didn't want to out her, and nobody has complained about her presence."

We were interrupted by the sound of the bell signalling the end of the lunch. Miss Carter’s voice could be heard through the door calling for the students now assembling in the corridor for registration to settle down and form an orderly line.

Turning to me, Mr Faraday asked, "You okay with everyone seeing this image? I think it might be a good idea to bring the rest of the class in here."

I told him to go ahead and he went to the door. After dismissing Miss Carter so that she could go to see to her own class, he instructed the other students to enter but remain silent. I watched closely as everybody entered. A few seemed surprised by the image on screen. Most expressions I couldn't read, but I did notice a couple of worried glances and unfortunately for the persons involved, Mr Jones also seemed to observe the same thing.

"I'm sure most if not all of you know of the events of the last lesson," Mr Faraday stated to the class, "However, for any of the boys who weren't there and may not yet have heard through the grapevine, I will state that Nathan Bridges, with the full support of the school administration, and with formal backing from qualified medical professionals, has been diagnosed as being transgendered and will from now on be attending this school as a girl named Emily. I expect everybody to treat her as a girl and with the respect she deserves as both a young woman and fellow student."

The headmaster paused deliberately leaving a silence for emphasis before continuing, "This morning’s events were triggered by an incident of which most of you will be unaware. Over the past few days Emily has been receiving notes demanding that she pull out of the student elections or face being exposed as transgendered. Steve and Fred where found tampering with the projector during the lunch time. Luckily for them Emily doesn't find the image offensive. It wouldn't still be on screen if she did. I am however very disappointed with their behaviour. Steve, Fred, I think you owe Emily an apology."

Both boys openly apologise to me in front of the entire class. I accept their apology as I do believe it to be genuine and not just because they are being forced.

"Now I want you to explain exactly how you came to be in possession of what is a private family photograph of Emily," Mr Faraday instructed.

The two boys exchanged glances. "We found it on the internet," Fred finally answered after a couple of minutes following further prompting by the headmaster. This didn't satisfy Mr Faraday who then began to push for further details on exactly how they came by the photograph. It rapidly became obvious, at least to me and the two teachers who I had already told about the photo's origins, that neither Fred nor Steve knew where the image had come from. This led to the obvious conclusion that someone else had provided it to them. Mr Jones beckoned Mr Faraday to one side and showed him a note he had just scribbled. He had obviously spotted something, and I think it may have been the same thing as I did when everybody came in. Stephanie was one of the two girls who had worried expressions on entering.

"Stephanie," Mr Faraday stated, causing the girl to jump with surprise, "you wouldn't happen to know anything about this photograph would you. You've been asking a lot of questions about Emily over the past couple of weeks."

If looks could kill then the stare that Stephanie gave Fred would be fatal. He visibly shrank at his girlfriend’s expression. The anger at being implicated was apparent and Mr Faraday picked up on this. "Stephanie, if you are in any way involved in this prank, then I suggest you say so now. Both you and Emily are candidates in the student election, and it doesn't look very good if you are implicated in any way with trying to blackmail her to drop out."

"I overheard Stacy calling Nathan Emily a few weeks ago," Stephanie admitted. "A few of us girls had been noticing how effeminate Nathan was becoming, as well as his use of the gender-neutral nickname. Combined with the diversity training we have been undergoing recently, I started to become suspicious. I tried to talk to Stacy, but she completely clammed up and refused to talk about the subject. The fact she refused to say anything at all rather than simply denying it made me think it was more likely to be true. I've talked to most of the girls individually to find out if they think the same thing and what the implications of Nathans possible transition might be. I didn't bother talking to any of his other close friends after talking with Stacy, and I didn't bother speaking to Natasha as I thought her reaction would be obvious."

Natasha started giggling at Stephanie’s statement. Pointing to Fred and Steve, Stephanie continued, "I asked these two idiots to find out how many of the boys think she might be trans and if any would cause any trouble if it were true. I also told them not to do anything that could cause trouble for Nathan or interfere with the elections or face being wired up to an electric fence by their bollocks."

Even though I'm a girl, I'm still male, so I winced with the though along with the boys.

"I have no idea how they got hold of that photo or what they were planning on doing with it," she concluded.

"Stephanie had nothing to do with it," Fred quickly jumped in to defend his girlfriend. He looked across at Steve with a pleading look on his face.

Steve sighed and pulled out a piece of paper from his bag. "Mr Faraday, this note will explain how we came to have the photo and why we did this. You were right earlier about this not being by choice. The other party shown doesn't know about this, and I would appreciate it if she didn't find out."

Mr Faraday took the offered sheet, walked to the edge of the room and carefully unfolded it so that nobody else in the room could get a view of its contents. The look of shock on his face was intriguing. This combined with the very embarrassed look Steve was exhibiting would no doubt fire off some wild theories about just what was going on. I think a number of us worked out that Steve was also being blackmailed, something that was confirmed when the head teacher said, "I can understand you not wanting this to be made public, especially as some might consider this picture depicts a criminal act. Also, unless the person who took this photograph comes forward, I will be referring this matter to the police. While the subject matter may or may not be illegal, the act of taking the photo definitely is."

Mr Faraday hasn't said exactly what Steve is being blackmailed with, but there is only one thing that springs to mind that would logically fit the description. While the photo could show any number of criminal offences, there is only one type of activity that I can think of that would also be illegal to photograph. The image must in some way be sexual in nature. Any photograph in which the subject is below eighteen would be classified as child pornography, which is illegal to take or own.

Taking a post-it note out of his pocket, Mr Faraday noted something down before refolding the blackmail note and putting it into his pocket.

"Does this tell you who did this?" the headmaster asked handing me the slip of paper he wrote on. It contained the URL the boys used to obtain the image.

"It will do once I look up the pass code contained in the link. Everybody who was given access to the site was issued with a unique identifier as part of the URL," I reply. Taking a deep breath I reach into my schoolbag to pull out my mobile phone. Setting it down on the desk I press the on button to boot the smartphone up. "However, I'm not sure I want any of the people who have legitimate access to the photos to end up with a criminal record because of me. I request that you keep the police out of this matter, unless Steve or whoever he was pictured with in a compromising position wants to press charges."

In truth I'm stalling, I recognise the apparently random set of digits and characters. There is only one person with any connection to the people involved in the blackmail, it’s that I just didn't want to accept the possibility that they were involved. I did however memorise their access code.

I focused my attention onto the other person I had noticed when they entered the room. I fixed Stacy in a Paddington hard stare, locking eye contact with my friend. Since she entered the room I had been debating if I should accuse her of being involved. Stacy seemed to have a guilty look about her, and I'm familiar enough with her expressions that I can read her emotional state fairly accurately. On one hand she is the obvious suspect as she is the only student who knew about my dual identity and the existence of the photographs. However, I didn't want to initially consider the possibility that she had broken my trust. I was also acutely aware that our friendship could be damaged by me accusing her if she was innocent. Closely watching her body language while the interrogation of the other students was underway convinced me that she was hiding something. I now have the proof.

While pretending to wait for the website to come up to verify the code, I silently fix my gaze on Stacy subtly letting her know that I know. Stacy was already starting to look exceeding worried and she immediately noticed my expression as we made eye contact and her face became noticeably flushed as she became increasingly uncomfortable under my gaze.

I select the online photo album administration link from the favourites list and scroll down the list of codes displayed, confirming my suspicion. I immediately switch the phone into sleep mode, blanking the screen before anybody can see the results of my search.

I tell Mr Faraday, “I don’t want any police involvement, unless the subjects of the photo particularly want to make complaints. I will speak with the culprit myself. I would rather this whole matter was dropped. Steve, Fred, I'm sorry you got dragged into this."

I have deliberately been focussing my attention to the headmaster, avoiding looking at Stacy so that I don't give her away. I am distracted by the sound of sobbing. Turning my attention back to Stacy I notice that she has started to cry.

"It was me," Stacy declared, "I set Steve up and took the photo of us together."

Before anybody could react, Stacy jumped up and ran from the room, tears streaming from her face as she dashed away.

"Jessica, go keep an eye on her," Mr Jones called out to our mutual friend. Jessica immediately dashed off after the stricken girl.

"Steve, if you have any other copies of the photo, I advise you destroy them. Also, you and Fred need to report for one weeks’ worth of break and lunch time detention after half-term. Consider yourself lucky that I'm not imposing more serious punishment," Mr Faraday instructed. "Stephanie, I accept you had nothing to do with this stupidity, so the elections will go ahead as planned."

My phone, still sat on the desk in front of me sprang to life, indicating an incoming call. The normal rule is that phones remain off during lessons, and I wouldn't expect any calls. Looking at the display, I can see Jessica's name appear on the screen. Considering she has just taken off after Stacy, I suspect that it might be urgent.

I quickly answer it, "What's going on Jessica?" This immediately catches the attention of everyone present. I listen for a few seconds before telling Jessica that help is on the way.

"Has something happened to Stacy?" Mr Faraday asks with concern.

"She is in a bit of an emotional state at the moment. She's panicking that me and Steve will hate her and everybody will think that she's a complete slut," I reply. "I admit I'm annoyed and disappointed, but I don't hate her and I think I need to go and tell her that."

"She may be a bit willing to please. Possibly even classifiable as a bit easy, but there is no way I would ever consider her a slut," Steve declared.

"What exactly did you two get up to anyway," Natasha asked. "I have a feeling a lot of us might be overestimating what actually happened. Especially as Stacy staged the photo, I suspect she made it appear more suggestive than it really might have been."

"May I have the photo back please, Sir?" Steve asked, holding up a permanent marker pen. "I'm willing to let a censored version of the image be seen."

Mr Faraday handed the paper back to the boy, who took it and scribbled over part of the photo before holding it up. The picture was a three-quarter body shot of Steve with his trousers undone. Stacy's hand was positioned in front of his crotch, but her hand and what she was holding had been blacked out by the marker. Given the contented expression on Steve's face, it was pretty obvious what she was holding without it being visible.

"She's only done this the once and was very nervous about it. However, she insisted she needed to do this to confirm her sexuality and begged me to allow it. I guess she was using that as an excuse to set up the blackmail. I don't think she would have considered doing this under normal circumstances," Steve clarified. "Sir, I think Emily and I should go talk to Stacy and calm her down."

"Okay, go talk to her. Bring her to my office when you have finished," The headmaster stated.

The two of us departed and headed for the girls bathroom near the canteen, with Mr Faraday following. As we entered the room, he stood outside preventing anybody else from entering. Jessica was sat on the worktops between two sinks, facing a closed cubicle. Sobbing could be heard from behind the door.

"Come out of there and stop being so dramatic. We need to talk," I declared.

"You're not supposed to be in here. This is the one bathroom you're banned from," Stacy replied.

"So, I'm not supposed to be in here either, but that isn't stopping us," Steve stated. "Mr Faraday is waiting outside so we won't be disturbed."

"Steve!" Stacy squealed.

"If you don't come out I'm going to pop the lock, whether you're decent or not," he added.

Some shuffling was heard for a few seconds before the sound of the bolt sliding open reverberated round the silent room. Slowly the door opened and Stacy half emerged, leaning against the door frame, head down and face covered in tears. "You hate me, don't you? Both of you. You have every right. I'm sorry Emily, but it was for your own good. I knew I screwed up with Stephanie and that she was asking around about you. Despite the whisperings, nothing negative seemed to be being said. I know you're a lot happier when you don't have to be a boy, and as the cat was almost out of the bag anyway, I thought it would be best to push the issue."

"Well it worked last time with my family," I replied. "I'm fully aware that I need the occasional kick up the arse to stop me procrastinating, but I'm still pissed off with the way you went about it. Why did you have to involve Steve and Fred?"

"I'm sorry Steve," Stacy sobbed, more tears streaming down her face. "I knew I would be prime suspect, so had to have somebody else do the blackmailing so that I could be with Emily when she received the threats, giving me an alibi. Please don't hate me. I didn't intend for you to get caught or include Fred."

"I can potentially forgive you. However, there is one thing I have to know first," Steve declared. "Was the affection you showed me just an act. I would honestly like to be your boyfriend, but not if you are only using me."

"For Christ's sake stop looking at each other soppily and just kiss and make up," Jessica interrupted. "Steve, she's been day dreaming about you for months, and I've seen you go all tongue tied whenever she's around."

"I couldn't bring myself to touch any other boy down there. I didn't want my first intimate experiences being with anybody. I love you Steve."

"Come here," he beckoned with open arms. Stacy shuffled towards him. As soon as she was close enough he wrapped her in a big hug. "I love you too, you silly goose. Just don't try manipulating me again."

Steve then swatted her backside causing her to jump and squeal, which was cut short as he pulled her into a kiss. She immediately responded and returned the kiss.

After several minutes of passionate snogging, Jessica asked me, "Do you think that bin will fit under the tap. If these two don't stop in a minute I think we'll need a bucket of water."

Two very embarrassed teens separated and looked appropriately sheepish. I suggested that Stacy may want to clean herself up before leaving to see Mr Faraday. After a quick wash, she let Steve lead her out of the bathroom holding her hand. Jessica and I followed.

Mr Faraday asked Stacy to accompany him to his office. He was slightly surprised when Steve put a protective arm round his girlfriend and asked if he could accompany her. He nodded, and sent Jessica and I back to the classroom.

We arrived back just as the last few people were queuing up to vote for the class elections and were instructed to join the back of the line. A voting booth had been set up at the back of the room where we could mark a slip of paper without being seen. I smiled when it was my turn. The slips had been reprinted with my new name.

There is no rule saying you can't vote for yourself. In fact it's somewhat expected that you do so. I however choose to vote for Stephanie. She had done a very good job of talking to everybody, finding their opinions of me, and smoothing things over for my transition. She does come across as brash and bossy, and can be a bit of a bitch at times, but she is also very good at getting things done. The last few weeks has also demonstrated her more sensitive and subtle side as she canvased everyone for their views on my gender.

Once we had all voted we returned to our seats to watch the live transmission from the media suite that was now being projected onto the whiteboard. The show was hosted by the A-level media students and involved a lot of fun and games with individuals and classes competing in various quizzes.

After half an hour, Stacy and Steve returned to class and added their votes to the box. Stacy would also be joining Steve and Fred in one week of in-school detention. However, she would also face several nights of after school detention on top of what the others were serving.

The results of the election were counted mid-afternoon. I won by three votes. While I suspect that Stephanie might have been the more capable person, she isn't the most liked or approachable person in our class. I also have the advantage of an obvious working relationship with the headmaster.

Unfortunately I didn't win the contest for best costume of the day. That went to a boy in the year above dressed up to look like Jonny Depp as Tonto in the recent Lone Ranger film. I did however get a special joke award for most long term use of a costume for coming to this school for over a year pretending to be a boy.

The usual seating arrangement had been abandoned for the afternoon, and people naturally split up into several smaller groups. I was very glad to be welcomed amongst a bunch of girls rather than being ostracised. I'll grudgingly admit Stacy did me a favour. I won't try to get my own back on her or make her suffer too much. She is going to get enough flak from her parents as it is. This is something that became more obvious when both our mother's cars were parked outside the school at the end of the day. Stacy had to stay behind and report to the office. She was very worried, so I gave her a reassuring hug and said goodbye, leaving her to her fate. If things got to heavy, then I would ask the adults to go easy on her. However, for the mean time she deserved to be stressed out a bit for all the trouble she's put me through.

Epilogue

I rolled the tights up my freshly shaved legs, making sure that the seams were straight. I pulled them over my hips and shuffled them into position on top of the white panties. As usual, I was wearing two layers of underwear, as I had a gaff on underneath the pair on top.

I adjusted the grey pleated skirt, pulling it down a fraction so that if ended just below my knees. I tucked my blouse into my skirt, smoothing the fabric over my chest, admiring the small mounds that were being emphasised by my training bra. Unlike the previous time I appeared at school on the Friday before half-term, this time I was not grossly exaggerating my proportions.

Leaning forward into the mirror, I applied my lipstick, a subtle shade of pink that was only just noticeable, but just enough to emphasise my lips. I had already added a small amount of mascara to my eyes. I drop my makeup into my school bag in case I need to touch it up later. Giving one final look in the mirror to make sure that none of the clips from the hair extensions were visible; I slipped my shoes on my feet and headed for the door.

I descended the stairs with my school bag and walked into the kitchen where my mother and friend, Stacy, were waiting. After a final check that we have everything we need, we head out the door to the car. My mother drops us off at the school gate.

Steve is waiting for Stacy and as soon as my mother has driven off they are pulling themselves into a tight embrace. Leaving them too it, I head into the main building. I smile to people as I pass them, and while I get a few looks, nobody seems surprised or hostile to my appearance. I enter my classroom and take my seat, and immediately get drawn into a conversation with the other girls about the latest Dreamworks film, Turbo. A bunch of us went and saw it over half-term.

Steve and Stacy come in just as the bell is ringing. Mr Jones starts the register and I answer my name when he calls "Emily Bridges".

It is a perfectly normal start to a perfectly normal day. The only difference being I'm no longer in a costume or pretending to be somebody else.

Darin Dares

Chapter 1 of 7

© 2014 by D.L.

This is the crunch time, the last moment in which I could declare turning up to school in a skirt was a prank. What I am about to say with shape how people will regard me in the future. I only hope that what I am doing isn't going to back-fire on me...

I had just reached the end of our road when I saw my mother drive past on her way to work. We waved to each other as she passed. I slowed my pace until she turned at the junction and disappeared out of site. Glancing at my watch it was exactly 08:18. I needed to be in school by 8:50. If I wasn’t in my classroom when the final bell rang at 8:55 I would be given a late mark in the register.

I counted to ten; just to make sure that my mother had gone before starting to run back to my house. I'm already two minutes behind schedule, but I have built in enough contingency to allow for some minor delays. Time won't become critical until I'm closer to the late bell.

In next to no time, I've unlocked our front door. I dropped my school bag in the hall and started unbutton my shirt as I sprinted up the stairs to my bedroom. I threw the top onto the bed and climbed onto the strategically placed chair that I had positioned before leaving earlier. It allows me access to the cupboard above my wardrobe where I keep my suitcase. I grabbed the handled and jumped from the chair, pulling the case with me, swinging it mid-air so that it lands on my bed, and almost bouncing back off due to its momentum.

Hidden inside is the alternative school uniform that I'll be wearing for today. I stripped naked as quickly as possible, not worrying about folding my clothes like I would normally. It has taken many weeks to pluck up the courage to even buy what I'm going to wear, and I've been debating if I should even go through with what I'm about to do.

I glance at the clock on my bedside cabinet. It is already 8:23 and I don't have time to stop and hesitate if I'm going to go through with my plan.

I turned and looked at my naked body in the full length mirror on my wall. I didn't like what I saw. The ugly lump of flesh dangling between my legs was filling me with disgust. Grabbing the panties from the case I rapidly pulled them up my legs. Pushing my male appendages into position so that they didn't protrude, I could finally look at myself with our being revolted. Even with my flat chest, I now looked feminine, at least in my eyes.

I didn't have time to admire my reflection. I picked up the white blouse and put it on. There wasn't much difference between the blouse and the shirt I had just removed. Both were made from a cotton/polyester fabric, similar in style and fairly plain, the major difference being the direction of the buttons. While I couldn't button these as fast as normal, they didn't give me a lot of trouble.

If all I changed was the blouse, I could probably get away without anybody noticing, especially since I didn't have a bra to wear underneath. However, I continued to dress in the grey box-pleated skirt. Glancing in the mirror to double check the length, I noted that it was just covering my knees, longer than the specified minimum.

I pulled the new socks up my legs, admiring the pretty patterns woven into the white fabric. There would be no mistaking these as being designed for a boy. I would have opted for a pair of tights or stockings if I could, but I was limited by what shoes I could obtain. I managed to find a pair at a car boot sale I had cycled to early one Sunday morning. They were slightly large, but fitted well enough with some insoles and if wearing socks. Most of my new uniform I bought cheaply from the supermarket, but shoes were slightly out of my price range. I got some strange looks buying the items, but seemed to get away with it.

Finally, I placed my most prized find on my head. At the same sale I also found a second-hand girls wig. It would be enough to fulfil the look. My actual hair is quite dark, almost black, and very short. The wig was more of a chestnut brown and reached down to my shoulders in a classic bob style.

With my shoes in my hand, I returned downstairs. If I was going to get to school on time, I would need to get my skates on. Quite literally in this case as I pulled my in-liners out from under the stairs. My school is about a mile away and I usually walk it. On average it takes me twenty minutes, although I have run it in fifteen on a few occasions. After securing the skates to my feet, I positioned my knee and elbow pads and donned my helmet. Making sure my shoes were in my school bag, I left, locking the door behind me at 8:34. I would be cutting it fine.

The closer I got to the school, the finer my margin for error on my timings became. I had a five minute window for leaving the house, which had almost expired. I needed to get in the school gates before they were closed and locked at 8:50, but not too early so that there would be a lot of students entering. From previous estimation I needed to leave it to the last minute before arriving.

With 47 seconds remaining, I turned the last bend and gained sight of the school entrance. The last couple of pupils were just going past the teacher on duty. Using the downhill gradient to my advantage, I increased my speed, tucking my body into an aerodynamic stance. Mr Handley looked around to see if there were any more students, and I could see the look of alarm come to his face as he spotted my extremely rapid approach.

Mr Handley has only just started this term, having been employed to cover for another teacher on maternity leave. I doubt he would know my reputation, and even if he did it would be by name only. He wouldn't be able to pick me out of a crowd, especially as I'm usually in attendance as a boy.

The last time I was using my skates because I was late, Mr Walsh was on duty and he locked the gate before I could arrive, just to be spiteful. If you don't make it in time you have to go in through a different entrance and sign in at reception, which is an automatic late mark, even if registration hasn't been taken.

I took a third option upon seeing the locked gate. At that time the gardeners were on site and had left a ramp going up onto their trailer that they use for their ride on lawn mowers. I used the combination of my speed and their ramp to launch myself into the air. To the horrified look of Mr Walsh, and cheers of fellow students, I was able to vault myself over the six foot iron railings, landing with a perfect roll inside school grounds. That particular stunt had landed me a week’s detention, but the admiration of a large chunk of the school populous.

I didn't fancy trying a repeat of that stunt today, especially since there were no ramps available this time. Luckily, even though the bell was sounding in the background, Mr Handley was waiting for me. I think he may have been afraid that I wouldn't be able to stop.

Bending my knees, I placed my left foot behind me and firmly planted the rubber stop on my toes onto the tarmac. Stretching out my arms for balance I rapidly braked, bringing my speed low enough to grab the last railing and slingshot myself through the gate to spin to a graceful halt just inside school grounds.

The teacher just looked on in amazement as he shook his head and locked the gate behind me. I was grinning widely having made it inside without incident. While going to reception would serve my purposes of getting noticed, I would much prefer the wider audience of my home room.

"Please, don't do that again, young lady," he said as I stooped and untied my laces. Mr Handley, having given me a short lecture on safety and timekeeping while I put my shoes on, disappeared into the building, with me following.

I smiled as I walked the now almost deserted corridors. The few students remaining were dashing to their classrooms, and I didn't see anybody I knew. I came to a halt just outside my own classroom door. I could hear my teacher, Mr Brett, already calling out names. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door just as the final bell started to sound.

Time seemed to stop as I stood in the doorway, all eyes in my direction. I had executed my plan to perfection. I had arrived unrecognised and unchallenged to my classroom. Whatever happened from now on was out of my control. I just hoped the outcome would be manageable.

I was fully prepared for spontaneous laughter, but instead I was greeted by silence. Keeping my head high and eyes forward, I ignored the people around me and walked to my desk. The sniggering and whispering had started. A woof whistle was blown from behind me. I didn't see who, but I could guess.

"Silence!" Mr Brett commanded, causing the room to fall quiet. "Darin Mitchell, why are you dressed like that?"

"I would have preferred to wear a nice light summer dress, but that isn't part of the school uniform," I jokingly replied, trying not to show my nerves.

"Neither is what you are wearing, young man."

I glanced around the room, noting the attire of my fellow students. The girls outnumber the boys ten to seven, excluding myself. The girls can wear either skirts or trousers.

"I count six other people in this room with near identical outfits. If the rules have been changed, then I'm not the only person who has failed to comply."

"They are girls, Mr Mitchell. You are not."

This is the crunch time, the last moment in which I could declare this as a prank and back out. What I am about to say with shape how people will regard me in the future. I let the silence remain for a few moments as I pluck up the final piece of courage to go all the way.

"That, Sir, is debateable. Despite having seen me naked in the showers, a number of the boys in this class regularly accuse me of being a girl. Having done some research on the subject of gender, and giving the matter much consideration, I think that they may be right. About the only thing I have in common with the boys is that I can theoretically pee standing up if I wanted to. I'm not sure that alone is enough to categorise me as a boy, especially as I suspect some girls could achieve that feat with enough practice."

I'm interrupted by giggling from a couple of the girls, which is quickly silenced by an annoyed look by the teacher. I took the opportunity to glance around the room. I can see a mixture of worried and angry looks from those who have been picking on me. The school doesn't take kindly to bullying and not only am I breaking gender boundaries, I'm also breaking the taboo of snitching on my fellow students.

I decided to press on, "Seriously though, gender can be measured by a lot more than physical characteristics alone. It can also be the way people think, feel, and interact with others. School rules provide two options for presenting oneself, the boy's uniform and the girl's uniform. I don't know exactly which category is most appropriate for me, so I am opting for the one I think I fit into best.

"So your sudden change of sex has nothing to do with having several coursework assignments due today? I've seen many attempts at getting out of homework, but getting yourself sent home isn't one that usually works," Mr Brett replied. The unwelcome element of sarcasm in his voice didn't bode well.

Pulling my exercise books out of my bag I place them on the table in front of me. "I have my assignments here. They are complete and I can hand them in now if required. I'm well aware that I'll probably get sent home, so I made sure to have everything done in advance so I wouldn't miss any deadlines."

A slight grin appeared on my teachers face as he declared, "Of course, it's not guaranteed that you will be sent home. That is only one option. You may have to stay dressed like that for the rest of the day, unless you brought a change of clothing."

I could see that he was fishing to see which punishment would cause me the most discomfort. He was obviously assuming that I was depending on being sent home or would want to change out of what I was wearing.

"No, I didn't bring any other clothing, and if I wasn't prepared to spend the day dressed like this, I wouldn't have come like this in the first place. It really doesn't matter if 8 people or 800 see me dressed like this. The fact everybody in this room has seen me is enough for the grapevine to spread the news to the rest of the school."

I look round the room at my fellow students. I can see they are eager to talk about my appearance, but can't do so while Mr Brett is present.

"Let us see what the headmistress has to say on the matter," Mr Brett reasoned, obviously not wanting to make a decision himself. His next action was to complete the register before escorting me out of the room. We stopped briefly so that he could ask the teacher in the neighbouring classroom to keep an ear out for my class before continuing onto the front office in silence.

Darin Dares

Chapter 2 of 7

© 2014 by D.L.

The headmistress then proceeded to circle me, observing my appearance from all angles. "Exactly what do you think you are doing coming dressed in that ridiculous outfit?"

Mrs Geraldine Davis is a very austere woman who by her appearance would seem to be at or close to retirement age. Her greying hair is often wrapped into a tight bun on the back of her head. Her appearance is always smart and business-like and I have never seen her wear any form or trousers or leggings. Even outside of school on the few occasions I have spotted her shopping in town, she is always in a skirt or a dress. Today she was wearing one of her more formal suits in a dark red pinstripe material, the straight skirt reaching mid calf.

After arriving at the office, Mr Brett had asked to see Mrs Davis. I was left sitting in the reception while he disappeared into the office. After what seemed like an age, but in fact was only a couple of minutes, the two of them emerged. Mr Brett disappeared off in the direction of his classroom and I was instructed to follow Mrs Davis into her office and then to stand in the middle of the room facing her desk.

The headmistress then proceeded to circle me, observing my appearance from all angles. I focused my attention on the plant stood on top of a filing cabinet behind her desk, admiring the pale pink flowers.

"Exactly what do you think you are doing coming dressed in that ridiculous outfit?" She asked. "It's obvious you want to draw attention to yourself, but why?"

"Following your advice, Ma'am," I answered.

"Oh, what advice would that be? I don't remember telling you to disobey school rules."

"Last time I was in your office it was because I was fighting. I had hit Gregory because he was teasing me. You rightly told me that I needed to adjust my attitude and re-evaluate how I should react to such situations. I wouldn't admit what bothered me so much at the time, but now I'm willing to say he was taunting me for my lack of masculinity. I realise that calling a boy a girl is a common insult and that shouldn't bother me. The trouble is it did bother me, because deep down I know he's right. I have been trying to deny my feminine traits and overcompensate, often using violence, or the threat thereof, where inappropriate. If it was just Greg, then perhaps I could have ignored it, but I seem to be constantly reminded of my girlish behaviour. Over the past few weeks I have been trying to stop trying to act how I think everybody expects me to behave, and instead just let things go and just act naturally."

Mrs Davis Circled back round in front of me and perched herself on the edge of her desk. "While I find it commendable that you want to embrace your more feminine side, I think you are taking things to the extreme here, young man."

I forced myself to look directly into her eyes, the one place I found to be the most uncomfortable, especially as I could feel my eyes starting to water, "That's just it. I'm not a young man. Sure, I'm physically male, but that's where anything manly about me stops. At the very minimum I would classify myself as gender variant. I would even go as far as saying I'm probably classifiable as transgendered. I'm well aware that I can't just decide to change gender without medical backing. However, to get such backing I need to be seen by a psychiatrist, preferably one with experience in gender identity issues. The trouble I have is that my parents won't take me seriously and therefore won't take me to a doctor. I've tried speaking to them and they simply tell me not to be ridiculous. I figured it would be difficult for them to ignore me when they find out I came to school dressed like this."

"So you want me to suspend or even expel you in order to force the issue?" The headmistress clarified.

"If necessary, yes, but I would rather not have a punishment that affected my permanent record. However, that is up to you. Frankly, I find it grossly unfair that the uniform rules allow the girls to come dressed as boys if they want, but not the other way round. If I was female and I came to school dressed as a boy we wouldn’t be having this conversation now."

Mrs Davis thought for a few minutes before replying, "Actually I have sent a girl home before for being too masculine looking. However, she turned up with a crew cut, ripped jeans, and a ring through her nose, so it didn't matter what her gender was. At least you have mostly made an effort to comply with the rules."

"Mostly?" I queried. "I thought I followed them to the letter? What am I wearing that isn't allowable under the rules for girls?"

"Your wig: head coverings can only be worn for medical or religious purposes. As you have neither a doctor’s note, nor a letter from your parents, strictly speaking you can't wear that wig."

I lift the hairpiece from my head, "I can make do without this if needed. I mainly wore it for safety on the way here so I wasn't challenged. The fact I made it all the way to my classroom without anybody twigging anything was wrong proves it was worthwhile. I spoke with Mr Handley for several minutes and he didn't realise I'm male."

I watched Mrs Davis raise her eyebrows as she said, "So that was you on the skates this morning. I heard Mr Handley talking about it to the secretary. When he said he had to tell off a kid on skates I immediately thought of you, but then he described a girl."

"Sorry about that, I had to leave for school as a boy and return home after Mum left for work. I know you banned me from skating, but it was the only way to get here on time. Besides, I had to minimise the time in which anybody could recognise me, so I deliberately cut it close."

The headmistress paced her office for a few minutes before asking, "What would you do if I simply gave you an in-school detention, so that I didn't need to inform your parents, and made you stay dressed l like that, minus the wig?"

I thought for a moment before responding, "I would dutifully turn up and serve my detention. Then we would end up having this same conversation tomorrow morning when I turn up in the same uniform again. Presumably the punishment would be the same or worse each day. If I accumulate enough in-school detentions then you have to issue me with an after-school detention which requires a letter home. Your only way to thwart that would to be not to issue me with any punishment and let me come to school as a girl."

"As much as that would be interesting to watch," Mrs Davis considered, "I can't simply let you walk around as a girl, and I certainly cannot let you use the girl's bathrooms or changing room."

"I'm not asking for access. I fully accept that there is no way I could possibly use the girl's changing room, and I'm not sure I would be comfortable changing in front of the other girls anyway with my deformity. I can barely stand to look it at myself without others having to see it. As for the bathrooms, I very rarely have needed to use the facilities here. I don't tend to drink a lot of liquid during the day and can usually wait until I get home. The truth is I don't like using the boy's room so avoid it. I'm way to self-conscious to use a urinal. I can't pee with anybody watching and I'm always afraid of splashing myself. If I do go, then I use the cubicle, but doing so runs the risk of getting teased for acting like a girl."

I paused for a moment and then added, "That is another thing. From now on I will be refusing to use the boy's changing room during P.E. I'll happily continue to participate in lessons, even if that means doing the sports with the boys instead of the girls, but only if alternative arrangements can be made."

"I wish you would have talked to someone before taking such drastic action," Mrs Davis said, "couldn't you have talked to one of the teachers? We do have a school counsellor you know."

I shivered at the thought of having to talk with Mrs Bates. She acted as both the school counsellor and a part-time teacher teaching psychology. Mrs Davis raised her eyebrows at my involuntary movement.

"Most of my teachers are male, and I don't feel comfortable talking to them about this issue. The only female teacher I would consider talking too is on maternity leave. As for Mrs Bates," I paused thinking how best to word it without offending. "There is a saying: those who can, do, and those who can't, teach. I can't comment on her standard of teaching, as I've never been in one of her lessons, but I have heard that she is gender biased in favour of boys. I have also heard some of the girls complain that she is unsympathetic. That alone makes be believe talking to her would be unwise."

"Mrs Bates is a professional, I'm sure she would treat you with respect. I think you should at least set up an appointment with her," Mrs Davis replied.

"No way, I have enough issues as it is without her making things worse." I looked at Mrs Davis. She didn't look convinced. Taking a deep breath I decided to elaborate, "I have reason to believe that Mrs Bates is highly homophobic, and given her bias would probably be transphobic as well. Yes, she may try and act professionally when laying out the facts, but I've witnessed firsthand the damage she can do by giving biased advice."

Mrs Davis wasn't happy with my opinion, and I was initially reluctant to say further. After several minutes of coaxing, I finally explain, "One of my male classmates was questioning his sexuality. He went to her. Luckily I found him afterwards before he could do something stupid. He was suffering from depression and had hid himself behind the sports hall crying his eyes out. It took me quite a while to calm him down. If it wasn't for the fact I was able to get his trust by showing him I was wearing feminine underwear, thereby giving him mutually assured destruction, I dread to think what would happen. The only reason there hasn't been a formal complaint is that he's too scared to come out of the closet, although that may change depending on the reaction to me. He is the only student who knew about my gender issues before today. I was tempted to go to her myself, out myself, and record the conversation as evidence, but I decided that would be a bad idea. I didn't want everyone to think that I was making my own problems up just to expose her, when I genuinely have issues I need to work through."

Mrs Davis rounded her desk at sat down. She sat for several minutes in deep thought. After some careful consideration she declared that she needed more time to think about the subject and sent me back to my lessons with a note informing my teachers that she was aware of my appearance and I was to continue as normal pending a decision on my behaviour. She also told me that she would be investigating what I said.

~o~O~o~

It was already a third of the way into the first lesson of the day when I opened the door to my English class. Samantha, one of my fellow students, was reading out loud to the class. This was something that often happened in class, the teacher, Mr Philips, getting us all to read in turn. The room fell silent as I entered. I had dropped my wig off at my locker on the way, so I now looked less like a girl, and more like a boy in a dress.

"Sorry I'm late," I said as I held the note out for the teacher, "I had to go to the office."

He glanced at the note, returned it to me, and instructed me to take my seat. I sat down next to Kenny, and he showed me which page and paragraph we were on. Samantha continued to read to the end of the page where Penny took over for the next few pages. I had already read the book to its end, so it didn't matter that I had missed a bit. It wouldn't be long until it would be my turn to read.

Normally I don't put much feeling into my oration. I try not to sound flat and monotonous, but at the same time I deliberately try to keep emotion out of my voice. I usually try and force myself to talk deeper than my natural inflection. Today, I do the opposite. No longer trying to act masculine, I instead use the full range of my voice. When reading out some of the dialog I attempt to use different voices, putting on higher pitches for the female characters. I'm so enjoying myself I can hardly keep the grin off my face, and it’s not until I reach the end of the chapter do I realise that I should have stopped ten pages ago. I had become so absorbed into what I was doing I completely lost track of my surroundings.

I stop, and for the first time look up around the room. The looks of shock and puzzlement that greet me catch me by surprise.

"OK, who are you and what have you done with Darin?" Mr Philips asked.

"What?" I replied.

I'm instructed to stand up and stand on one leg. I'm then asked to walk across the room and back. Finally I had to keep my head still but follow Mr Phillips pen with my eyes as he moved it from side to side. I can tell a sobriety test when I see one and I wonder if my teacher seriously thinks I'm drunk or high. I may be a lot happier than normal with being in a skirt, but I didn't think I was behaving massively out of the ordinary.

"Don't worry," Kevin interjected, "she's always like this when she stops worrying about whether people perceive if she is a girl or a boy. Darin always gets sullen and depressed when trying to put on a masculine front, which is what you normally see."

Kevin is one of the few people who know my secret having found out several weeks previously. He was the boy I mentioned to Mrs Davis. After seeing the school counsellor, he was very upset and hiding behind the sports block. I slipped back there myself as I wanted some alone time. I heard his sobs and went to investigate. He wouldn't tell me what was wrong at first. I finally persuaded him that he could trust me by pulling the waist band of my panties out of the top of my trousers. Once he saw that I was wearing feminine underwear he started to open up. Once he came out to me, I decided to explain my own predicament. While friendly to one another, we were never very close friends until the incident. Since then we have spent quite a bit of time together talking, and now that he knows my secret, I tend to relax in his presence as I don't have to hide my natural tendencies.

Mr Philips raised his eyebrows at Kevin's pronoun usage. I was too busy blushing to pay attention to the glances going back and forth between the other students. The teacher decided not to press the matter any further, and the lesson continued as normal.

At the end of the lesson, Kevin and I packed up our books and walked together down the corridor towards the maths department.

"You certainly don't do things by half do you," Kevin said. I smiled and he continued, "I've got your back if needed. It might be best if you don't go anywhere alone for the moment. Especially anywhere teachers aren't likely to be present, such as the bathrooms."

I nod and thank him as we arrive at our next class. Mr Elliott stares at me as I enter. I hand him the note from the headmistress which he reads. He doesn't say anything and simply hands the paper back to me. I take my usual seat. A few different people are in this class from my previous one, and there are some double takes as the room fills. A few comments and a wolf whistle occur before Mr Elliott settles the class down for an hour of trigonometry. Once again I get strange looks as I appear to be a lot bubblier in personality than usual. I'm genuinely more happy today than most. Some of it is simply the novelty of spending the day as a girl. I'm sure once I get used to it, the effect will diminish. I do my best not to let it distract me from completing my lessons. If anything my increased comfort level helps me work.

~o~O~o~

At ten minutes past eleven the bell sounded for the morning break. We have twenty minutes until the final hour’s lesson before lunch. Kevin escorted me to our common room where he left me in order to use the bathroom. I made myself comfortable on one of the grey plastic chairs scattered around the room. Taking my reading book out, I started pretending to look at it while I surveyed the room for possible danger.

I noticed one of the teachers walking past in the corridor. This particular room has windows in the wall to the corridor so that it is possible to see in and out. There are blinds that can be closed when in use as a classroom, but this particular room isn't used for lessons very often.

I noted that a group of the girls I know had gathered on the opposite side of the room, and they appeared to be in a huddle discussing something. By the sly glances in my direction, I suspected that they are up to something and that it involved me. I don't have long to wait before a bunch of them have gathered around me and start to ask questions. They started off by asking me how I like what I'm wearing, and then proceeded to draw me in on the more general subject of fashion.

I wondered where this was leading, but join in the conversation all the same. It was not long before I realised what they were up to. The conversation gradually gets more girly as the break continues, the topic of conversation getting wider to cover boys.

I was expecting this to happen at some point. I knew it would only be a matter of time before my sexuality was questioned. I decided not to openly confirm or deny anything. The truth is I haven't worked out my orientation. I admit to finding some of the boy bands cute, but also gush over some of the female pop stars in the charts.

I'm surprised at how quickly the twenty minutes passed. The sound of the bell catches me off guard and I had to dash to my next lesson. The reactions in the French class go similar to the previous period. There is some minor disturbance at the beginning by the few individuals who have yet to encounter me, but by this point I've already been seen most of my fellow students. News of my attire has also rapidly spread during break, so there is less surprise, as even those who haven't seen me have heard what I'm wearing. I did notice a higher than usual amount of foot traffic passing the common room window at break.

At lunch I am again surrounded by a group of girls. This time it is more obvious that they are trying to have fun embarrassing me. I do find talking about feminine hygiene products awkward, but at the same time I'm interested in them from an intellectual point of view. When questioned, I simply point out that I won't be requiring them any time soon. I try not to blush too much. I could tell that some of the girls were finding it just as discomforting as I am. Out of the seven girls in the group, only three were actively participating in this part of the discussion.

We were interrupted by the tannoy calling us to the canteen as it was our turn to get lunch. So that there isn't a rush all at once each year is called in turn on a rota. While everybody heads to eat, I instead slip outside with my packed lunch. While I can sit and eat it in the canteen, I prefer to go outside. The earlier wind has died down and the temperature has been rising all morning. As I leave I slip my wig back on so that I won't be as easily recognised. I found some shade under a tree and ate my lunch in peace. I positioned myself so that my back was to the bulk of foot traffic in the hope that I'll be difficult to spot from behind. Kevin and John came and sat nearby to make sure I'm not harassed.

I do have a minor scare when one of the resident troublemakers, Gary, approached the two boys and asked where I am in not so pleasant terms. He failed to notice me sat nearby and the two boys send him on his way. I can see Kevin is particularly angry at the homophobic undertones, and I worried for a second that things might turn violent. I managed to get to the end of lunch without further trouble. My tactic of sitting facing away from people with my wig on seems to be enough so that I'm not recognised. While the wig is hot to wear, it is a minor inconvenience compared to getting by without it. While I'm in the shade it isn't too bad.

I found it amusing that the majority of the passing conversation is about me, yet nobody who walked by realised that the subject of their discussion is sat close by.

I still had yet to hear back from Mrs Davis and Mr Brett does not say anything when he calls the afternoon register after lunch. I went to my science class as normal.

Authors note: This is a revised version of the original posting. The errors mentioned in the comments have now been corrected.

Darin Dares

Chapter 3 of 7

© 2014 by D.L.

My happy mood was soon being rapidly eroded away as I found small balls of wet paper hitting me in the back of my head and a few stray shots whizzing past my head.

The final lesson of the day is the one I have been dreading the most. Most of the classes I attend are split by ability level and I'm in the top class for most of my subjects. In general the level of intelligence in these classes is higher and there are proportionally fewer troublemakers. There are a couple of people in my science class that worry me as potential bullies, but they are in the minority.

The last period for the day was History. This particular lesson is not done by ability level and there are a number of students that like to cause problems. Also, this is one of the few classes I attend that has a women teacher. Mrs Baker is fairly young, I would guess late twenties and not very tall. Despite her best efforts she is unable to maintain control of her classes. I don't know why she is unable to gain the respect of the students. It seems she has a reputation of not being able to control the class and this works against her as it gives confidence to the troublemakers to stand up to her. No matter how loudly she shouts, it doesn't seem to have much effect. She is often hoarse by the end of the day.

It doesn't help that I'm one of the last people to arrive at the classroom. The science lab I came from is the furthest and I didn't get out of the previous lesson very promptly. I was also delayed in the corridor. One of the girls in front of me dropped the books she was carrying and caused a traffic jam while she recovered from her slip.

Mrs Baker already looked stressed by the time I arrived, and I don't think my appearance helped. I offered to show her the note, but she declined to read it. I guess by now all my teachers were aware of my current status without needing the explanation.

I could tell it was going to get bad when Gary immediately started cat calling me as soon as I was in the door. Mrs Baker shouted at him, but he didn't seem to pay her much attention. Quite a few of the other students were laughing as well. The teacher called for quiet and the noise level fell to a lower level, but there was still a lot of whispering going on.

My happy mood was soon being rapidly eroded away as I found small balls of wet paper hitting me in the back of my head and a few stray shots whizzing past my head. I didn't need to look round to guess who was using a broken biro as a makeshift pea-shooter. Every time Mrs Baker turned her back more spit-wads of paper flew my direction.

The teacher turned round just in time to witness a large ball of paper hit me square in the back of the head. As I'm leant forward over my book, the projectile bounced upwards, its forward momentum keeping it moving towards the front of the class. Mrs Baker immediately demanded to know who through it, as she picked it up. It didn't take her more than a few seconds to focus on the prime suspect and start threatening detentions.

The projectiles stopped for a few minutes as the teacher went back to writing on the whiteboard. It was not long before a second ball of paper bounced off me head.

"Ouch! Pack that in," I shouted as I turned round angrily.

"What’s the matter, is it your time of the month?" Gary taunted me.

"That is not funny, Mr Prentiss," Mrs Baker yelled at Gary. "Apologise this instant."

I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was livid without needing to see her body language. I did however notice that several of the girls were also pretty annoyed with the comment.

"Sorry, I was forgetting you're not a real girl, just a sissy fag wannabe," Gary responded.

I was totally fuming now, and found myself standing with my fists clenched practically growling at the insult.

"Don't get your knickers is a twist," Gary continued, "What? Are you planning on hitting me, or just pulling on my hair like a little girl while trying to scratch me with non-existent nails?"

"Darin, Sit Down! Gary, do you want to end up in Mrs Davis's office?" Mrs Baker screamed.

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea," a new voice stated from the doorway. With everybody, the teacher included, focused on the squabble going on, none of us had noticed Mrs Davis appear at the doorway and enter the room.

"Mr Prentiss, I find your attitude and lack of respect for female authority figures disturbing. Mrs Baker shouldn't need to tell you not to do something more than once, and I don't think any of the girls here are impressed with your comments. I do hope you weren't planning on dating any time soon, as I think you may just have scuppered any chances of getting a girlfriend. Given your behaviour perhaps you would like to join Miss Mitchell in skirts for a while?" Mrs Davis stated. The use of a female pronoun when referring to me caught me off guard, and actually took the edge off my anger for a second.

"You can't do that! It's illegal," Gary protested strongly.

"Pity," Mrs Davis continued, "I think you'd look so cute in a little frilly pink dress. Your hair might just be long enough for pigtails. While you're right in that I can't force you into doing it, I can offer it as an alternative punishment."

This had the whole room laughing. Gary visibly shrunk into his chair at the remarks. Mrs Davis was pushing the limit of what she could get away with I think. There is a fine line between forcing discipline and forcing humiliation, and while the former is acceptable, the latter is not.

"Gary, please report to my office at the end of the lesson. If I hear that you have been anything less than the perfect student for the rest of the period, you'll find yourself begging to be let off as lightly as wearing a silly outfit. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mrs Davis," Gary replied.

"Darin, I need to discuss your conduct and appearance today. Please collect your things and come with me," the headmistress instructed. I immediately complied, now very worried about being called out of the lesson. Mrs Davis apologised for her interruption to Mrs Baker before leading me out into the corridor. I could hear Mrs Baker berating the class again as we walked away. I couldn't quite hear what she said, but found out later from Kevin that she was complaining about how embarrassing it was that Mrs Davis had to come in before they would shut up and listen to her.

~o~O~o~

"Relax," Mrs Davis stated as we walked towards her office, "I didn't pull you out because you're in trouble. I thought there might be problems so decided to station myself outside the room just in case. I could see you were on the point of losing it and didn't fancy having to write you up for hitting someone, even if they did deserve it."

"You're determined not to have to call my parents, aren't you," I accused.

"Darin, if I do get involved with your family dispute, I would rather it be on a positive attitude than a negative one. I’d prefer you try to work this out with them first though."

"I normally change out of my uniform with I get home, but I fully intend to be wearing either this or a dress when my parents get home," I state. "I hope to be able to come dressed like this again tomorrow, but if they catch me wearing this then it will probably be confiscated."

We arrived at her office, and I took a seat opposite the headmistress at her desk.

"If you do turn up tomorrow in a skirt, then that won't actually be a problem. As I said, you are not in trouble. I have decided that you made a valid argument this morning. You did break the dress code, for which I hereby issue a warning, but the dress code itself is in breach of the equality and diversity policy, which takes precedence. We have to treat all genders, races and nationalities equally. By allowing girls to wear a wider range of clothing than boys, we are creating an inequality in contradiction to the principal of the policy. Therefore I uphold your complaint and I'm here by allowing any boy to attend in skirts if he so wishes, thereby removing the bias."

I sat there in shock, "You mean I can continue to come to school as a girl?"

Mrs Davis clarified, "You can continue to come dressed as a girl, but you will officially still be regarded and treated as a boy until we are told we must do otherwise by a qualified medical professional. Officially that means we continue to use your legal name, unless it gets changed, and have to use male pronouns in any correspondence. That doesn't mean we can't use a feminine nickname and pronouns unofficially."

I think about this for a moment, "I will certainly be taking you up on that offer. My parents might prevent me from turning up dressed as a girl, but they can't stop me changing into a skirt once I arrive, even if that does mean using the boy's toilets to do so. I have a spare one in my locker for tomorrow. I could change when I arrive if there was time, or even at the end of P.E. third period. There wouldn't be much point changing at break right before P.E. Spending Lunch time and the afternoon as a girl would be better than being in trousers all day."

"Does that mean you will actually be taking part? You said earlier you were planning on refusing, which would land you in trouble. We can't excuse you without a doctor’s note."

"I haven't decided yet," I admitted with a sigh. "So far, apart from some verbal jibes, I haven't gotten into any fights. I think tomorrow in the changing rooms could become a flash point, especially if I'm dressed as I am now. I can hold my own one on one, and I know I will have a couple of the boy's backing me up if a fight starts, but I'm still scared things could get out of hand real quick. The P.E. teachers don't like coming into the changing rooms while we are changing, which given the current political climate regarding potential paedophilia I can fully understand. However that does leave me vulnerable. I also hate having to undress in there. I'm seriously thinking about locking myself in the toilet cubicle to change and when it’s time to shower doing so while still in my P.E. kit. I'd be making myself an ever bigger target for ridicule and laugher for doing it, but I'm not sure I could cope any how else."

"I'll ask the P.E. teachers to keep an ear out for trouble. They'll enter the changing rooms if they think the is a fight going on, so simply scream loud enough if you think you're in danger. Unfortunately that is as far as I can help you at the moment."

"Thank you, I understand. I'm actually very relieved and slightly surprised that you have been as kind as you have been," I declared.

"I've witnessed the results of depression and bully first hand. I had a student commit suicide at a previous school where I worked. I vowed to never let that happen again, and I'm always on the lookout for students who might be at risk. Your teachers have noticed that you don't seem to interact with other students much, hardly say anything in lessons, and very rarely smile. If it wasn't for your growing friendship with Kevin over the past few weeks then you would have been scheduled to see Mrs Bates already," Mrs Davis stated causing me to shudder at the thought of seeing our school counsellor.

A puzzled expression came to the headmistresses face before her eyebrows rose in revelation, "Mr Phillips was very surprised by you behaviour this morning, saying he has never seen you so happy and relaxed. He said Kevin suggested this was your normal behaviour when presenting as a girl, and therefore he must have known about you beforehand. You said this morning that there was only one student with prior knowledge about you: the person you had to comfort after speaking to Mrs Bates. I may be jumping to conclusions here, but I'm thinking Kevin might be the person you were talking about earlier."

I felt my cheeks burning slightly. It had not been my intention to out my friend. I opted to stay quiet, neither confirming nor denying her assumption.

Seeing that I wasn't going to break confidence, Mrs Davis broke the awkward silence, "I have investigated your claims regarding Mrs Bates. I have a number of trusted students who I can go to for honest opinions, and they too perceived a bias. I even sent one of the sixth form drama students to her to ask advice regarding homosexual feelings, and we were both disappointed with the results. I have subsequently spoken to Mrs Bates, and she will be attending some additional training courses in the coming weeks. I take student wellbeing very seriously, and I want to make sure that everybody on staff is best able to do what is needed."

"My friend will be pleased to hear that," I replied. "I will let him know what you said. He may be willing to speak to you about it."

Mrs Davis nodded and said, "One of the reasons I decided to let you come dressed as you are is because I think it may be in your best interests. I have been watching you from a distance all day, and after speaking with your teachers, the general opinion is that you seem to be a lot more alive today. You seemed have talked to more people today than you have all term, you’ve been laughing and smiling and nobody can remember the last time you did that. Your attitude and general demeanour today has been much more positive than usual, and if letting you dress as a girl is the price for that, then I'm willing to adjust the rules a fraction."

I smiled in return, just relieved that I'm at least being taken seriously for once.

"That brings me to the other reason why I took you out of class," Mrs Davis said. "I fear that you could potentially be in danger at leaving off time if any of your fellow students do decide to take issue with you. I can't let you leave early without parental notification or consent, but I can let you stand at the gates, with you skates on, ready to depart as soon as the final bell rings. That will give you a at least a couple of minutes head start by the time everybody has gotten out of their lessons and out the door. I also suspect that Mrs Baker will be detaining her class as long as long as she is allowed after the bell, which will give you another five minutes lead over the people who were giving you trouble earlier. Gary will be even later once I have a word with him about his behaviour."

Teachers are allowed to prolong lessons by five minutes at the end of the day for bad behaviour. Longer detentions have to be served in lunch or break times. If after school detentions are needed, then parents have to be informed, especially as it could results in changes to transport arrangements for some students, and cause worry to some parents if their children are late home.

As there is still some time left before the end of the day, I'm told to sit at a spare desk in the main school office and read my history textbook. I do as instructed, and as arranged, pack up several minutes before the end of the period so that I can be ready to leave on the bell. As soon as it sounded, I rolled out of the gates in the direction of home, as fast as safely possible. I don't think I'm in danger, but it’s possible that somebody on a bike could catch up with me if they wanted too.

Darin Dares

Chapter 4 of 7

© 2014 by D.L.

I'm at the age where I'm supposed to become rebellious. I didn't fancy going goth or grungy, so I decided to be different and go girly instead.

The journey home was uneventful. I am able to reach my road without anybody yelling or attacking me. With my wig on, nobody seems to notice me. A few of my fellow students overtook me by bike, but they don't stop.

As I glided along I noticed our neighbour, Mrs Perkins, was out in her front garden deadheading her roses. She glanced in my direction, but failed to recognise me. I took a quick left into my driveway and swiftly skated down the side of the semi-detached house. Our driveway leads to a garage at the back of the house next to the back garden. I unlocked the back door and sat on the doorstep to take off my skates. I carried them indoors with me and I headed to my bedroom.

It was still quite hot, so I decided to take advantage of the warm weather and spend the rest of the afternoon outside. As we couldn't cut the grass at the weekend due to showers, I chose to do that that now. I took off my school clothes and put on a pale yellow summer dress and a pair of white tennis shoes. I lifted my mattress and let it slide off the side of the bed. I carefully laid the uniform I had been wearing on the bed base and pulled the mattress back into position, gently putting it down so as not to crease the clothing underneath. I did this as I am expecting a big argument when my parents get home. I wanted to be able to wear the uniform again the next day and hoped that it will fail to be found and confiscated.

I headed to my parents bedroom and borrowed my mother’s sun hat. It is a straw hat with a very wide brim. It will keep the sun off me while I work. I stepped out into the back garden and across to the shed. Our back garden is surrounded by six foot fencing on two sides, the other two sides being the house and the garage. This means it is secluded and I can only be seen from the upstairs windows of the neighbouring houses, should anybody be there, and then only from certain angles.

I plug in the electric lawnmower in a socket in the kitchen and proceed to mow the back lawn. This only takes me about 10 minutes to cut the small lawn. The back garden is roughly square and is half taken up with paving and a greenhouse.

Up until now I haven't been seen dressed by the neighbours. I could have still changed back into boy mode. However, one of the arguments my parents have against me is that they won't let me dress in case the neighbours see me. I am about to circumvent that argument by letting that happen.

Heading through the house I put an extension cord out the front window. I noted that Mrs Perkins was still outside as I did so. I pulled the lawnmower round to the front of the house and plugged it into the cable hanging out the window. I see Mrs Perkins looking over at me. I smiled and headed over to speak to her.

"Hi, would you like me to mow your lawn while I do ours?" I asked. Our two houses are semi-detached. Mrs Perkins, who I believe to be in her eighties, lives alone. She has had her back garden paved over for lower maintenance, but still has a front lawn that we usually mow for her. Our lawns are connected and form one large piece of grass. The boundaries of the properties on our road are separated by ornate chains hung from two foot high posts. By removing some of the chains, I can mow both lawns at once.

"I almost didn't recognise you, Darin," Mrs Perkins replied. "That's a very unusual outfit you're wearing. It's not very often you see girls in dresses these days, let alone boys."

"In this heat it's actually the most comfortable thing to wear. It’s lighter in weight than shorts and a t-shirt, while also being a looser fit. I would wear dresses more often, but my parents don't let me. They are probably going to go ballistic when they find out."

"I won't mention seeing you dressed up in that case," my neighbour declared. "Why are you wearing that if you know you'll get in trouble?"

"I'm at the age where I'm supposed to become rebellious. I didn't fancy going goth or grungy, so I decided to be different and go girly instead," I joked. Turning slightly more serious I added, "I've always been a bit on the girly side, I'm just taking that to its logical extreme."

Mrs Perkins picked up the cuttings from her bushes and moved out of the way so that I could cut the lawns. I carefully and methodically worked my way across the gardens. I have to empty the grass box a couple of times as I do so. I'm glad I did choose to wear the dress, as it does keep me cooler that the clothes I normally wear.

As I finished I saw Mrs Perkins come round the corner of her house carrying a tray with two glasses of fresh apple juice. I took one and sipped the refreshing cold liquid. I like our neighbour. She is a kind old women and I get on with her well.

We were discussing some of the plants in her garden when I hear a car pull up and go into reverse. Turning round, I saw my mother starting to back into our driveway. She glanced across in our direction and I caught the look of surprise on her face as she recognised me. Her gaze was broken by the screaming of the reverse parking sensor as she came off the edge of the drive. Before she could react the car came to a sudden halt as it hit the fence post separating our drive from our other neighbours.

My mother flung her car door open and stormed round to the back of the car to survey the damage. Her face was like thunder as she paused to take in the situation before turning and approaching me.

"What the hell do you think you are doing dressed like that?" my mother asked me sternly. She wasn't shouting, but the anger was very evident in her voice.

"Mowing the lawn," I answer, "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Don't take that tone of voice with me young man! Get inside and take off that ridiculous outfit this instant and don't you dare come out wearing another outfit designed for a girl. I want you out here dressed properly as a boy a.s.a.p."

I handed my glass back to Mrs Perkins as I shrugged my shoulders, before turning and heading inside. If my mother hadn't specified boys’ clothes, then I would have simply changed to a skirt and top. However, she was wise enough to stipulate that I should dress as a boy. I don't want to directly disobey her, but I do have one final trick up my sleeve. I head to the bathroom and quickly rinse myself under the shower. I head back to my bedroom wrapped in a towel and pull out my forth outfit for the day. I began by putting on the white shirt I started out with first thing this morning. I then pull out a red tartan kilt. I'm not cheating with this, as it is a real kilt designed for a boy, not a girl’s skirt that just happens to look like the part. I even have a sporran to hang from my belt. I'm tempted to go traditional and not wear anything underneath, but I'm not comfortable with that, especially as Mrs Perkins might be watching when I go outside, and I don't think she would appreciate being flashed if my mother decides to try and remove the kilt. Instead I put on a clean pair of male underpants.

I put on my normal black shoes and walk back outside. My mother and Mrs Perkins are stood at the rear of the car discussing the large dint on the bumper. My mother turns round as I approach and she doesn't look happy. Before she can say anything I get in first, "Satisfied now? I'm not wearing anything designed for a girl. Everything, including my underwear, is strictly masculine, and this is a proper kilt, not a skirt, before you accuse me of anything."

I stand and face my mother, who is at a loss for words. I could see that she was absolutely livid, but rather than shying away like I have in the past, I stood my ground. I wasn't going to back down this time.

After several tense seconds my mother screamed at me, "Fine, you want to make a prat of yourself go ahead. Now put that lawnmower away and clean up this mess."

Mum stormed off inside, slamming the back door as she went in.

"Don't worry, I'm sure she'll calm down, dear," Mrs Perkins declared, probably to break the awkward silence more than stating an actual belief.

"Not if I have anything to do with it," I replied. On seeing a puzzled look, I elaborated, "this argument has been building for a while and I'm not going to back down or let it drop. I'll apologise in advance if there is a lot of yelling this evening, especially when Dad gets home."

"Well take care, and good luck," Mrs Perkins answered before heading home. I quickly finished emptying the grass box and wheeled the lawnmower back to the shed before heading inside myself to face the music.

My mother was in the bathroom when I entered the house. I decided to head to my room and stay there. I made a start on my homework and waited to see if the argument was going to continue. It didn't and I'm left in peace for the next hour while my mother made dinner.

I heard my father’s car reverse into the drive. Having finished my homework, I descended the stairs to meet him as he entered. Our lounge and dining room are open plan. I positioned myself on one of the three piece suite chairs, kneeling on the cushion, facing the back of the seat. I can see into the kitchen from here, but my parents can only see the top half of me over the back of the chair. My mother didn't notice me as she had her back to the door while peeling some potatoes over the sink. I can tell from her body language that she is still in a mood.

My father enters the back door and immediately notices the annoyed expression on my mother’s face.

"Is something wrong?" Dad asked tentatively as he passed. My mother didn't respond. Seeing that she was angry, he decided it best to leave her to calm down a fraction, and continued into the front room to deposit his briefcase under the computer desk in the corner and take off his shoes. Seeing me, or at least the top half of me, he asked, "I see you cut the grass. You did Audrey's lawn as well?"

I nodded as I answered, "Yes, but I didn't strim the edges as I had homework to do. Besides which, Mum arrived home so I wouldn't be able to finish anyway."

We have a band of grass going down the centre of our driveway, between the two concrete strips that the cars run on. With a car parked in the drive, it’s not possible to cut all the grass. I had mown that first as I knew Mum may arrive home before I could finish.

"I think the strimmer is out of cable anyway," my father stated, "I'll take a look after tea."

"I wouldn't be too pleased, if I were you," my mother said as she joined the conversation. Turning to me she added, "Come out from behind that chair. Are you still wearing what you had on earlier?"

I got up and walked to the side of the chair so that both my parents could see I was still in a kilt.

"You mowed the lawn in that," my father said as he started to laugh at me.

"No, this material is far too hot and heavy for this heat. Mum ordered me to change after she crashed the car, which for the record is not my fault," I said in a calm even tone, ignoring both the laughing and the stares from my mother. I nonchalantly walked over to the dining room table and began to set three places.

"What did you hit? The lawnmower?" Dad asked to Mum as he walked to the back door to inspect the damage. My mother followed him out, and I tagged along at the back. I figured a shouting match was about to start, but hoped that being outside would limit the argument.

"The dint may spring back out, but it'll certainly leave a mark too deep to polish out," he said as he inspected the damage to the car.

"I've a good mind to make Darin pay for this out of his allowance," Mum stated in annoyance, "If he hadn't have distracted me prancing round like a girl, I wouldn't have nudged the post."

My father turned to me with raised eyebrows. I responded with, "I wasn't prancing; I was stood still next to the rose bushes talking to Mrs Perkins. I also object to the word 'like'. You could have braked or ignored me and watched what you were doing."

"What exactly were you wearing?" My dad asked.

"Show him!" my Mother instructed.

I led my parents inside and up to my bedroom where the dress I was in earlier was hanging on the front of my wardrobe.

"You were wearing that?" My father exclaimed to which I simply nodded. "This stops here and now. I will not having people see you cross-dressing," he continued, "what would your friends think it they saw you in that?"

I couldn't help but grin at his question. I already had an answer planned for this. "Name one of my friends who you think would be upset by seeing me in that?"

This causes my father to stop and think. I can see him trying to rack his brain for any name. He has to glance at my mother for inspiration. I don't exactly have many friends as I don't fit in very well. Kevin is probably my best friend at the moment, but we have only been talking for a few weeks and I haven't mentioned him to my parents. The fact they are struggling to name anybody shows both my lack of social skills in making friends and the lack of communication within our family about our lives.

"Holly down the road would definitely laugh at you," my mother injected to break the awkward silence left by my father. I find it amusing that the only person she can think of is one of the neighbouring girls on our street.

"Holly is the ultimate tomboy, and would laugh at anybody wearing a dress, regardless of their gender. I don't think she is a good example," I replied. "If that is the only person you can think of whom I'm friends with I think it proves that you don't know a lot about me, or at least refuse to acknowledge that I don't fit in as a boy. Also, why are you assuming that I'm keeping secrets from my friends? My friends know that I'm really a girl and are the ones who helped me obtain this clothing in the first place."

"If you think you're a girl, you really do need you head examined," my mother stated, "or do I need to give you a biology lesson about what I know is between your legs."

"Hallelujah! You're finally getting it. Yes, I do need my head examined. Please go ahead and book a doctor’s appointment. I think I'm a girl in a boy's body. That is a recognised medical condition and can be treated. At the very least I should be in professional counselling to work out my problems."

"You've been watching too much television," my father accused, "you don't need to have some quack filling your head with new age bullshit. You're male. Get that in your head and get used to it. You can also hand over these stupid girly clothes before anybody else finds out about them. How many people know about your cross-dressing? Obviously Mrs Perkins and probably some of the other neighbours saw you, and you said some of your friends know."

I have to think about this for a few seconds. There are around 800 pupils at my school, and considering the rumour mill I would expect three quarters of them at least would know that a boy turned up as a girl today. Factor in that at least a quarter of those have probably told their parents or siblings. Assuming the average family has 2.4 children, which gives a total family size of 4.4. Round that to four and a half, to make the maths easier, and times by 150 to get 675. Add back in the three-quarters of six hundred and you are already up to 1,125. The teachers would probably tell their spouses and we have getting on for thirty staff.

After throwing the numbers around in my head I conclude, "I would say approximately twelve hundred people by now probably know I'm a cross-dresser, although I doubt they all know my name or could pick me out of a crowd. That will obviously increase exponentially as time passes, although the wider the knowledge spreads the less likely the people are to actually know who I am and simply know that there is a gender variant child living in the town."

I think that one shocked my parents. I suspect they were perhaps thinking single figures, or low double figures at the worst. I decided to push the point further, "You can confiscate my clothing if it will make you feel better, but really you're only closing the stable door after the horse has bolted. I've stopped hiding what I am, and I'm not going back in the closet. You can make me look like a boy, but I'm no longer going to pretend to act like one.”

At this point I had expected my father to throw the old argument of 'while living in my house you follow my rules,' in which case I would have started to pack the suitcase enquiring where they wanted me to live instead. They can't chuck me out at my age, as they are legally responsible for me for several more years. However, it’s me who gets the surprise when my father asks, "If you so keen on living as a girl, then you will have no problem spending the next fortnight dressed in either skirts or dresses? Hand over all your trousers and jeans. If however, you are unwilling or unable to do this, then you will give up this nonsense for good."

I was sure that there was probably a catch to this, but I didn’t bother to work it out and immediately agreed to the challenge, "Fine, I'll not wear anything remotely masculine for the next two weeks. I'll be the most girlish girl I can. However, as I have limited clothing I'll need to supplement my wardrobe with some of my more unisex t-shirts and shorts in order to have enough to wear, unless you plan on buying me some more outfits."

My mother interrupted, "Don't be ridiculous, Luke. Darin can't go to school dressed as a girl."

I see a sly grin appear on my father’s face. He was counting on the fact that I'd be forced to attend school as a boy. Unfortunately for him, I've already got permission to attend dressed in a skirt. The only thing I don't have is a girl's P.E. kit, but as shorts and a t-shirt are unisex, I suspect I can get away with it. The girls are supposed to have gym skirts instead, but they can get away with shorts or culottes as well.

I ignored my mother and instead asked, "Would you like me to change back into the dress now, or do you consider the kilt girly enough to stay in until bedtime?"

I didn’t get an answer as the kitchen timer went off and my mother went to see to the vegetables. My father stayed a few seconds longer before also turning and leaving. The kilt is nice, but a bit heavy for summer wear, so I took the opportunity to change back into the dress. I arrived back downstairs as the meal was being carried to the table. I got some condescending looks, but nothing was said. We ate our meal in silence.

After tea, I grabbed my reading book and sat gracefully in a chair with my legs pulled up under me. There I remained until bedtime, ignoring the stares from my parents. As I went to the loo and brushed my teeth I reflected on the day’s outcome. I had successfully presented myself as a girl all day, keeping up my resolve and not chickening out. The result of the argument with my parents was a lot better than expected, especially as I still hadn't revealed that I'd spent the whole day as a girl. I felt extremely comfortable as I slipped into bed that night. I was wearing a pair of cotton pyjamas like I normally did, but these were pink and covered with hearts.

Darin Dares

Chapter 5 of 7

© 2014 by D.L.

It wasn't until I stood to put my bowl in the sink did my mother notice what I was wearing. She almost choked when she saw the skirt.

I awoke the next morning at a quarter to eight to the sound of Shania Twain belting out "Man! I Feel Like A Woman!" as the alarm function on my CD player activated. Lifting my mattress I pulled the school uniform from its hiding place and quickly got dressed. I could hear someone enter the bathroom and the water start running as I finished tying my shoelaces. I left my room and descended the stairs.

I realised the person in the bathroom was my mother when I saw my father sat at the table eating a bowl of cereal. He had his back to the kitchen, so didn’t see me as I poured a cup of tea from the pot and got my own breakfast. He was too busy reading the paper to notice my skirt as I slipped into a chair opposite him.

We were joined a few minutes later by my mother. She got her own breakfast and sat down next to my father. The table blocked the view of my lower half, and neither of them noticed that the buttons on my shirt were in the opposite direction to normal. It wasn't until I stood to put my bowl in the sink did my mother notice what I was wearing. She almost choked when she saw the skirt.

"Are you alright, Helen," my father asked as he patted her on the back. All my mother could do was point in my direction as I disappeared out of sight. My father obviously caught sight of me by the expletives I heard as I reached the stairs. I ignored them and ascended up and into the bathroom.

I quickly used the toilet and then brushed my teeth. After washing I took the brush from the shelf and worked on my hair. It's short enough that it doesn't need combing, but I do it anyway. Opening the medicine cabinet I pulled out the metal tin containing cotton buds that nobody ever uses. I extracted the clip on earrings and matching hair slide that I had hidden there a few days before. Each of them featured a metal butterfly painted in multiple colours. I clipped the thumbnail sized butterflies onto my ears and then slid the two inch butterfly into my hair above my left ear. I wasn't sure that I had enough hair for it to stay put, but it seemed secure enough for the moment. I wasn't planning on using the wig today. I would leave that in reserve, as I was still worried my parents would confiscate everything.

Taking a deep breath I checked myself in the mirror one final time before unlocking and opening the bathroom door. I can see my parents waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. I cross to my bedroom and pick up my school bags. I have my kit bag in addition to my normal one as I have P.E. today. After double checking I had everything I needed for the day, I slowly descended the stairs to face the music.

"Just what do you think you are doing dressed like that?" My mother shouted.

Unfazed I calmly replied, "I'm upholding my side of the agreement we made yesterday. You asked me to dress as a girl for a fortnight, and that is what I'm doing. This is the most feminine I can look without breaking the school dress code. While I would look better with a wig and makeup, the former is not allowed and the latter is discouraged. Until my hair grows out this is the best I can do."

"You can't go to school like that, you'd get expelled," Mum continued.

"No I won't. The punishments for breaking the dress code range from a verbal warning up to being sent home for the day. Permanent expulsion would take multiple offences. So far I've received one warning. My next offence could land me in detention or possibly a temporary suspension. However, if you go check the rules on the school website you'll see that everything I have on is compliant. The only thing I may get criticised for is the hair clip, but I can remove that if needed."

I watched my father as he pulled out his smart phone and browse to the website. "There is a notice here posted yesterday about a modification to the dress code. It states that following a complaint, it has been decided that the gender requirements of the rules conflict with the equality and diversity policy and are therefore being temporarily relaxed pending review. Female students could already follow the uniform guidelines for male students. This change means that male students can now follow the guidelines for female students, eliminating the previous bias in favour of girls."

"I'm not going to bother to ask who made the complaint," my mother stated as she shot me a glance. I smiled sweetly in return. "If you're so determined to make a complete arse out of yourself, then fine, you can go like that. However, I'm taking you in the car and we'll go straight to the office on arrival. Go put your normal uniform in a bag so that you can change if needed."

I give a quick salute before spinning round and walking back to my room. I return a minute later with my male clothes and shoes in a carrier bag. I'll take them with me, but already know that they won't be needed.

~o~O~o~

A few minutes later all three of us set off in my dad's car for the school. As we approach the gates I can see the headmistress standing at the entrance. I smile and wave to her as we drive past heading for a free spot on the side of the road. As soon as we're parked, I get out of the passenger side rear door.

"Good morning, Darin," Mrs Davis greeted me, having followed us to where we parked, "that's a very pretty set of earrings you're wearing today."

"Morning Mrs Davis, is this hair clip okay?" I asked pointing at the item on my head, "I wasn't sure if it was too large."

"No, its fine, but you will have to take it out for P.E. Considering what some of the girls try and get away with, that is quite tame."

My parents had gotten out of the car and just stood there watching our exchange in disbelief. Before they could say anything to the headmistress, she spotted another student larking about and started shouting at them while walking in their direction.

"Thanks for the lift," I said to my parents as I put the carrier bag containing the male uniform back in the car. "That was the headmistress in case you didn't recognise her. As she's happy with my appearance that means I'm not in trouble. If any of the teachers complain I'll be sent to her, and I doubt she will change her mind. See you tonight."

I picked up my bags and walked away, joining a few of my classmates who greeted me. Thankfully they all completely ignored how I was dressed and carried on as if nothing strange was happening, which I'm sure would baffle my parents even more.

I decided to head towards the library. It is one place where there is constant supervision and where I will be least likely to be harassed. On the way there I spot Kevin, and go over to him to have a word. I indicate to him we should find somewhere where we can talk and head back outside and find a spot away from other people.

"Do I take from your appearance that you have been given permission to attend like that?" Kevin asked.

"Yes, and I also have more good news for you as well," I started, "but first, I have an apology to make. I told Mrs Davis about your incident with Mrs Bates, although I made sure not to identify you directly. Unfortunately, she's worked out that I was probably talking about you. I'm sorry, that wasn't my intention. However, as a result of that and my own concerns about her, Mrs Davis has decided to investigate the claims and it seems she's very unhappy with the outcome. She is keen to speak to you about your experience."

I could see the worried look on his face, but he didn't appear angry with me or overly upset. After a pause he replied, "Is she still outside? I think I might take a wander over and see if I can have a word."

We both wander over in the direction of the gates. Mrs Davis is just walking back towards the office and we intercept her.

"Morning, Kevin, Darin, is there something I can do for you?" Mrs Davis greets us.

"I believe Darin told you about an incident I had with Mrs Bates, and you wanted to speak to me about it," Kevin shyly replied.

"Certainly, please come along to my office with me so that we can discuss it in private. Darin, would you come as well, I need a quick word with you as well. Don't worry, you're not in trouble."

~o~O~o~

It is only a short walk to the school offices. We were soon in Mrs Davis's office.

"Darin, I had a quick word with your parents before they left," Mrs Davis said, "They told me about the challenge they set you. I must admit I had to laugh, I take it you didn't admit to attending as a girl yesterday?"

I shook my head and she continued, "I informed them about yesterday and basically repeated what I told you. I also told them that they need to get you to see a specialist, preferably one familiar with Gender issues. Your mother is going to phone the doctors when she gets to work to see if they can get you an appointment with your G.P. I suggested if they needed to pull you out of school for that, then to do it during your P.E. lesson."

I thanked her and she then turned to Kevin. He asked that I stay while he talked. I knew the subject upsets him, and suspected he may want some moral support, especially given the negative outcome the last time he spoke to anybody in authority about it. They spent the next twenty minutes discussing what happened. I stay out of the conversation, and simply provide comfort and moral support by my presence. I end up holding his hand for most of the session, which seems to help. At least he didn't end up crying this time, although I could tell he was getting close.

Mrs Davis assures Kevin that his sexuality is not an issue and will be treated with the upmost confidentiality.

We are dismissed just before registration, so that we don't end up being marked as being late by Mr Brett as he would be unaware where we were, although the office would have corrected that afterwards if needed.

~o~O~o~

The room once again fell silent as I entered. Coming dressed as a girl yesterday was a surprise for most people. I don't think many of them expected me to turn up as a girl again, or if they did, they probably weren't expecting I would be allowed.

Mr Brett ignored my entrance and simply started to call out names as the bell rang. We all respectfully fell silent as required when the register is being called.

"I have one announcement this morning," the teacher stated, "As you have all noticed, Darin is still wearing a skirt today. In line with the equality and diversity policy it was considered unfair that we allow girls to wear skirts but boys aren't permitted to do the same. Therefore pending the uniform rules being reviewed and rewritten, a clarification has been issued. Any gender references are to be ignored until further notice. This doesn't affect the girls, as you can already wear trousers, but if any of the other boys want to wear skirts then they can."

"Does that extend to kilts, or only skirts?" Mark enquired. "I have no intention of wearing a skirt, but I might consider wearing a kilt. I have one that is blue and black, but it's obviously tartan and not plain."

"I'll ask for clarification on that," Mr Brett replied. "Skirts are only allowed to be plain at the moment and there is no mention of kilts, so I'm not sure. I'll raise it as an issue. The problem is if we allowed boys to wear tartan and the girls could only wear plain skirts, then we would have an inequality again. I think if we did go down that line then we may specify a specific tartan, Black Watch, for example, and allow everybody to wear it. If anybody has any suggestions on how the uniform should be changed, then please write an essay explaining why you think it should be adopted and I'll submit it to the board. I don't think we will be dropping the uniform requirement, but if there are reasons for having it changed, then they will be looked at."

The registration period doesn't last long, and we are soon heading to the first lesson of the day, which is French. I don't mind the subject, but I'm not particularly good at it. This is something that worries me slightly. Females are supposedly better with language skills while males are more spatially aware. Hence jokes about women drivers. There is actually some scientific evidence that men can judge speed and distances better. I know that this is a generalisation and doesn't always hold true. What you have is two bell curves that overlap if you were to plot individual male and female characteristics. The offset is probably very small, and the overlap very large.

If I have a female brain, even with a male body, does that mean I should have better language skills and worse spatial orientation? Admittedly I can't throw for toffees, but I'm not any good with learning languages either. I am probably over thinking things again. Going existential is a habit I have every now and then. It doesn't do me any good getting to philosophical. It tends to make me think of my own mortality and make me extremely depressed.

~o~O~o~

The second period passed without incident and I made sure to find a quiet spot in the library during break where I wouldn't be disturbed. At the bell for the third period I headed outside and over to the sports block. Given that I really don't like having to use the changing rooms, and that I have threatened to boycott the lesson, I was apprehensive as to how the next hour would unfold.

Darin Dares

Chapter 6 of 7

© 2014 by D.L.

At the bell for the third period I headed outside and over to the sports block. Given that I really don't like having to use the changing rooms, and that I have threatened to boycott the lesson, I was apprehensive as to how the next hour would unfold.

As per usual I was in no rush to get over there. By the time I arrived everyone else was already in two lines, boys on the left, and girls on the right, ready to go in. While tempted to stand with the girls, I knew it would be pointless, so instead lined up in my normal place with the boys.

The sports teachers were already waiting outside supervising us. This wasn't always the case, and often we would be stood waiting. Given that both teachers were present from the moment we started lining up, I suspected that they were expecting trouble. Considering this would be the first time I would be attending P.E. dressed as a girl, and that I was threatening to boycott the lesson, I assumed that this change in behaviour was related to me.

My suspicions were confirmed when we were all instructed to go into the gym instead of the changing rooms. We are all told to sit in a big semicircle. I'm asked to come and sit in centre in front of everybody. This didn't bode well.

"There have been a number of rumours flying around about this person here," Mrs Rush stated, indicating me. "As you can see, Darin is dressed as a girl. Some of you have questioned which changing room he will be using, and I know some of the girls are concerned that he may be using the girl's facilities. This is not the case. Darin is legally and physically male, and therefore won't be using the female facilities for the foreseeable future. Even if he were to be legally recognised as a transsexual, she would not be allowed to use the female changing rooms while still being a functional male. Alternative arrangements would be made instead. I know some of the girls have expressed concerns over this issue, and I hope that clarifies things."

Mrs Rush was not stating anything I didn't already know. I can only imagine what some of the rumours going around might be, especially as to some it might appear that the school is bending over backwards to accommodate my apparent change in gender.

"I have also heard some rumours," Mr Lamb took over. "I understand that some of you boys are no longer happy to be sharing a changing room with Darin, and I know the feeling is mutual as Darin has already declared that he is uncomfortable changing with the boys. However, you are all male, whether you like it or not and therefore have to share the changing facilities. Some of the comments I've overheard are exceedingly homophobic, and I won't stand for any trouble that any of you might want to cause. I will not tolerate any pranking, hazing or bullying in my lessons. Do I make myself clear?"

John raised his hand to ask a question, at the nod of the teacher he spoke, "Mr Lamb, you have just stated that the segregation of students into changing rooms is based solely on their physical sex, rather than their overall gender, which is understandable. However, Mrs Rush, you inferred a second criteria of being a functional male. I assume the definition of being functional is to be able to sexually reproduce. My understanding of biology is that we don't become fully functional until we have gone through puberty. I suspect it's easier to tell when a girl reaches that milestone as it would presumably be when she has her first period, but how exactly do you plan on telling with a boy? Even very young boys can have erections, even if they can't produce sperm. Does this mean that any individual who has yet to go through puberty could potentially use either changing room?"

I like John. Not in a romantic way, but as a good friend. He is highly intelligent and an excellent debater. This is not the first time I've seen him tie somebody in knots using outlandish logic.

"The answer is we can't tell," Mrs Rush replied, "therefore you are all assumed to be fully functional in that sense even if you haven't reached that stage of development, unless a medical professional states otherwise. A transsexual would normally be on a hormone regimen which would effectively castrate the individual after a period of time. For reference, the council run sports facilities use the age of eight as the cut off point where children are allowed in to the changing rooms with a parent or guardian of the opposite sex. As you are all now entering your teens, you are well beyond that age."

"I know Darin doesn't yet have an official diagnosis," John continued, "but the way you clarified things earlier seems to suggest that you are expecting such a diagnosis to be given. Does this mean alternative changing arrangements will be made for her already? Or are you going to force somebody who you suspect to be transgendered to use facilities they are obvious exceedingly reluctant and embarrassed to use. You're very quick to assure the girls that a boy won't be joining them, but seem happy for a girl to use the boy’s room. Sure, we know she shares the same physical characteristics as us, but I know from now on she is going to be doing her best to hide that portion of her body, so the net effect for the rest of us will be we will be seeing and more importantly perceiving her to be a girl. I know I'm not the only one who is having difficulty thinking of Darin as a boy now."

I can see several of the other boys, and a few of the girls, nodding in agreement. I had already told my friends my plans for using the toilet cubicle and showering while at least leaving my underwear on. While I was keeping myself to myself in the library during the break, my friends had been gathering the opinion of my classmates on the subject.

"Darin has been dressing as a girl for a day and a half," Mr Lamb declared, "I find it hard to believe that all of a sudden you all regard him as a her."

"John is right," Gary stated. He was the last person I expected to speak on my behalf after all the trouble I have had with him. "We've known something has been off about Darin for ages, we just didn't know what it was exactly. Now that the final piece of the jigsaw has been put in place we can suddenly see the whole picture and wham, things start making sense. She hasn't even started to use a feminine name, and she certainly looks boyish with that haircut, but when she puts that wig on, I have real trouble seeing a boy. Its weirding me out and I'd rather not have to shower with it."

The use of 'it' drew several withering looks from various people in the room. Seeing the annoyance, Gary immediately tried to correct himself, "Er, sorry, her. Him? Crap this is confusing."

I was keeping out of the argument. I had made my own position perfectly clear and while I was willing to carry on using the boy’s facilities, it would be under protest. I think the teachers assumed that wouldn't be an issue, but they were quickly finding out that they may have more people refusing to co-operate than simply me.

"Hands up those who think Darin should be removed from the boy's changing room?" Mr Lamb asked. My friends took the lead in raising their hands, followed by Gary. Slowly everybody else started to raise their hands, including the girls. I had immediately raised my own hand as well. After a few seconds every student had raised their hand, the last few probably deciding to go with the majority.

"Why are you raising you hands, it doesn't affect you?" Mrs Rush said looking to the girls, who were all sat to the right of the room.

"Just because we don't want her in with us, doesn't mean we think she should be in with the boys," Penny got in before anybody else could respond. "I know I wouldn't be comfortable having to use the boy's changing room and I doubt she is either."

"None of you are willing to have Darin in with you?" Mr Lamb added in surprise.

"You didn't ask that," Kevin said, "I would change and shower with her if needed, but I still feel she should be changing elsewhere. Quite frankly I suspect there are quite a few of us who would much prefer not to have to ever use communal facilities. I for one am not entirely comfortable with it. But we put up with it because we know making a fuss isn't going to get us anywhere and would get us laughed at for not fitting in. I seriously wonder if the school decided that there was only going to be one changing room and both boys and girls had to use it and shower together, how many of us would just get on and do it despite the embarrassment, and how many would dare refuse? Hands up those who would undress with Darin present, albeit unwillingly, if the alternative was being expelled for refusing to follow direct instructions? Girls, how many of you would have put up with it if Mrs Rush had said that Darin would be using your facilities?"

Again, all of the boy's immediately put their hands up. They were joined by about a third of the girls.

"We weren't going to make any special arrangements for the simple reason we have to treat everybody equally and fairly. The school is not equipped to let every student change in total privacy, so we can only make exceptions with valid reasons, such as a medical certificate. If you all feel so strongly then we will allow Darin to change elsewhere, but it has to be on the understanding that nobody else will be allowed such a privilege," Mr Lamb decided.

I can see Mr Lamb is reluctant, and I can see his point about showing favouritism. I've jumped the gun on trying to force a transition ahead of time. I decided I should regain control of the situation. "You don't need to show me favouritism by altering the rules to my benefit. You simply need a valid reason for my exclusion from P.E. until I can get a permanent medical certificate. I'm sure I can lose my P.E. kit between here and the changing room if needed, especially if I take a detour via the pond. As much as you've threatened it, you've never made anybody participate naked. Simon how fast was you going when you fell off your bike and broke your arm? Do you think I could run at the door fast enough to cause sufficient damage, or would I need to jump off the roof instead? "

"Enough," Mr Lamb commanded. "I'm removing you from the changing rooms for your own safety. I have this sneaking suspicion you aren't bluffing. That is all the excuse I need for now. Everybody except Darin, into the changing rooms, we are wasting time. Darin, you will get changed in the staff cubicle in the office. Move!"

I'm escorted into the sports block office and directed to the door at the back where a small bathroom is located containing a shower, a toilet, washbasin, and a small wooden bench. I place my bag on the bench and close and lock the door. I swiftly change into my normal male P.E. kit, folding my clothes neatly and putting them in my sports bag.

I open the door to find the teachers missing. I walk to the office door to see where they are. Mr Lamb comes out of a store cupboard down the corridor carrying a big net of footballs. He instructs me to carry them to the football pitch while he disappears into the changing rooms to call the register and escort everybody else outside.

I notice that the girls are already coming outside and heading to the hockey pitch as I leave the building by the front door. The changing rooms have two doors. The ones we use to enter and leave at the start and end of lessons are in the corridor at the front of the building between the sports hall and gymnasium. The second set of doors at the rear of the building lead directly outside onto the playing fields so we can come and go without trailing mud through the building during winter.

It is a few minutes later that the boys come out. They seem to have taken a long time to change, which leads me to believe that Mr Lamb had more things to say to them about me while I wasn't present. I would ask Kevin about that later.

The lesson continued as normal. We started off practising dribbling by controlling the ball through a slalom of cones. That was followed by some passing practice and finally a short match at the end of the lesson.

At the end of the period, everybody else was sent back to the changing rooms. I had to help the teacher put away the equipment. If that was going to be the ongoing price for using the staff cubicle, then I wasn't going to complain. As I had a shower to myself, it meant I didn't have to wait for others to finish and I could change quickly. Even though I was a few minutes later to start changing, I still emerged from the office as the bell rung. I know some of the other students would take several more minutes to change. It didn't matter as it was now lunch time. It was when you had another lesson to get to did it really matter that you got out quickly.

~o~O~o~

I caught up with Kevin at lunch to find out what was said in the changing room while I wasn't present. He explained that Mr Lamb had expressed concern over my apparent willingness to self-harm. He warned the boys to be on the lookout for any signs that I might do something stupid as I wasn't acting normally and that might be a sign of stress. I could apparently be on the point of a nervous breakdown and he didn't want anybody pushing me over the edge.

"Great, so I'm nuts now and might need taking to a padded room," I lamented to my friend.

"Well you do want to be a girl," Kevin replied. "Mind you I find all girls crazy, so you'll fit right in."

This got him a few shouts from some of the girls who were in the dinner queue with us. I hadn't had time to make a pack lunch, so was waiting in line at the school canteen.

Darin Dares

Chapter 7 of 7

© 2014 by D.L.

We were soon on our way and I noted that we weren't heading for home, but instead going towards the town centre. I didn't bother asking our destination, and my mother wasn't in a talkative mood, so we made the journey in silence.

The remainder of my second day at school dressed as a girl went on without incident. Many people were giving me funny looks, and I could tell most of the nearby conversations were about me, but I wasn't being overly harassed. A few jibes came my way, but for the most part, there wasn't anything nasty.

I still hadn't had any word from my parents by the end of the school day, so I had no idea if they had managed to obtain an appointment for me at the doctors.

I didn't have the luxury of an early escape like the day before, so I found myself walking out of the school in a crowd. I didn't rush and made sure to stay close to where the teachers were stationed. There seemed to be more adults around than usual, which might have been directly related to them expecting trouble. I stopped at the school gates and surveyed the area before stepping over the threshold.

As I started to walk in the direction of home, I noticed my mother’s car pull up at the side of the road ahead of me. I quickly got in and shut the door before anybody decided to intercept me, although there didn't appear to be any sign of trouble.

We were soon on our way and I noted that we weren't heading for home, but instead going towards the town centre. I didn't bother asking our destination, and my mother wasn't in a talkative mood, so we made the journey in silence. It was only a few minutes before we were pulling up in a side street near the doctor's surgery. My mother instructed me to follow her and she led me to the reception. Apparently, she was able to secure an appointment and we were directed to the waiting room.

There were only a few chairs left, as it was quite busy. My mother took the seat on the end of a row and I sat down next to a young girl. It was obvious that she wasn't feeling very well as she was sat very quietly and was exceedingly pale. I estimated that she must be of primary school age, but wasn't in a school uniform. Instead, she was wearing jeans and a sweater. I just hoped that whatever she had wasn't contagious.

The girl looked at me in puzzlement for several minutes before asking, "Excuse me, are you a boy or a girl?"

I could see several people nearby take interest in the question. As she asked politely, I decided to answer her, "Both, or possibly neither. I look like a boy, but I think, and feel, like a girl. That's why I'm here."

"That's silly. How can you not know what you are?"

"I do know what I am. I'm a girl. The problem is I don't look like a girl and everybody else keeps insisting I'm a boy. It’s very annoying."

"You should grow your hair longer and put it in pigtails. Boys don't wear pigtails. That way you won't keep getting mistaken for a boy."

"I keep trying to grow my hair long, but my mum keeps making me cut it short."

The receptionist called out another name, and the girl’s mother stood up. "I have to go see the doctor now, bye," the young girl said as she disappeared off.

"A few months ago you were begging to have your hair buzz cut," my mother remarked. "I'm not the one to blame for its current length."

"I was still in denial at that point. I had previously been growing it longer, but I was getting to much trouble for it, so cut it short. Unfortunately, it didn't have much effect and only made me feel bad, hence why it hasn't been cut again since."

We sit in silence for several minutes. A couple more people were called for the various doctors on duty and a few more people arrive. A couple of boys turn up and sit on the opposite side of the room and I can see them pointing in my direction and sniggering at me. I notice the young girl and her mother re-emerge from the corridor with the consulting rooms and head past the reception and through the door into the attached pharmacy. The receptionist calls out "Miss Mitchell" and looks in our direction. I smile at being called miss, and along with my mother walk down the corridor to where the doctor is stood outside his door, waiting.

~o~O~o~

Dr Sumas is one of the younger doctors at the surgery and appears to be of Indian descent, but instead of the accent you might expect, speaks with a strong Liverpudlian inflection.

"Now then, what seems to be the problem?" the doctor asked. If he had a suspicion based on how I was dressed, he wasn't letting on.

"I believe I'm transgendered," I replied.

"I see, why do you think that may be the case?"

It was at least a good sign that he wasn't dismissing me out of hand. I could only remember seeing him once or twice before. I don't go to the doctors very often and it had been several years since my last visit. He spent the next ten minutes asking questions about how I felt and how I interacted with others. I answered as honestly as possible, although there were some things I simply couldn't explain.

He then asked if it would be okay to give me a physical examination. He asked my mother to leave the room while I undressed. Dr Sumas then proceeded to examine my chest and genitalia to make sure I was developing normally. He also took the opportunity to ask some more personal questions about my development that he didn't think I would answer with my mother present, such as if I was experiencing erections and had I ever ejaculated semen.

He left me to dress, leaving the room. A few minutes later, he knocked on the door to ask if I was decent. Confirming that I was, he entered carrying some bottles of pills and was followed into the room by my mother.

"There doesn't appear to be anything physically out of the ordinary from the limited amount of testing that I can do without specialist equipment. As far as I can tell, you are male and seem to be developing normally for a boy your age. I can't see any evidence of any obvious intersex condition, although for thoroughness I will be sending you up the hospital for some additional tests."

Dr Sumas spoke with a soft calming voice. I thought that he possible suspected I would be upset at being told that information. While the thought had crossed my mind that there was a slim chance that I had somehow been misidentified at birth, I knew that it was incredibly unlikely to be the case. I simply nodded in agreement. I knew from my research that treatment for my condition would be a long drawn out process, which is why the doctor surprised me by laying out pills on the table in front of him.

Firstly, there were four small round yellow tablets. Next to them, he placed two blue capsules and two large flat white discs.

"There are multiple ways I can potentially treat you," the doctor explained. "The first one I will definitely not be doing and that is to ignore the problem and tell you to go away and not be so stupid. The mere fact that you are here and that you believe you are transgendered is enough to demonstrate that you are questioning your gender, and are therefore experiencing gender dysphoria. The question is not if you are transgendered, but to what extent, and how much it is effecting you. I am going to present you with three options, some of which I suspect you will hate. I want you to listen to all three before making your choice, and I want to stress that this is your choice. Don't pick an option because it’s what you think is expected of you by your mother or myself."

The doctor pushed the yellow tablets towards me.

"You've heard the expression 'it'll put hairs on your chest'; these will do exactly that. Contained in these tablets is a mix of testosterone, steroids, and other body building supplements. These are the type of pills that are banned by all professional sports bodies. If you are involved in any series competitive sport, then let me know and I'll dramatically drop the dose so that you won't be disqualified. The effect will be to kick start puberty big time. You will soon overtake the rest of your peers in muscle development and nobody will ever even think of calling you a sissy again. It will also boost your sex drive. To put it crudely, your only interest in girls’ clothing will be how quickly you can get them out of it so that you can fuck their brains out. Any doubts about your manliness will probably disappear. Unfortunately, you will have to be careful to manage your anger. You have presumably heard of the term 'roid rage? You may end up suffering from it."

I was slightly caught off guard by his language and simply nodded at the question at the end of his explanation. After a short pause, Dr Sumas pushed the reaming tablets in my direction.

"Option two: the exact opposite. The blue tablets destroy virtually all male hormones. Three of these would be enough chemically to castrate any adult male. I'm giving you two, as you haven't reached full adult height and weight, and don't yet have adult levels of hormones. They will flush any testosterone out of your system and completely shut down your testis and their ability to produce hormones. It may be possible to restart them again with the other tablets, but it’s by no means guaranteed. The chances of you ever becoming a father would be very remote. The other tablets are a massive dose of female hormones. To put this into perspective how strong these are, a women undergoing hormone replacement therapy would only need to take half a tablet per month. I'm giving you two to get you started and then, depending on how fast your body reacts, we'll work out a continued dosage. No tablet can make you grow boobs overnight, but you should start noticing them start to bud within a fortnight. Within a couple of months, you should have caught up, if not overtaken, most girls your age. However, these don't come without side effects. You will experience the biggest bought of PMS that any women is capable of suffering. You will probably have morning sickness for at least a week. That shouldn't start until after you have digested the tablets, so you don't need to worry about vomiting them back up again, but you may find yourself off your food for a few days until the queasiness passes. I can prescribe some additional medicine to help with that aspect."

While I don't like the sound of the side effects, I always knew that messing with my bodies’ chemistry wouldn't be an easy journey. I let the possibility sink in as the doctor pauses ready to deliver his final option.

"The third option is we do nothing. We simply monitor the situation, run more tests, and meet again later to review first two options again. I presume you are familiar with the scene from the matrix with the red and blue tablets. If you choose either of the first two options, then they will be life changing irreversible decisions. Unlike the movie, you don't have to make that choice now; you can choose to wait until you are certain."

All eyes fell on me. I looked at the tablets on the desk in front of me and pondered which option to take. The doctor put a disposable cup of water next to the tablets should I choose to take any. After a few minutes of silence, I deliver my response.

"Out of the three options, I can definitely say that I don't want to pick option one. I don't think this feeling is going to magically disappear, and all those pills will do is make matters worse. I realise I'm already depressed and the thought of being stuck still wanting to be a girl, but with even less chance of passing, is not something I want to consider. I have never felt suicidal, but I do worry that if this treatment affects my emotional balance, then I might do something stupid."

I shoved the yellow tablets away from me before continuing. "The only reason I haven't grabbed and swallowed a whole bottle of the other tablets is that the rational part of my brain is shouting at me that I should be taking option three. I also have this sneaking suspicion that it's too easy. That you haven't even taken any blood samples yet to determine my current hormone levels. Although I hope and pray that I'm wrong, I suspect that this is some kind of test to see how committed I am, or if this is a wind up, and these are actually placebos, or worse, something like extra strong laxative to teach me a lesson. Which is why I'm going to do this..."

I pick up the plastic beaker of water and one of each of the option two tablets. I pop them in my mouth and swallow them with some water. They don't taste particularly nice, and I pull a slight face. I'm not sure if the taste is a good or bad sign. I looked back at the doctor who was maintaining a poker face with no sign of emotion. "Well," I asked, "can I start celebrating my journey into having the body I should have had from birth, or am I spending the rest of the day sat on the toilet?"

"I wasn't lying when I told you what the tablets are," The doctor said, "but I was grossly exaggerating the dosages. The blue pill is an androgen blocker, but you would need to be on them for months before the effect became irreversible. The other pill is a standard birth control pill a girl your age might take."

"I've heard in sex ed. that they take a couple of weeks to take effect and shouldn't be relied on for contraception immediately," I acknowledged.

"In your case the dose is so low as to not have an effect. While not technically placebos, as they have active ingredients, the effect is the same. You are right in that we need to monitor your hormone levels, so we will schedule you in for some blood tests next week, once the effect of the tablets, if any, has worked its way out of your system."

"In that case," I responded as I picked up the other half of the dose and swallowed the remaining tablets, "I can safely take these anyway. Sure, conventional medicine suggests that they won't work, but the placebo effect has been shown to work under some circumstances, and the mental outlook of the patient can have a physical active effect on their body: mind over matter. Also, if homeopathy is correct, even highly diluted substances can work. Perhaps after being shown what it should be producing, my body will get the message and actually start producing the right chemicals."

The doctor laughed, "I don't think that is likely to happen, but we will be monitoring it in case it does. In the mean time no more tablets, and no self medication, young lady."

I smiled at being called a young lady, and promised not to take anything without a doctors consent. We then discussed my treatment from then on. My doctor would schedule more tests, including blood work. He would also refer me to a specialist, but warned me that it could take weeks, if not months to get an appointment.

"Does that mean I'm forced to return to pretending to be being a boy at school? Although, I do not intend to pretend anything, so I would simply be a girl attending in boy's clothing. I've temporarily been removed from the changing rooms for P.E. over concerns for my welfare, but the school can't justify that arrangement on a permanent basis without a medical justification. Considering that everybody is aware of my status, to be put back in the boys changing room only to be removed at a later date so that I can officially start a real-life test is going to make everyone, not only me, uncomfortable."

"I can understand that," the doctor agreed, "Your headmistress has emailed the surgery explaining the situation and included the observations of your teachers as she thought it might be relevant to your treatment. I also have a daughter in your school, in the year below you, so got to hear from her some of what you have been up to. That was before I realised you were one of my patients. My recommendation is that you be removed from the changing rooms due to it putting you under emotional stress. It will be up to the school what arrangements it chooses to make, but I will stipulate that if you are removed entirely, some alternative form of exercise be undertaken, outside of school hours if needed."

As I waited for the doctor to type and print out a letter to take to the school, I couldn't help but think of the old sitcom, Only Fools and Horses. "He who dares, wins, Rodney," Del boy would often quote. While some may regard me as a 'he', I certainly think of myself as a 'she', although admittedly not as much as I would like to be able to due to my anatomy. I dared to step out and show my true self, and I have won a small victory, in that I haven't been shot down at the first hurdle, and I am being taken seriously. I'm aware that the will be many more battles to be won, and hurdles to jump, but at least I'm out of the starters block and onto the battlefield. I have hope, and many more metaphors to mangle.

Playing her way - Chapter 1

© D.L. 2014

Is that the new issue of PC Gamer,” Tim asked as he sat down next to two of his friends. The three schoolboys had just started their lunch break sat outside in the early May sunshine. The final April showers had appeared to have passed and the temperature was pleasantly warm after finally getting into double figures following a colder spell.

“Yeah,” David replied. “It was delivered in yesterdays post. Do you want to have a read? I've already read most of the articles. I was just showing Jason the exclusive article about Generation2K.”

“Oh, yeah, I was hoping to get a look at that ever since they announced it would be present last issue,” Tim replied.

“It was certainly a big scoop for them,” Jason commented, “It’s not every day a well known but reclusive YouTube celebrity gives an interview. The numbers of comments I have seen online about her have exploded since she came out of the closet during the charity live stream.”

“I thought that was a joke at first,” Tim declared. “I mean, April 1st, everyone was expecting it to be a wind up. Kurt and Jumbo joking about how they didn't have any girls playing on the Moonlight Minecraft server and then Jenny goes and says, 'well technically you do have one girl, me.'”

“It sort of was, and sort of wasn't,” David explained, “It was mentioned in one of the subsequent videos, and again in this article. As you know, the members of the server have private monthly meetings to discuss issues regarding the server, and the videos they are going to be making. Generation2K had told the other Moonlighters that he had a big announcement to make, and he was going to do it at prime time during the live stream. He refused to tell the others exactly what it was, but did tell them that they might be shocked and to treat the matter seriously. Depending on what the public reaction was he had told them that if he got a really bad reception, he would claim it was a joke, and then quietly withdraw from the community if it caused issues.”

“That must have taken an incredible amount of guts.” Tim stated. “He could have simply declared that he was actually a girl, and chances are that a lot of viewers would have accepted that. Instead he,”

“She, technically,” Jason interrupted.

“She,” Tim corrected, “goes on to state she's transgendered.”

“She did have a bit of an advantage, in that she was doing it somewhat anonymously. Nobody knows her real name or where she lives. We know that she is our age, and is based somewhere in the UK, possibly down south, like us, but it isn't like coming out to people you are with on a daily basis,” Jason said.

"She can't be that anonymous. The chances are someone is bound to have recognise her voice at whatever school she goes too, she is popular enough for it to be likely, so it was still a big risk,” David declared, "Assuming of course she wasn't already out of the closet at school to begin with, but she does state that nobody seems to know at school."

“Well it doesn't appear to be our school,” Tim stated, “Mind you, there is only a handful of us that watch that particular group of Let's Players.”

“Given the amount of flack I have been getting over the past couple of months, I'm glad she isn't here, I don't think she would survive,” Jason glumly responded.

“Gary still giving you a hard time over that St. Trinians costume you wore for Comic Relief a couple of months ago?” Tim asked.

“It wouldn't be so bad if Mark hadn't tried to chat me up. Anybody else and I wouldn't have gotten all tongue tied. No matter what I said, I couldn't dissuade Gary and his cronies that I had a crush on Mark.”

“I've told you before, go see Mr Glasscock again if you feel threatened. There is supposed to be zero tolerance to homophobia,” David stated.

“And cause even more trouble, no thanks. We've only got a couple of months to the end of term, and then we will all be changing schools. I'm not going to give them ammunition to use against me. Getting back on topic, can you imagine the uproar if one of the boy's here were to openly declare to be a transsexual. You think I'm getting trouble now, and I'm not even gay.”

“Just because you deny it, doesn't mean anybody believes you,” Tim responded. “But yeah, I get your drift."

"Oo, Jason's blushing again," Zoe stated as she came across to the boys, "What have you been doing to him this time?"

"Is there a reason you are here, or did you simply come to tease us," Tim stated, seeing his friend go even redder.

"Here, Jason, Susan sent me over with your lunch. She had to report to Mr Court for detention."

Jason had decided shortly after the aforementioned incident that it was no longer safe to carry a packed lunch, as he had lost it on several occasions due to bullying. Instead he opted for buying a packed lunch from the canteen. Fearing the extraction of money would be even easier; he felt the safest option was not to carry any cash. Therefore he paid his cousin in advance, and she would either buy the lunch for him, or meet him in the canteen. The situation had gotten better over the past few weeks, but Susan insisted on keeping the arrangement in place despite the teachers saying it wasn't needed, and her friends getting slightly annoyed at the inconvenience. For the most part Jason and his friends got on very well with the girls, and the rumours currently going round was that Susan either fancied one of Jason's friends, or that she was trying to play matchmaker.

"What's my cousin done this time?" Jason asked, taking the carton of sandwiches and packet of crisps from the girl.

"Talking back in class. A little tip, if you ever get Mr Court for a teacher, never try to correct him, even if he's being a complete idiot. Several of the other girls are going to speak to Mr Glasscock about it. I can see his point about rudeness, but really, if it is pointed out that you are contradicting the text book, that at least warrents an explanation, not an immediate detention."

The students sat in silence for a moment. Jason started to eat his lunch, joining David, who had already started. Tim continued to read the magazine. All the boys’ wondering if Zoe was going to disappear back off again.

"What you reading?" Zoe asked.

"Its an interview with Generation2K, Jenny for short. She does Minecraft YouTube videos," Tim replied.

"Does she do it for a living? I was reading an article the other day. Some of these Youtubers are supposed to be millionaires. It must be really cool to be able to make money of doing practically nothing."

"I wouldn't call making video's practically nothing," Jason replied, "A lot of them have to put in a full day’s work every day in order to keep up a daily publishing schedule. It’s not just a case of recording the footage; you have to edit it as well, not to mention the prep work beforehand."

"I imagine it’s like being an actor," David added, "For every major Hollywood film star, there are thousands of people struggling to make it to the big time struggling to make ends meet. I subscribe to several channels where the people have started out doing it as a hobby, and then only later switched over when they realised they were in a position to earn enough to go full time."

"Also, she is our age. In fact it mentions that the interview took place in Weymouth," Tim stated.

"Wow, that’s like an hour and a half away," Zoe exclaimed, "My gran lives there. I tend to spend summer at the beach. I know a few of the local girls; I might have even been sunbathing with her."

"I doubt it," David replied. "Until a few weeks ago she was only known as a boy. Jenny is a male to female transsexual."

"Yeah it would be fairly hard for a boy to get away with a bikini, especially ones as skimpy as my friends and I try to wear, when our mothers don't catch us. Is it even possible for a boy to pass himself off as a girl? Still, it would be cool to earn enough money to pay for university. A girl can never have enough pocket money to go shopping with."

"I've seen you out shopping, I think you could single handedly kick start the economy if someone was foolish enough to give you a blank cheque," Tim Joked.

"Do you really need to ask if a boy can look like a girl?" Jason asked, "Susan and I had you fooled for over ten minutes before you twigged who I was during Comic Relief.

"Okay, I admit, you are a good actor when you want to be," Zoe replied, "Does the article give a physical description? Does this girly-boy look like a girl?"

"It doesn't say," David stated, "Although it does mention that she is going to stop presenting as a boy at the end of this term, and then when she switches schools, she will be going as a girl. She is going full stealth and none of the other students will know her identity. She has shortlisted several state and private schools just over the county border from where she lives that are far enough away as too not run into existing acquaintances."

"If is she's based in Dorset, then that could mean she is looking at schools in Devon, Somerset, or here in Wiltshire. We could end up going to school with her," Jason declared. "I personally wouldn't have a problem with that, I don't know if any of you would."

"Well it wouldn't really matter to you boys," Zoe stated, "You wouldn't be sharing toilet or changing facilities with her."

"Neither would you," Tim suggested, "She would have to be excluded from P.E. or be given a private changing room. I don't see how the toilets are an issue; you don't stand and pee in public like we do."

"That is something the article actually mentions," David explained, "If she can raise the funds she is actually considering boarding school where the students can get changed in their own private rooms."

"Well that settles that question," Jason responded, "My dad would never send me to a boarding school on principle, even if he could afford it. So it’s unlikely I'll be in the same school as her."

"Same here," Tim replied. Zoe and David also nodded.

Zoe, deciding she had spent enough time with the boys, and spotting some of her friends coming out of the building, said her farewells and left the boys to their own devices. Tim finished reading the article the other two had already finished. Once all three had finished eating they put the magazine away and headed over to where a group of students had gathered with a ball for a kick about.

~o~O~o~

“Regarding our potential budget shortfall,” Mrs Rogers, the headmistress of St. Mary's Academy for Girls, addressed the nine other board members, a few of which were in the room and the remainder attending remotely via teleconference, “the next item on the agenda may be relevant as a potential source of income.”

“Equality and diversity policy,” Mr Yates queried, “You aren't thinking of allowing boys to join are you? One of our selling points is that we are a single sex organisation.”

“Not boys in general,” Mrs Rogers answered, “I too want this school to remain a single gender environment, as I believe the students work better without the opposite gender being present as a distraction. What I would like us to consider is allowing male to female transgendered students. People who are female mentally and emotionally, whose bodies do not match their view or societies view, of them.”

“You are saying that you are happy for boys to attend as long as they dress up and pretend to be girls?” Mr Yates asked. “I'm not sure I would be comfortable knowing there are males attending, even if they are going around in bras and skirts. Would the other students, and more importantly, their parents, know of this? I can think of several families who would not like this idea.”

“Do we actually specify anywhere that students have to be female?” Mr Bell asked.

“Other than our name including the words 'for Girls', and all our brochures taking about 'your daughter's future',” Mr Yates sarcastically replied.

“Actually, it depends,” Mrs Rogers remarked. “We certainly imply that our students should be female, but we don't technically specify that. As you rightly point out, Mr Yates, we are a girl's school, but 'girl' can be a description of a person’s gender, and I am suggesting that in certain circumstances, a person’s gender could be different from a person’s physical sex.”

“You are playing with words,” Mr Yates accused, “For the common understanding of the word, girl is synonymous with female. You also haven't addressed my concerns over what other students and parents might think of the matter.”

“Looking at our existing policy documents,” Mr Bell said while skimming through the documents in front of him, “we already state that we do not discriminate of the basis of gender, religion or sexual orientation. I think that probably covers it anyway. I never did understand why we say we don't discriminate on gender when we only allow girls to attend.”

“We say it because we have to due to some stupid EU human rights directive,” Mr Yates countered, “Anyway; it applies more to employment law and who we can hire as staff rather than the students.”

“If a transgendered student is attending, and they are presenting themselves as a girl, what difference would it make to other students anyway?” Mr Bell asked. “I personally don't see a big problem with this issue. Even if we do decide to allow transgender students, I can't see that we would likely to have more than one or two at any one time. We are actually more likely to end up with students who are HIV positive, or have other medical problems like hepatitis, which most definitely would have an impact on how we have to handle them.”

“Mr Bell has a good point,” Mrs Rogers stated, “I was going to suggest that we treat it like any other medical issue, and keep it on a need to know basis.”

“That is all very well, but this is a boarding school. I can't see how you plan to keep such a thing secret. This isn't a large school with hundreds of students. Everybody knows everybody else and someone is bound to notice. Are you going to dream up some other medical excuse as to why a particular student isn't allowed to use the same bathrooms and changing rooms? While not officially a sports academy, we are recognised for encouraging all our girls to undertake physical activities of some description.”

“Unlike a state school, there is no need for any of our students to appear naked in front of each other. All boarders are allowed, and in fact somewhat encouraged, to change in the privacy of their own bedrooms, as it makes life a lot easier. The only exception is the swimming pool, and there are plenty of students who are not permitted to go swimming, usually because of grommets in their ears, but there are other medical reasons as well. We currently have one girl who is allergic to chlorine.”

“I can't see how bathrooms could be a problem,” Mrs Leech stated, joining the argument for the first time. “After all, everything is done in the privacy of a cubicle anyway. I don't have an issue with this in principle. Is there a specific reason as to why this is being raised? Have we had enquiries about taking a transgendered student?”

“Yes, the reason I am bringing this up is because we have been approached by a specific individual who would like to attend this school. Having seen photos of this person dressed both as a boy and a girl, I don't think she would have any problems fitting in appearance wise. The person in question certainly sounds and acts like a girl in the various YouTube videos I have seen,” Mrs Rogers declared.

“It’s not Generation2K is it, by any chance?” Mrs Leech asked.

Several board members immediately enquired as to who this person was. Mrs Leech carried on to explain that the person in question had become somewhat of an online celebrity over the past few months after they publically came out as transgendered.

“I must admit,” Mrs Leech declared, “that I watched her playing the new tycoon game for a couple of hours without realising. My son wants me to buy him the game for his birthday, and to try to convince me to do so we tuned into a live stream of the game being played. I naturally assumed it was a girl playing from the voice and small face cam in the bottom of the screen. As we were watching it full screen, I couldn't see the live chat comments, and it wasn't until someone asked in the comments about her future that she mentioned that she was trying to get into a girl's school. I didn't think this unusual until she started talking about if she would be accepted. It was then that my son explained that she was actually a boy.”

“Yes it is her,” Mrs Rogers confirmed.

“In that case the privacy issue is slightly mute,” Mr Bell reasoned. “I wasn't aware that she had started to show her face online. I suspect she could be recognised easily by voice alone, but now there is a good chance that she would be recognised if she attended here. I know my own daughters watch her regularly, and although my oldest left here at the end of last term, my youngest is still here and I know several of her friends also watch these videos. If she attended it wouldn't be a secret like we were discussing earlier.”

“Actually, she would like to attend anonymously,” Mrs Rogers stated. “I've been watching some of her videos and have seen the same stream as Mrs Leech. I also have photos of how she looks, and I can say it would be very difficult to recognise her from the small webcam she runs in the bottom of the screen.”

“The electric blue wig and large sunglasses do a good job of hiding most of her features,” Mrs Leech agreed. “I don't think I could pick her out of a line up. Also, she seemed to be using a cheap microphone, which may have been distorting her voice to not be recognisable.”

“That and the software she runs to change the pitch of her voice on the fly while recording,” Mrs Rogers added, “Her voice is actually higher pitch in real life. When she first started, she didn't want to sound so childlike only, so lowered the pitch of her voice to sound older. She has turned the effect down, but never removed the software.”

“Wow, I didn't realise that,” Mrs Leech replied, “Her voice must be fairly high for a boy then? I assume she must be on hormones, or don't they prescribe them to children?”

Mrs Rogers shook her head, “As far as I know, she isn't on hormones. However, I do believe she is on medication to prevent male puberty. Her doctors are taking a very cautious approach and don't want to do anything irreversible. She has to live as a girl for a year before they will even think about taking the next step, and she can't have anything done surgically until she is eighteen. From what I have read this seems to be standard practice.”

“I think I've heard of it before. The real life test? How long has she been living as a girl?” Mr Bell enquired.

“She has not yet started,” the headmistress replied. “She is attending her current school as a boy, and fears for her safety if she was to try attending as a girl. She tells me she has already been subjected to bullying for her supposed sexuality and is worried that it would become far worse if people perceived her as a transsexual rather than a gay boy. Currently she can only live as a girl inside her own home, or when she is well away from where she lives, which isn't very much during term time.”

“It’s a pity this meeting wasn't earlier in the week,” Mr Jennings, one of the senior science teachers and representative of the combined union representative of the staff members to the board, stated. “It would have been useful to invite her to one of the open days to see how she reacted to the other students. It would be easier to judge this person in person.”

Mrs Rogers laughed, much to the surprise of the other members.

“You are making the assumption that this person wasn't invited,” Mr Bell intuitively stated, turning to Mrs Rogers he added. “I'm guessing by your amusement that this person did in fact pay us a visit this week?”

The board meeting was happening on the Thursday evening of the half term holiday before the summer break marking the start of the new academic year. While the school maintained a similar holiday structure to the state schools, with a week’s break in the middle of term, unlike other schools, it didn't shut down.

Having a number of foreign students, and indeed students from around the UK, not all of the students opted to make the potentially long journeys home for the week. About a quarter of the students remained on campus year round, only going home during the summer. Even some of the students who lived nearby and chose to go home, had come back to take advantage of the facilities and day trips to local tourist attractions that had been arranged.

The school also opened its doors for tours for potential future attendees and their parents.

“You know we allow existing students to invite guests to stay. Close friends, sisters, cousins, who may be able to attend,” Mrs Rogers stated.

“Yes, my youngest came here several times to stay with her sister before she came to school here,” Mr Bell responded.

“We've gained several students that way, having been invited to stay they like the place so much that they pester their parents to let them come here. Unfortunately some parents simply can't afford it, but we have managed to arrange finance and sponsorship deals in the past,” Mrs Leech added.

“So this boy was here?” Mr Yates gruffly stated. “I assume it must have been earlier in the week, as I haven't seen or heard anything while I have been around here yesterday and today.”

“That I think is probably the point,” Mrs Leech stated, the annoyance with her colleague evident in her voice. “If she was able to blend in unnoticed, then there won't be an issue with her attendance.”

“She is currently a guest of one of our existing students, Wendy Spencer,” Mrs Rogers replied.

“Emily and Susan, they came to watch my demonstration of making lightening,” Mr Jennings recounted. Turning to Mr Yates he added, “You've met them. They were the three girls who were manning the tea stand at the concert last night. You spent a good five minutes moaning at them because they had run out of earl grey.”

“You mean they weren't students. They were all in uniform.” Mr Yates declared.

“We were short staffed, and they volunteered,” Mrs Rogers stated. “The girls originally going to do the job had to go home at short notice due to a family emergency. We thought it best that they wear our uniform while working for the school.”

“I thought something was odd about that blonde in the back. Obviously not his real hair colour as the dark roots were showing through and something seemed off about that pony tail, almost as if it was glued on, as the rest of the hair looked too short in comparison. I remember wondering if it was really a wig; tall, lanky, and not much of a figure. No wonder if it was a boy in a training bra.”

“Can we exclude that comment from the minutes,” Mr Jennings enquired, “I know the students get the opportunity to read them and I know Wendy would be very upset if she knew she had been so badly insulted. She is very sensitive about her height. I've had to talk to several of the girls about their teasing. She tried to do a nice thing by donating her hair to charity, and then she gets in a big argument with her mother due to ending up looking so masculine. She wasn't even allowed to go home this week as her mother was so embarrassed.”

“The less I have to deal with that woman the better,” Mrs Rodgers shuddered, “I'm glad it’s her father that pays the bills. It’s no wonder he divorced her. Wendy's hair isn't quite long enough for extensions, but her mother insisted that she have some fitted anyway. As to the minutes, this whole section will get recorded as a single sentence simply stating we reviewed the policy."

"I still don't see why this is going to be worth the hassle," Mr Yates declared. "I don't see how the fees for a single student could warrant the extra trouble and risk we would have to go through."

"I get the feeling there is more on offer here than simple school fees. Generation2K, Jenny to her fans, is estimated to be worth half a million. Not only is she a successful Youtuber and Streamer with one of the fastest growing channels in the internet, she is also co-author to a hotly anticipated video game that has already sold ten-thousand pre-orders and reached its initial target on kickstarter in only twelve hours. She is predicted to become one of the youngest self made millionaires in the country, if not the world." Mr Bell surmised.

"Correct," the headmistress responded, "The development of Rampaging Squirrels was mostly paid for by the kickstarter. The developers, including our potential student, coded it in their free time. Most of the costs were in licensing for sound and artwork, as well as some distribution and advertising costs. It has already covered its costs, it’s pure profit going forward, assuming it doesn't bomb, which seems unlikely with the amount of interest. If it is a success, then they plan to carry on adding more levels and content. We get 2% of the sales revenue."

Mr Yates quickly looked the game up on his phone, "They are selling it for £5, discounted to £3 for those with early access codes. 2% of that would be a grand at the higher price, about a tenth of the standard term fee."

"That isn't the main part of the deal," Mrs Rogers stated, "Just the bit that may be the easiest to quantify. They are actually aiming to sell ten times that and all indications suggest that they can achieve it. However, it is not unheard of indie games, when successful, to pass the one million copies mark. Both 'Don't starve' and 'Fez' have passed that amount, and Minecraft itself is now past 20 million copies.

"The bulk of the offer is to receive 50% of all earnings Generation2K makes from YouTube and Twitch.tv after her school fees have been deducted, while she is at school here. For reference she first started uploading videos a year ago. In the space of the last six months, her channel has been growing exponentially. In that time she has earned enough to pay for this terms fee, and is currently working towards having enough to pay for next term. Now the bulk of her money was built up outside of term time when she had time to record a vast amount of content. She won't be releasing as much content while here, and we are going to have to help her by allowing her time to record, without the other students finding out.

"Worst case scenario, she doesn't fit in and leaves before the end of term. We get one term’s fees from her and possibly a grand or two extra to offset some potential negative publicity. Best case scenario? Well the is no upper limits, but if the game does become a success and sells over a million copies, we could be receiving up to one hundred grand from that alone. If Mr Bell's information is correct about her earning potential then we may get as much as half a million out of the deal. It’s a big risk, but also a big pay off."

Silence filled the room as the gravity of the proposal sank in.

"You do realise this is bribery," Mr Yates stated, "We would basically be making this kid un-expellable. Are you saying a child is not going to be tempted to get its own way by threatening to pull our purse strings? We already have students who behave that way due to parents who are sponsors of the school."

"If you are referring to my daughter," A strong Russian accent came through the speaker phone, "Then you needn't worry about her any more. She has cried wolf too many times, and I'm no longer going to let her get away with things."

"That is good to hear, Mr Gurevich," Mrs Rogers responded, "As for our new student; she won't be able to exercise any power without revealing her identity, something she isn't willing to do. Also, I can easily delegate any disciplinary matters to staff not aware of her financial situation."

"I suggest we have the contract examined before deciding on if to enter into it," Mrs Leech stated, "However, before we decide on that, I think we should decide if we should allow transgender students in general. I motion we accept transgender individuals presenting as female."

"I agree," Mr Jennings stated.

"So do I," Mr Gurevich added, causing surprise around the table.

Only Mr Yates and one other board member decided to oppose the motion, giving it a majority acceptance. The matter of the contract was put on hold while it was further investigated, and the meeting moved on to the next discussion point.

Playing her way - Chapter 2
© D.L. 2014

Arnold Bridges sipped his coffee, savouring his first hit of caffeine for the day and working week. He had just finished eating his serial when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching down the stairs. He had gotten used to having breakfast alone. His wife, Marilyn was currently in the bathroom, having made his pack lunch while he showered, shaved and dressed. They swapped places, and he would briefly see her again as he left for work.

This particular Monday was the first day of the new school term, so the person walking into the room was his thirteen year old son, Jason. Usually his son didn't come down until after he left for work. Arnold worked in Southampton and commuted to work via train. He had to leave promptly at 7:15 in order to catch the 7:30 train. This would get him into the city about an hour later where he would switch to a bus for the short journey to the factory where he worked as a shop steward. Previously, Jason didn't need to leave for school, a twenty minute walk, until half past eight, so usually got up just has his father left for work. However, with the change of schools, the boy would need to commute by train, a forty minute ride, bringing his total commute to close to an hour, and therefore get up earlier.

Arnold didn't get along very well with his only child. As moody teenagers went, Jason seemed to be one of the worst. Barely seeming to communicate with anybody, the boy was becoming virtually reclusive. His wife assured him that this was only when he was around, and that he opened up a bit more when Arnold wasn't about.

The atmosphere had been considerably frosty over the last few months. His son's behaviour was such a concern the school had recommended taking him to a shrink. That had not gone well. The so called professional that there family doctor had referred him to turned out to be a waste of time. In Arnold’s opinion, the boy needed to grow up and get his head together, not be filled with stupid ideas such as trying to connect with his feminine side.

There had been some argument over where his son should attend school. Boarding school had been one suggestion, and while the experience may have been character building, Arnold didn't like this idea for two reasons. Firstly it didn't sit well with his working class background. He simply did not believe in paying for schooling that the state should be providing. Secondly was simply he couldn't afford it. While his income was enough to live comfortably, it wouldn't stretch to that kind of expense. After initially going along with the idea that changing school would be a good idea, he had second thoughts about allowing it. However, they had reached a compromise over him going to a school in the neighbouring county.

St. Mary's High School was a prestigious school on the outskirts of Taunton. One of his younger colleagues, Geoff, had attended the school until only a few years ago, and he had received nothing but good reviews of the establishment. It would mean his son would also be catching a train; however his would be south-west bound instead of south-east. They lived a short distance from Westbury station, which is where the London to Exeter line crosses the Bristol to Southampton line.

Arnold observed his son enter the room. The boy was dressed in black trousers. The knot of a blue tie and white shirt could be seen peeking through the top of a light grey hooded sweatshirt.

"What are you doing wearing that?" the farther asked. "And why do you insist on having the hood up indoors."

The school uniform called for a dark blue blazer. That was something that had recently been introduced to make the students look more businesslike than the previous relaxed look of polo shirts and fleeces.

"I've put my blazer in my sports bag so it doesn't get crumpled, dirty, or soaked on the way to school. It might rain. Besides, this is warmer. I'll swap once I get to school," Jason replied, grabbing the lunch his mother had prepared. Unzipping his large black rucksack, he slipped the plastic container into the bag.

Putting his empty cup into the sink, Arnold rose and entered the hall. Checking his tie was straight in a mirror; he took his coat off the hook, and put in on.

His day would be slightly different than usual, as he would be meeting with a couple of colleagues and then travelling north to a training course in Birmingham. Arnolds case was packed and waiting for him in the hall. He would be gone for several days.

Jason followed his father into the hall. As the older man picked up the red suitcase waiting for him, Jason picked up the large green sports bag, putting the long wide strap over his shoulder so the bag hung by his hip. The two family members left the house and started walking down the street, waving to the women waving back from an upstairs window.

The younger of the two remained several steps behind the elder. Their postures were almost the opposite of each other. The adult stood straight up while walking briskly and confidently, the youngster was adopting a slouched pose, head down and hidden beneath the hood of his sweater.

They arrived at the station where they parted and headed to separate platforms. They spent the next few minutes looking across at each other until Jason's train arrived. Arnold watched his son take a seat on the train opposite. The boy gave him the thumbs up, but before the father could respond, his own train arrived blocking his view.

~o~O~o~

"Come along Wendy, we don't want to be late", Mrs Spencer called to her daughter as she came round from the passenger side of their car.

"We have over half an hour until the train gets here," Wendy replied. "It isn't until quarter past nine."

They had picked the earliest train available after the price drop, commuter trains being more expensive than trains during the day. Mrs Spencer was escorting her daughter, and one of her friends, to London. There they would meet with a group of other students all going to the same boarding school. In the past she had driven her daughter to school, but it was a long trip, and this new arrangement should be more convenient. Also, she wouldn't be travelling alone, so should be a lot safer. It also gave Mrs Spencer the opportunity to hit the west end shops for the afternoon, possibly even getting last minute tickets for a matinee at one of the shows.

It wasn't hard to spot the other girl that would be travelling with them. Emily was dressed the same way as Wendy. As they would be meeting up with a school teacher and a group of other students, the school had requested that all the student’s travel in uniform, as it would make it easier for the teacher to keep track of her charges.

Emily was sat on one of the benches, her light blue pleated skirt neatly arranged to cover her modesty. The matching blazer was neatly folded and sat on top of a large green sports bag. The weather was still warm when the sun got out, despite summer being at an end.

On seeing Wendy and her mother approach, Emily stopped brushing her short brown hair, styled into an attractive pixie cut, and returned the comb to her rucksack sat at her feet.

After exchanging pleasantries, Mrs Spencer headed to the ticket machines to collect the tickets she had reserved earlier over the internet.

"Everything going to plan?" Wendy asked, after her mother was out of earshot.

"So far so good," Emily replied, "I was able to find a secluded spot in a corner of a field down the road to change. I'm glad I was able to finally ditch the wig. Having to wear that stupid thing over the weekend, pretending my hair is a lot shorter, has been so annoying. I was almost tempted not to put it on this morning, but I knew my Dad would moan at my hood. I actually got away with not pulling it down."

"I'm still amazed that trick worked," Wendy shook her head, "Most people wear wigs to make their hair longer. Winding your hair up and hiding it under a short boy's wig can't be comfortable. I know how hot I get when my mother insists on an up-do."

"Is she still annoyed about you cutting it short?"

Wendy nodded, but didn't answer as her mother returned and sat down beside the two girls.

~o~O~o~

The journey to London was uneventful. The train was only partially full, and the girls were able to relax and play wireless multiplayer games on their tablet computers while Mrs Spencer read eBooks on her Kindle.

Emily grew nervous as she travelled across the capital. Given the number of bags they were carrying, Mrs Spencer had opted for a taxi rather than the underground. Wendy squeezed her friends hand in reassurance when her mother wasn't looking.

Once at Liverpool Street station, the threesome walked into the large main concourse in search of the train heading north out of the city. The wisdom of having all the students all in uniform was of immediate benefit, as the group girls stood together at the east end of the station was easy to find.

A lady with a clipboard approached the newcomers. "Hello, I'm Mrs Jackson, and I assume by the uniforms these two must be headed for St. Mary's."

"Hello, my name is Audrey Spencer. This is my Daughter Wendy, and the other girl is Emily Bridges," Mrs Spencer replied, shaking the other woman’s hand.

Mrs Spencer signed the clipboard, acknowledging that care was being transferred to the school for the girls. After hugging her daughter goodbye, much to Wendy's embarrassment, she headed in the direction of the underground to catch the tube to the west end.

Introductions were quickly made to the other students. Most of the students were returning, but one of the others was also going to be a newcomer to the school, but was a year younger that Emily. It was not unheard of for a girl to start in one of the higher years. Given the financial climate, some families could only afford to send their daughters for the last few years before graduation. In the past year, the school had lost five students midyear, due to families no longer being able to pay the fees.

Wendy made the introductions. Emily started to relax. She had been nervous that her secret might not have been kept, or that she would be outed as male. So far, nobody had seemed to react badly or suspiciously at her presence. She had kept Mrs Spencer unaware of her secret up to this point, and was worried that the teacher might let something slip. Thankfully that had not happened, possibly due to being in open earshot of the other students.

If Mrs Jackson knew, then she was keeping that knowledge to herself.

"This is so boring," Jane, one of the younger students remarked. "I wish I didn't have to be here so early. Nothing exciting ever happens at train stations."

"That isn't true," Mrs Jackson replied. "There was a flash mob filmed here a few years ago."

One of the other girls called the clip up on her mobile. After the third time through the clip, the phone being passed round the girls so that they could all see, one of the girls, Jessica, pulled a flute out of her suitcase.

"Jane, get ready to have some fun," Jessica stated, "If the tweet Anna forwarded me this morning is true, we might just get something similar to what you just saw. Mrs Jackson, please may I go stand in the centre of the station."

Emily grinned widely as a second girl, Abby, unzipped her bag just enough to pull out a harmonica, "I wouldn’t mind joining you, if you don't mind the competition."

"What is going on here?" Mrs Jackson asked suspiciously. Jessica handed her phone to the teacher. "Very well, but only start playing if other people also do so; it looks like there is a busker standing waiting as well."

The two girls walked over to the centre of the station, where five other musicians had now also gathered.

"What's going on?" Jane asked the teacher.

"It would seem that a certain minor internet celebrity come game developer tweeted they would give away Steam discount codes for their new game to anybody taking part in singing and dancing at exactly one o'clock here. Apparently, they will hand the codes out to musicians first."

Wendy shot a glance at Emily who was deliberately avoiding eye contact from both her and the teacher, by watching the goings on under the main signs.

A small crowd had formed as the musicians started to perform an impromptu performance of YMCA. A number of people had gathered and started dancing to the music.

"Why not?" Mrs Jackson sighed, "If any of you want to join in, go ahead and get dancing, just remain close to the bags, we don't want anybody to nick them while we are distracted."

"I'll stay with the bags if you want to join in," Wendy offered, "I'm a beta tester, so already have the game."

On hearing that, most of the other girls rushed over to join the large group of dancers now performing the Macarena.

Emily pulled her out her compact camera, and joined the large number of people doing the same, taking photos of the group and themselves. While she could have used her phone, she was deliberately keeping it hidden.

A large man with a large Viking helmet walked to the centre of the station pulling a trolley with a large box of what looked like business cards.

Once the music and dancing had stopped, he started to hand out the cards to whoever wanted them. He was soon surrounded, as the hoard of people all wanted one of the cards.

Emily watched as Jessica and Abby both received some of the first cards handed out. After the initial rush had dwindled to a trickle, Emily approached the man. Mrs Jackson had also come across with Jane, who was frightened to go across on her own.

Emily allowed the teacher and other student to go first.

"Are you Mr CrazyVikingMan47?" Jane timidly asked.

"Why I certainly am," the bloke replied, "You know, not many people have worked that out. Are you one of my subscribers?"

Jane nodded, "I'm CutieKitten: you named the cat on your series after me. Can I take a photo with you?"

"Sure, and if you send me a copy with the email address you used to subscribe, I'll send you back an extra special code. Would you mind if I tweet the photo as well? I know some people are sensitive about having their faces online."

"Go ahead, just don't give out my real name," Jane replied, turning and offering her camera to Mrs Jackson she asked, "Would you mind?"

The teacher quickly snapped a few shots of the pair, before handing the phone back to the young girl.

"And who might you be," the man asked Emily.

"You might not remember me, John, my name is Emily Bridges. We met at the March Moonlight Meet up in Weymouth."

A momentary flash of recognition crossed the man's face, to be joined by a huge smile, "I didn't recognise you, Emily. You have certainly changed since we last met. Can I offer you a code, or are already one of the beta testers?"

"Jenny and Tango already emailed me, thanks. I just thought I would pop across and say hello. I won't keep you from your other fans, having already gotten a photo and autograph last time."

"Would you mind if I took a photo before you go?" John asked.

"Not at all, and you can tweet it as well if you like," Emily smiled and posed next to larger man as he took a photo before saying goodbye and stepping aside so he could speak to the next person waiting.

The two students and the teacher walked back to the group. Wendy was looking increasingly nervous, something that didn't go unnoticed.

"Is something wrong?" Mrs Jackson asked.

Wendy briefly glared at Emily, making eye contact just long enough to let Emily know the cause of her agitation, but without anybody else realising. "It’s nothing," she replied.

"You’re worried people might think you're Generation2K," Abby reasoned, "after all she did say she would be here, and like us, she is supposed to be on her way to a girls boarding school. You are letting your mothers comments get to you again. You don't look like a boy, so stop being so self conscious."

"We are the only group of school girls standing around here," Wendy retorted, "does the thought that people might be wondering if you are a boy in drag not bother you? Or are you perhaps thinking that they are more likely to suspect the beanpole in the corner."

"This should put your mind at ease," Jessica said, handing her phone to Wendy, "Generation2K has just tweeted a photo of herself dancing in the crowd. She was the girl with pigtails in the grey pinafore dancing on the balcony up to our left. If you look closely, I think that is you in the lower left of shot; you had your back to her. You obviously didn't turn round at any point to notice her. Being centre stage, as such, I was keeping my eye out to try and spot her."

"Hey, she's just tweeted again, it’s a picture of us jamming," Abby squealed, "She says she wishes her school uniform was as cool as ours, instead of boring grey."

Emily walked over to Wendy to look at the picture she was holding. The photo appeared to be of a young girl in a grey pinafore school dress playing air guitar. From the way her pigtails where flying, she was obviously nodding her head to the beat. The camera had caught her mid-motion, as you could mainly see the top of her head instead of her face. A slight motion blur was further obstructing her features being recognisable.

Wendy handed the phone back to its owner, and the conversation moved on to how cool it would be to be able to earn a living out of playing games and making videos while the group waited for the last few girls to arrive.

~o~O~o~

"Watch out, here comes trouble. Queen Bitch is back," Jessica muttered as she spotted two more students crossing the concourse.

Mrs Jackson shot Jessica a glance in warning. Although she had to issue the non-verbal reprimand, she couldn't help but agree with the girl’s assessment.

Svetlana Gurevich was one of biggest spoilt brats ever to attend the private school. The daughter of an influential Russian businessman who also happens to be the owner of one of the major premier league football teams, and a board member and part owner of St. Mary's Academy. Her father's influence being the only thing keeping her from being expelled, a fact she knew and relied upon.

She radiated superiority as she strode across the station like a catwalk supermodel. In her wake, a smaller Asian girl struggled to keep up, weighed down with several cases and bags. The only bag Svetlana carried being a small designer handbag barely big enough to hold some lipstick and a few credit cards.

It was no secret that the only reason for Anna Kwon, or Kwon Anna if following to Korean naming convention of family name first, being at the school was to act as a servant for Svetlana. Slave would probably be the more appropriate definition if the school didn't intervene. The teachers were instructed to make sure that both girls were treated equally, and to make sure there was no open bullying taking place. However, Anna was always willing to fall into role and would even go as far as defending Svetlana rather than standing up for herself. Anna taking the opinion that having to serve the stuck up brat was a worthwhile price to pay in order to receive a world class education, and all the benefits that would simply not be available to her otherwise.

Svetlana paused briefly, allowing Anna to catch up. Not out of concern for her companion, but instead to pause to look at the overhead display listing the arrivals and departures.

"Is that our train running late?" she said with disdain upon reaching the other students.

"Unfortunately, yes," Mrs Jackson replied. "I just hope it doesn’t run so late it gets cancelled like last time. Its only 7 minutes behind so far, so we should be okay. Are you two travelling alone? I thought your father arranged for someone to travel with you."

"One is usually perfectly safe travelling in first class, it isn't an issue. There are enough people milling about here that I don't think anybody would try anything," Svetlana brushed the teachers concerns off.

"She got in an argument with her bodyguard when he insisted she carry her own bags at the airport, so she sacked him," Anna stated.

"I ought to sack you as well," Svetlana snorted.

"You can't, I answer directly to your father," Anna replied, "Besides, my school fees are already paid and non-returnable, so it would cost him extra to send me home early. You are stuck with me for the whole of the term, so stop trying to make empty threats, unless you want to do your own laundry this term."

"Way to go Anna," Wendy cheered, "It’s about time you stood up for yourself".

This earned Wendy a bitchy stare from the taller Russian girl.

"So, what did I miss? Did you manage to get autographs? I saw the tweets and am totes jelly," Anna excitedly asked Jessica and Abby.

Svetlana remained aloof to the other girls, choosing to file her nails rather than joining in the conversation.

~o~O~o~

It was nearly four in the afternoon when the train finally pulled into Norwich Station.

Svetlana was still refusing to carry more than the smallest and lightest of the bags, in case she broke a nail. The other girls, taking pity on Anna, took her bags while she carried Svetlana's. The school mini-bus was waiting for them when they arrived and they were soon leaving the city for the town that was the home to St. Mary's Academy for Girls.

"I'm afraid we may have some trouble getting through the gates," the bus driver announced as he got close to the school, "we have had a bunch of reporters hanging round all morning."

"Which student are they after?" Mrs Jackson asked worriedly, "Do we need to have any of the girls duck as we enter?"

"Miss Morgan decided to break her restraining order and visit her daughter. Unfortunately she was either drunk or high and managed to crash her beamer into the old stables. We'll find out which in tomorrow’s tabloid headlines."

"Oh no, poor Berry," Abby exclaimed.

"Who's Berry?" Emily asked Wendy softly.

"Gooseberry Dagenham Morgan," Wendy whispered back. "Don't laugh, that is her real name and she hates it. She's the daughter of the singer Alicia Morgan and a good friend of mine."

"Oh, that Miss Morgan," Emily realised, "The one constantly in and out of rehab. I guess her mother couldn't decide whether to name her after the trend of fruit, Like Peaches Geldof, or place names, like Brooklyn Beckham."

"Berry reckons her mother was probably drunk when she came up with those names. You will meet several girls with famous parents here, but we usually just ignore such things wherever possible," Wendy explained, "Also, you may be wondering why I never mentioned that one of my friends is famous. It's not something we ever talk about. Any scandal or gossip regarding students or their families stays on school grounds. No matter how many skeletons you might have in your closet, you can guarantee that they don't go outside these walls."

The bus slowed as it swung through the entrance to the school grounds, pulling up momentarily as the large iron gates rolled back out of the way. A police car had parked on the grass verge opposite, and a news van was then pulling away, but other than that the road was deserted. The bus continued up a tree lined drive until an old manor house came into view.

"Speaking of walls, that one seems to have a rather large hole in it," Emily pointed out as they drove up to the main doors of the school.

"Oh dear," Mrs Jackson stated looking across at Emily, "I'm afraid this could be trouble. We are short on accommodation already. I think we may have just lost some bedrooms."

The bus pulled up, and a tall thin gentleman approached accompanied by one of the older students, climbed on board.

"Good Afternoon ladies," he greeted the new arrivals, "As you can see, we have had a slight accident this morning. Most of you are in the same rooms as last term, but we have had to do some shuffling. There is a list of room numbers posted up in the canteen. Please collect your belongings and find your rooms. Emily, Francine here will take your bags for you as your presence is needed in the office. Don't worry; you're not in any trouble. We just need to get your security pass arranged and there is some paperwork to sort out."

"Ah, the dreaded health and safety lecture doubled with the privacy and respect talk, “Wendy exclaimed as the other girl’s groaned. "Go ahead; I'll make sure Francine picks up the correct bags."

~o~O~o~

Mr Jennings took Emily to one of the side rooms in the school offices, closing the door behind them.

"Mrs Rogers was hoping to speak to you herself, but she has been distracted. I'm sure she'll be along shortly, but in the meantime, I'll make a start," the teacher explained.

"Firstly, I am one of only five people here that know your secret. Six if your friend Wendy is the know. I'm a board member, so was present when your application was discussed. Obviously Mrs Rogers knows. So does her personal secretary, Mrs Milligan, but none of the other office staff. You will meet the school nurse tomorrow; she has had to go with one of the students to the hospital. The other person who knows is Mrs Jackson. She will also be your house mother while you stay here and will be your primary point of contact should any problems arise."

"None of the other teachers know for certain that a transgender student is in attendance. They were asked their opinion on the matter, but the headmistress wouldn't confirm or deny if such a student would be attending, making it clear it would be on a need to know basis."

"Won't they guess?" Emily asked, "Surely you are inferring that there must be a transgendered student, otherwise why ask?"

"Confidentiality is important here. Everybody accepts certain facts are on a need to know basis. We have dealt with other issues in the past, such as teen pregnancies and HIV. Such information can have a detrimental effect on students, so is sometimes kept secret. The staff respect this, and we teach the students to do the same. Those lessons Wendy mentioned are real and would normally be given in the first few weeks. Given the events of this morning, we are actually speaking to all new students individually as they arrive. I won't bore you with the talk, as given your circumstance, I think you already realise the importance of confidentially. I'll just leave you the notes to read at your own leisure."

Emily took the offered sheet.

"The reason I took you aside," Mr Jennings continued, "is that we have a slight issue. This school is overcrowded. We are cramming in as many students as possible to make the budget stretch. This means that very few students have the luxury of their own rooms. Unfortunately we have had to close down part of the building and it is going to be several weeks, possibly months, before repairs can be made. Therefore the number of students with single rooms has to be reduced."

"I need to share with another student?" Emily asked. "Wendy may be willing to do that. I don't have an issue with her seeing me in a state of undress, but I've never been in a position where she would need to undress with me around to know if she would be comfortable with me."

"Does Mrs Spencer know your secret?"

"No, and I don't think it would be a good idea for her to find out," Emily replied. "I guess she would have to be consulted."

"We would be running a big risk if we didn't. However, as it stands, you still have a room to yourself."

"So what is the problem?"

"You will be the only student with a room to herself. That makes you unique and could start rumours. For the moment, it looks like Miss Jones may have to spend a few nights in hospital, so she is nominally your roommate. However, that excuse is only going to last a few days. It is likely we will have her stay in the infirmary when she gets back so she doesn't need to climb the stairs with her leg in plaster, so we may be able to extend that a short while, but we will need to come up with another solution fast. We just wanted to warn you. We will be playing this by ear, so we will see how this goes."

"I see," Emily replied thoughtfully, "I may have to arrange a second diversionary tactic."

"Would the first be the stunt at the station earlier" Mrs Rogers asked entering the room, "That was quite a risk you took, potentially drawing attention to yourself and making the other girls think about Generation2K."

"I knew David, John's nephew, would be there pretending to be me. By appearing at the same time in the same place, means that all the girls on the station with me now think that I can't be Generation2K. Also, I knew there were at least a couple of Moonlight fans here, and I now know who they are, and who I may need to avoid so that they don't recognise my voice."

"That was a photo of a boy?" Mr Jennings asked.

"Why do you find that surprising? If I, as an average looking boy, can manage to pass myself off as a girl, then I suspect a lot of boys can. Especially as David’s a couple of years younger than me, and is therefore further away from puberty."

"Dare I ask what you might be planning for your next tactic?" Mrs Rogers enquired.

"By using some ice packs and some super glue, it’s possible that my genitalia can be manipulated into a state where I could pass as female while naked," Emily replied softly while blushing, "I was seriously considering doing that before I came here, but it requires two pairs of hands, one to manipulate and the other to glue. I'm too embarrassed to ask any of my friends or relatives for help. I figure the school nurse may be an option. I assume she is a trained medical professional."

"You can speak with the nurse tomorrow," Mrs Rogers stated. "I don't know how appropriate the procedure you describe is, but if it helps your self esteem and isn't detrimental to your health, then I'm sure the nurse will consider helping you. For the record, we are not banning you from entering any of the changing rooms or bathrooms here on campus. However, we do ask that you refrain from entering if at all possible. I do understand how peer pressure could mean that you may need to enter there if you don't want to be singled out. Mrs Jackson is the head Gym teacher, so will keep an eye on what is happening regarding you entering the changing rooms. Everyone is being encouraged to change for P.E. In their own rooms, so the only people using the changing rooms will be day students and those too lazy to walk back to the dorms. The only exception is the swimming pool. You will never be asked to go swimming. If anybody asks, then you are allergic to chlorine."

Mrs Rogers then asked if the security badge had been issued, to which Mr Jennings replied that he was then going to arrange it. A photograph of Emily was then taken and printed on a special label for sticking to a security pass. Mr Jennings left to make the pass up while Mrs Rogers took Emily through the various school rules, including the health and safety introduction.

"Keep this on you at all times," Mrs Rogers told Emily as she handed over the plastic pass. The white plastic rectangle was about the size of a credit card except for being around three times thicker. "We use these for attendance recording, and for unlocking doors. It’s a proximity pass. Hold it against any of the sensors to unlock a door. None of the doors here have conventional locks. We find it easier to use this system. Staff members can unlock any door if needed. Also, in the case of a fire all the doors unlock."

~o~O~o~

The northwest corner of the canteen was occupied by a swarm of girls inspecting the large notice board to find their room assignments. Most had the same rooms as before. However, a few of the girls who had previously been assigned to the rooms near the crash site had been moved until the structural integrity of the building could be guaranteed.

Svetlana regarded the notice board with disdain. As, in her own opinion, the most important student at the school, she felt the need to make sure she still had the best accommodation available. Having first established which room she would be in, Svetlana then visualised all the larger bedrooms and noted how many girls would be in each. It was apparent that while there were larger rooms than hers, they all contained more than two students.

However, one of the rooms looked to be preferential to her own. Although the same size, it was closer to the baths. Each room had its own on suite toilet and shower cubicle, but if any of the girls wanted to soak in a proper bath, then they had to book and use one of the shared bathrooms. Also, the names of the occupants stood out: Emily Bridges and Julia Jones. According to the rumours, Julia had to dive out of the way of the out of control car and didn't quite make it, getting hit in the legs. At the very least this would mean plaster casts; although, if the rumours were in any way accurate, then a wheelchair might be a more likely. If this was the case then she would end up boarding with Teresa, a girl paralysed from the waist down and staying in a specially converted room next to the infirmary on the ground floor. This meant that Emily would be alone. Given some of the paperwork she had seen come across her father’s desk, there was another possibility for the identity of the individual in question.

On spotting Emily entering the room, Svetlana immediately turned and asked loudly, "How come she gets to have a room on her own, while the rest of us have to share?"

"You didn't want a room to yourself," Anna immediately responded, "as you wanted me here to do your laundry and make your bed so you don't have to do it."

"Being in a different room wouldn't stop you doing that anyway," Svetlana brushed off Anna's response, "She still gets a room to herself, what makes her so special that she gets her own room? Unless she isn't really —"

"Ostanovit! Pomnite, chto otets skazal vam!" Anna shouted forcefully, interrupting Svetlana mid sentence.

"Fine, I won't say it. If it’s true it will become apparent to everyone else anyway," Svetlana angrily turned to face Anna. "I don't like you attitude. You don't want sleep in my room, fine. You can sleep in Julia's bed until she is well enough to return. I may even talk to father to make it permanent."

Svetlana turned and stormed out of the room in the direction of the dormitories, leaving a shocked audience in her wake.

"What was that all about, Miss Kwon?" Mrs Rogers asked the young Asian.

Looking around and the group of girls gathered, Anna replied, "May we speak in private?"

"Very well, please come with me."

Anna followed the headmistress out of the room. Emily also slipped out of the room, circling back to the office in case she was needed.

Playing her way - Chapter 3

© D.L. 2014

"Care to explain what is going on?" Mrs Rogers asked Anna once back in her office. The headmistress had shoved the door almost closed, deliberately leaving it ajar.

"My half-sister has seen some of the confidential files from the last board meeting. That is my fault. I usually lock the door to our father's study when I'm doing secretary work alone, mainly to keep Svetlana from bugging me. She came in and snatched away some of the filing work I was doing. Specifically, the contract between the school and G2K Limited outlining the profit sharing agreement if she becomes a student here. Luckily the only name on the paperwork was the company secretary, a John Larking. Dad came back from the bathroom before she could see anything too sensitive."

"So Svetlana thinks Emily is this person?"

"She's clutching at straws and doesn't like not being top of the ladder. Emily effectively has a room to herself for the moment, so that makes her different, and it’s unlikely the school would allow a transsexual male student to co-habit with a female student. What I shouted at her basically translates as 'stop and remember what father told you'. Having had to defend one lawsuit already due to Svetlana's carelessness, he isn't keen on getting sued by Generation2K for breaching confidentiality. Especially considering the negative headlines at the football club about one of the ex-players claiming he was forced out due to being gay. It might be best if I do swap room with Julia, at least for the time being. That way Svetlana won't have any excuse to cause even more trouble, and the rumours won't stick."

"I can speak to Emily and see if she minds you swapping rooms, or if she is actually bothered by the rumours," Mrs Rogers declared. "Do you believe Emily is actually male?"

Anna thought for a few minutes before replying. "Father works from home a lot, often unusual hours due to the time zones. There have been several high profile information leaks in his company and he needs somebody who he can trust to act as a secretary. While he does have a personal assistant, he sometimes requires assistance while she isn't available. His wife doesn't speak English well enough and Svetlana is useless. I therefore help when not at school. It’s one way he can justify sending money my direction without Svetlana or her mother complaining. I therefore know things that technically I shouldn't. Including the full details of what was discussed at the board meetings. I was with my father taking notes for him during the teleconference where Emily's attendance was discussed. I was a Generation2K fan when she was still presenting as a boy. I was one of the people who suggested she come here in the first place. I found out her identity ages ago, and wouldn't dream of sharing that information with anybody."

"I don't doubt that. You have kept your relationship to Svetlana secret for three years. The only reason I know is because Svetlana told me when I threatened to expel her over behaviour towards you. It took a lot of persuasion from you, your half-sister, and your father for me not to get the police involved over child slavery. Given what you know, you are basically saying you are perfectly happy to share a room with a male student?"

"I don't see why that would cause any problems," Anna shrugged.

"Unfortunately, I can," the headmistress replied.

"If you are worried that we might spend every night fucking like bunnies, then don't be."

"Do you have to be so crude, young lady?" Mrs Rogers sighed. "We shall discuss your choice of vocabulary another time. Are you saying that you would never be tempted to experiment? You are at the age when your hormones take control."

"I didn't say that. While I may not have enough self control to resist temptation, I can keep the noise down to make sure no one finds out. Also, my father isn't likely to press charges for underage sex. I have already spoken to him about it. As long as I don't fall pregnant, there isn't a problem. Both Svetlana and I were put on the pill ages ago, mainly because he doesn't trust my half-sister. It’s one reason why she's at an all girl school in the middle of nowhere."

"I still need to ask Emily her thoughts on this, and there is the issue of her parents," Mrs Rogers stated. Calling out loudly she added, "Emily, please come in."

Anna turned round in shock and embarrassment as Emily walked in the door, from where she had been waiting outside.

Closing the door behind her Emily stated, "I'm not entirely happy that yet another student knows my secret. It’s worrying enough that Wendy knows. I have serious doubts about how long I'm going to survive here."

"If it’s any consolation, I would never have suspected if I didn't already know," Anna replied, "You actually had me doubting myself after the stunt earlier. Your online identity is the talking point amongst the geekier girls, but there is no suggestion that you are boarding here. Actually some of them wish you were and are disappointed that you're not, if that makes sense."

"Thanks," Emily replied. "Logically, from the point of view of maintaining my secret, then I can see the benefit of sharing a room like everybody else has too. My connection to Wendy is already known, so sharing with her may not help, and her mother wouldn't approve if she found out about me. So sharing with someone I've just met would make sense. I'm not comfortable seeing myself naked, let alone letting others see me, but given time I can overcome that. In the mean time I can simply change in the bathroom. I've done that before."

Turning to Mrs Rogers, Emily added, "As for parental permission, you should already have a letter on file stating that any decisions regarding my transition and integration as a girl are down to me. It is normal for girls to share rooms; therefore I see no reason for not sharing a room with Anna."

Mrs Rogers pulled her keyboard closer and moved her mouse to wake up her computer. After unlocking the device, she spent several minutes examining documents before making some changes to the security system.

"Anna, your father just emailed. Svetlana phoned him as soon as she stormed out the room. He is happy for you to swap with Julia and explicitly states he is happy for you to board with Miss Bridges. Your pass now unlocks Emily's door. I'll leave you with access to your sister’s room. Emily, the letter you mention is on file, although it is a bit vague. I know contacting your parents is difficult, so I will allow this swap to take place, but we won't make it official until I have confirmation. I'll inform the other teachers. They are used to Anna taking time out away from Svetlana. Anna, we all know you spent half of last term camping in other girl’s rooms. Given that they know your place here is dependent on acting as Svetlana's servant, they are not going to question the lack of official documentation. I will leave it up to you to make sure the other students are aware. I'm sure you are capable of arranging that."

"I think a nice public argument with Svetlana in the canteen should do the trick," Anna winked.

"Okay, you now have three quarters of an hour before supper is served; I suggest you get settled in. You are both dismissed."

The two girls left the room and headed for the dormitories.

~o~O~o~

After checking that both their security passes unlocked the door, Emily and Anna entered the room they would be sharing for the foreseeable future.

Immediately inside the door was a short corridor past the on suite toilet and shower to the right. On the other wall were a couple of built in wardrobes. Once past this into the room were two beds, one on each side wall. The far end wall between the two headboards, contained a window, below which was a desk just wide enough to seat the two girls. Storage was built in under the beds. Emily's bags stood in the middle of the room.

Anna immediately offered to take the bed on the left, as this one was in view of the door. The other was round the corner and offered more privacy from anybody glancing in should the door be opened.

"Okay," Emily agreed, "However, I'll change in the toilet anyway. That way if you come in with anybody unexpectedly, they won't see anything."

"That is actually normal behaviour," Anna replied as, Emily picked up her toiletries bag and took it into the bathroom, placing it on the toilet cistern next to the sink. "The other girls tend to take pity on me, and I have spent nights in most of the other rooms over the last few years. I would say three quarters of the girls dress in the toilet, although that may be because of my presence rather than the norm with their roommates."

"I can understand if you are not comfortable being seen," Anna stated followed Emily into the bathroom. "Does the thought of seeing me naked cause you any problems? Do you need me to do the same? I won't get offended if your body reacts in a typically male fashion, so don't be embarrassed."

"No, do as you like. Given you seem to expect us to be fucking our brains out before long, I kind of assumed you wouldn't have any issues with nakedness or sexual arousal, unless you were expecting us to only do that in the dark?"

"Good," Anna answered as she swiftly dropped her underwear to the floor, lifted her skirt and sat on the toilet, "because I really need to pee."

Emily, slightly shocked, immediately looked the other direction, the sound of splashing liquid causing her some discomfort. Anna, seeing her roommate's reaction, continued, "Sorry. If you're desperate, then I won't complain if you use the sink. You have the equipment to do it without making a mess."

"Just because I can doesn't mean I like being reminded of it," Emily stated. After a short pause she decided to go ahead anyway, adding, "Well this is one way to break the ice I suppose."

"Well, I guess that proves your physical gender," Anna declared, deliberately looking the other way. "I did wonder if some of the rumours online were true and that you were physically female to start with."

After both girls had finished and left the bathroom, Anna continued, "Look, about the fucking like bunnies comment. I didn't intend for you to hear that. I was mainly doing it to wind Rogers up and address the big elephant in the room.

"I'm not that large, and I've never done that impression," Emily replied.

"What Impression?"

"The one where a boy pulls his trouser pockets inside out and opens his fly to let his truck out. And no, I'm not going to demonstrate now, especially as I'm wearing a skirt anyway."

Both girls giggled for a short while before Anna said, "I don't intend having any form of sexual relationship for quite a while, and I don't have any bisexual or lesbian tendencies that I'm aware of. I know you are male, but frankly, even with you peeing into the sink, I still regard you as a girl and that doesn't do anything for me. Sorry to disappoint if that is what you were hoping when you agreed to be my roommate. I can still swap back if things are too awkward. Svetlana will most likely demand it after a few days cleaning her own room, and nobody would be surprised if I bowed in to her pressure."

"I sort of assumed you were joking," Emily replied, "although I honestly don't mind either way. I'm not particularly fond of my male equipment, but I'm also confused about my sexuality, so I'm not sure how I feel about the possibility of that type of relationship anyway. I would rather put such issues on a back burner. I've spent too long living as a boy, and would like to spend at least a little time as a young innocent girl before getting to the boy, or girl, crazy stage."

"Little girl?" Anna pretended to stroke her chin in an evil fashion, "That could be arranged. Pig tails and frilly panties or possibly some pull ups, pretty dresses with lots of bows and as many ribbons as can fit in your hair. I'm not sure if anybody will have any Barbie’s here, or a tea set for a tea party, but it might be possible to arrange."

"Stop right there," Emily stated firmly, "While I may have missed out on most of those things, I don't think this is a suitable place to be exploring that kind of activity."

"Most of those things?" Anna enquired, "What exactly have you been up to?"

"I happen to be very close to my cousin, Susan, and I've had opportunity through the years to play with her."

Seeing Anna start to snigger at the double entendre, Emily picked up her pillow and threw it at the other girl. This resulted in a short pillow fight and a fit of giggles from both girls.

~o~O~o~

Further discussion was interrupted by the sound of the Tetris theme tune emanating from the mobile phone in Emily's luggage.

The sound indicated that the call was coming through on Emily's number, rather than Jason’s, the phone supporting two sim cards, although one of the sim cards was removed earlier in the day, so that her whereabouts could not be tracked.

Looking at the display, Emily answered, "Hi Susan."

"Hi Emily, are you free to talk?"

The short reply from Susan, although sounding innocent to anybody who might overhear, had a deeper meaning. By using saying "Emily", Susan was indicating that she was alone her end and could say whatever she wanted without issue. Emily had three responses she could use. The first of which was that she was busy and can she call back. This would be used if it wasn't safe to talk. The other extreme would to be explicitly state that she was alone. Instead she opted for the third option, indicating that there were people within earshot, so answers may have to be kept to simple yes no responses," Yes, I have a few moments."

"Have you tried to phone home yet?" Susan asked.

"No, I've only just arrived, and I've been busy sorting out room arrangements and unpacking."

"Well, don't bother. You are a very lucky girl. Your mother called mine, asking if you could stay with us for a couple of nights until your father gets home. She has had to go look after Great Aunt Ethel. She fell again and sprained her ankle. Anyway, I was the one who answered the call, and I pretended that Mum was in the shower. I put her on hold for a minute while I walked to the empty bathroom and back, then told her that there was no problem. Not that there would have been anyway. The net result is that your mother thinks you will be here, while my mother has no idea that you are expected to turn up."

"So what happens when they next meet?" Emily enquired.

"I'll cross that bridge when we come to it. While I'll be trouble, it won't be quite as big a mess as you'll be in. I'm sure I can ride the storm. You have enough to worry about without the added pressure of worrying what your parents are doing. I'll take responsibility for telling them where you are. Don't worry; I will make sure that they won't suddenly turn up there out of the blue. If I do have to disclose your whereabouts, you will be the first to know. Anyway, as arranged, your old number has redirected the voicemails and texts to me. You have three missed calls and two texts from your mother asking you to contact her."

"Okay, I'll do that," Emily replied.

"So, what's been happening your end?" Susan asked.

Emily then started to relay the events of the day to her cousin, including the situation with her new roommate, who had temporarily left the room after the phone call started to retrieve her own belongings from her half-sisters room.

After talking for nearly a quarter of an hour, Emily had to cut the conversation short, due to it being time to head down to the canteen for the evening meal. Before she departed, she went online and sent a text message via the website of her old phone provider. That way she didn't have to switch the old sim card on, and have it located via the mobile phone network. "Got message. Spoke to Susan. Give Great Aunt Ethel my regards. Luv.J."

~o~O~o~

Susan sat with bated breath to find out who had just rung the door bell. She had a good idea who it might be, having seen the messages sent to Jason's phone. She was monitoring the old number on her cousin’s behalf.

It had been three days since Susan had decided to help her cousin by incepting the message between their mothers. She knew that her Uncle Arnold was back from his meeting, having arrived late the night before. He had texted his son's mobile to say he was back and Jason could return home after school the following day. Her Aunt Marilyn had also texted, saying she would be back earlier in the day. It was now early Thursday evening, and well past the time when Jason should have made an appearance. Three missed calls and several text messages had arrived in the past hour.

"Susan Elizabeth Bishop, come down here at once," Susan's mother, Molly Bishop, called up the stairs. The full name whammy known by children everywhere as a definite sign that they are in trouble, confirmed her suspicion.

Susan casually walked into the sitting room where her mother, aunt and uncle where waiting. Before anybody could ask her anything, Susan stated, "Yes, I know. No, I'm not. Yes He is, and No, I don't care, are probably the answers you are looking for, although they may not be to your liking."

"I don't believe 'Where's Jason?' is a yes/no type question," Molly stated.

"Okay, it was a fifty-fifty as to if that would the first question, or if you were going to ask if I knew where Jason was. The yes is for knowing where Jason is. If you had followed that up with 'Are you going to tell us where he is?' then my answer is no."

"The other yes and No?" Marilyn asked.

"Yes, he's perfectly safe, and No, I don't care how much trouble I'm putting myself in. I presume you are now going to try to make me elaborate on those answers."

"Stop messing around, Susan. Jason was supposed to come here for the past few nights and didn't. You obviously arranged cover for him by only pretending to pass on my request. He hasn't been home as far as we can tell, so where has he been staying?" Her aunt asked. "Has he even been going to school?"

"In answer to both questions, yes he's gone to school."

"At least that is something," Arnold stated, "So, where is he now."

"At school."

"School finished three hours ago," Susan’s Aunt shouted.

"Wait, are you saying he's still there?" Arnold realised what Susan was inferring. "Has he been camping on the school grounds?"

"Yes and no. He is at school, but no tents are involved. I didn't ask about sleeping bags, although I assume not. If you meant camp as in behaviour, then I don't know."

"So he's been hiding somewhere in the school?"

"No."

"So he's sleeping outside? That doesn't make sense. What would be the point?"

"No, he is sleeping inside like everybody else."

"But presumably not on the school grounds then?"

"No, he is sleeping on school grounds."

"You are contradicting yourself, he is either there or he isn't"

"He has not left the school grounds since he arrived."

"But he's not hiding inside, and he's not camping outside. So where is he?"

"I specifically said he is inside."

"So he is hiding somewhere in the school?"

"No," Susan said with a giggle, actually enjoying winding her family in knots.

"Enough fooling around and explain yourself," her mother demanded.

"Okay, Jason is at school, and has been since arriving. He is sleeping on school grounds inside one of the buildings, the east wing to be precise. However, there is no hiding involved as everybody is fully aware of which bedroom he is in."

"Bedroom?"

"Yes, you know, a room with a bed in that people sleep in. Although in an academic setting they are often referred to as dormitories or halls of residence instead."

"Since when do schools have bedrooms," Marilyn foolishly asked.

"Since around 1400 years ago," her sister laughed. "If I remember my history correctly isn't there a boarding school in Canterbury that was founded sometime in the sixth century."

"Boarding school? We sent him to school in Taunton," Marilyn declared.

"To the Taunton School? My brother-in-law and his wife act as guardians for a couple of the international students boarding there," Molly replied. "That's quite an expensive school; I didn't think you approved of private schooling Arnold."

Susan kept quiet as she listened to the adults discuss the schools. Nobody had yet asked which school he was at, and she would not be volunteering any information if she could avoid it.

"I don't," Arnold replied, "and we aren't paying for his board. I'm not made of money. If he’s somehow managed to sneak into a boarding school, then he's done so without paying. I hope this isn't going to cost us a lot of money. I better check our bank accounts online to make sure he hasn't managed to charge anything through."

"Jason is many things, but certainly not a thief," Susan defended her cousin. "The fees have been paid legitimately from his own savings."

"Does Jason have that sort of money?" Molly asked. "Aren't you looking at thirty thousand a year? That's more than I earn."

Arnold became visibly whiter and Marilyn looked shocked at the figure.

"Unless he's robbed a bank, there is no way that Jason has access to that sort of money. He has about five thousand at most. Any withdrawal from his savings account we have to authorise anyway," Marilyn stated.

"He told me about that account," Susan said, "that's his emergency reserve fund, and it hasn't been touched. Also, you are thinking in terms of the fees for a whole year. So far only the first term has been paid for, so the cost was less than ten grand. It may be that he won't be able to afford to stay longer than a term, but he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it."

"That's still a lot of money that he doesn't have," Arnold replied. "Where did he get it?"

"Were you not aware of the effort he has been putting in to his summer jobs? I know you didn't talk much, but I assumed you knew he was working. He specifically told me you found him the first job delivering newspapers and magazines."

"Yes, but that was minimum wage, and didn't last more than a few weeks," Marilyn stated, "He didn't even bother to stick it out for a month before quitting."

"That's because he got a better offer," Susan answered.

"Operating a photocopier all day doesn't pay that much better," Arnold stated referring to the job Jason had told him about. Knowing his parents wouldn't believe he could earn money through online videos, and worried that they would ban him from uploading if they actually knew what they contained; Jason had lied about being employed at a local copy shop to operate the photocopiers for customers. Technically he did work there, one hour a day to help cover the lunch period. In fact his parents had seen him there on several occasions. They thought that he was spending fifteen hours a week, rather than five.

Jason was already making far more from his YouTube videos, but since coming out, his advertising revenue had doubled and was growing exponentially after a couple of his videos went viral.

"There is also Great Grannies trust fund," Susan added with a sigh.

The octogenarian on her mother’s side of the family had died a year and a half before. Half of her assets had been set aside for her great grandchildren’s education.

"That money is reserved for university expenses," Molly stated, knowing how much had been set aside for Susan’s use once she reached that age.

"It’s paying for Cousin Eddie to have extra tuition to get him through his exams," Susan replied.

"That's because he's so thick, he would never get into university anyway, so he might as well have the benefit now," Arnold said.

"And you've made it clear that university is a waste of time and won't support Jason if he wants to go, so he might as well have the benefit now as well," Susan shot back, "Hence why you authorised its use to pay for his school supplies."

Molly felt the need to chastise her daughter for her rudeness to her uncle. However, she let the comment slide. Susan was right. Molly knew Arnolds thoughts on the matter, and while she agreed there were far too many useless degree subjects being offered, she believed that there were plenty of worth-while subjects available for a sensible student. Being a trustee of the fund, Molly was the one to countersign the expense claims that Arnold had submitted.

Thinking back over what had been claimed, there hadn't been much. She was initially expecting uniform costs, but the only items of clothing were two school blazers. The other expenses were basically a whole load of stationary, a quality rucksack, and a sports bag.

Emily and Susan had been trying to work out how to slip expenses past their parents. Luckily, Generation2K's fund raising live stream was a bigger success than they hoped, so they didn't need to dip into the trust fund very much. Even getting the right blazer was a challenge. The original order was for a dark blue boy's blazer. Once Molly had placed the order online, Susan had to phone up pretending to be her mother and get it changed to a light blue girl’s blazer.

"I hadn't even realised it was a boarding school," Arnold stated, going back to the original subject, "I know I didn't look very closely at the literature, as I relied on Geoff's description. I didn't realise he was public schooled."

"He wasn't," Marilyn replied, "There is more than one school in Taunton. St. Mary's isn't the boarding school."

Susan looked at her mother to see if the name triggered any form of recognition. Emily, Susan and Wendy had spent a lot of time together over the holidays. Wendy had been their next door neighbour for several months. Wendy had never mentioned the name of her school to Molly, and as far as Susan knew, her mother believed that Wendy went to live with her father during term time. Molly didn't get on very well with Audrey Spencer, so they hardly talked, but Susan wasn't sure if Wendy's mother might have mentioned her daughter’s school at some point.

Much to Susan's relief her mother didn't react.

"I think it’s time to pay this school a visit. We do have the right one?" Arnold stated, looking at Susan.

Susan remained quiet leaving an awkward silence in the room. She had already decided to avoid outright lying if possible, so chose not to respond.

"I'll take that as a yes then," Arnold stated, walking out the room, leaving no choice for Marilyn other than to say a quick farewell to her sister before dashing out the door after her husband.

"You, young lady, can spend the rest of this evening sat on the stairs," Molly stated after her sister and brother-in-law had left.

"You're sending me to the naughty step?" Susan asked in surprise at a punishment she hadn't received for many years.

"Until I can work out what to do with you, yes."

"Could I sit quietly and do my homework at the kitchen table instead. I do have an essay to finish."

Molly considered her daughters request. It seemed reasonable, so she allowed it, on the proviso that no electronic gadgets are brought to the table and she had to do her homework in silence.

~o~O~o~

Susan knew this wasn't over. They would soon realise that he wasn't a pupil at any of the schools in Taunton. In fact, given the name change, even if they phone round every school in the country, chances are they wouldn't be able to find him.

Susan could only hope they didn't phone St Mary's in Norfolk. If they did, then it would depend on who answered the phone. Only some of the staff knew, so it may be hit and miss as to if they get dismissed out of hand.

When they had originally planned this, Emily and Susan knew that they would have exactly one day head start. The plan was to phone home at the end of the day, and tell his mother that he wouldn't be home that night, or any night in the near future. They figured it would take several days at least for him to be found, and in the end it would probably need the involvement of the police and a national hunt to track him down. That is why so many precautions had been set up regarding communication. All calls to his mobile phone had been rerouted through to Susan and the sim card removed. The phone itself was a cheap Chinese clone of a Samsung S3. Costing about the third of the cost of the original device, it had one advantage over the original in that it had two sim card slots. The second slot now had a new sim card in, registered to Generation2K Limited, a private limited company that John Larking, the founder of the Moonlight server community, had set up on Emily's behalf.

John was an accountant by trade, now specialising in filing tax returns for self employed YouTube artists. He had set up the company, and set up a back account for Emily, into which all her earnings were being placed. He had also arranged payment of the school fees and the profit sharing offer that had been made to incentivise the placement. Some people might consider it a bribe. For John, it was a simple business deal. As long as he got a cut of the profits, he wasn't going to bother two much. He had made a deal with Emily that he would receive a small percentage cut of any video output involving his server. The more she was able to record, the more potential profit.

He had also helped arrange the new venture that he and Emily had partaken in, along with a couple of the other members of the server. One of the other members was a professional programmer, and Emily was a gifted amateur herself. With a little coaching, and the use of some free open source gaming libraries, the two of them had managed to produce the back end code for their own game. With the help of the other server members and their online community of fans and followers, they had managed to collect enough artwork, sounds, story ideas and supporting material to come up with a playable game.

Rampaging Squirrels was a simple puzzle platformer with just enough uniqueness in design to appeal to general audiences. If would never reach the popularity of Angry Birds of Flappy Birds, but like many also-rans, it had the potential to match their revenue. Released on all the major phone platforms as well as for the PC, it already had a huge following of potential gamers simply based on who was writing it. The publicity stunt in London was one of several John was arranging.

While John was aware that Emily's relationship with her parents was strained, he didn't know just how far she was talking her independence. Whenever John needed an official document signed, he posted it through and it always came back signed. He didn't ever question the signatures on the documents as not being genuine. John had met Arnold several times through work. John's previous employer had the contract for auditing Arnold's employer’s books. For many years he had spent several days at the factory going over the books. As Arnold Bridges had some budget responsibility, he had to sign off on many items, so his distinctive scrawl was well known to the accountant. Invariably when a mistake was found, the root cause had been an error made by Arnold. Luckily they were never serious enough for disciplinary action, but they always caused amusement to John in what was otherwise potentially boring repetitive work.

If the police became involved, or if the national media became involved - which was not unheard of in the case of missing children - then it was expected John would come forward and give the location to the police. Emily had planned to phone daily, giving just enough contact to hopefully persuade her parents to leave her alone.

The fact that it had now been four days with no communication, with Susan taking over as the sole point of contact was unplanned. Emily was not entirely happy with Susan taking so much responsibility, but being isolated at school, she had to rely on her cousin to make suitable decisions on her behalf.

Playing her way - Chapter 4

© 2014 D.L.

It was with some trepidation that Emily followed Anna down the corridor. It was Thursday and they had just finished supper. They now had a club or activity slot before the evening prep period.

"Where are we going?" Emily asked, "I don't like surprises."

"Don't worry; we are simply going to Mr Connors classroom to watch some videos. It’s a small club and you have already met all the girls who are going to be there. He supervises what we watch while marking coursework. You'll enjoy it, it will be both entertaining and educational."

Emily was busy imagining some awful edutainment as she entered the room.

What she was not expecting was the normal chairs and tables to have been moved back to allow room for a collection of bean bags to be scattered around. She immediately recognised the two bean bags from her room. Her own was rather plain in appearance, while Anna's had been embroidered with several large daffodils. It appeared that each girl had their own personalised bean bag. She had see several girls walking around with them over the past couple of days and wondered what was going on. She knew that the girls often grouped together in their rooms and had assumed that some took their bean bags with them so they had something to sit on. Wendy had popped by earlier asking to borrow the two bean bags from her room.

Emily had suspected a set up.

The final clue as to what they would be watching was provided by a very excited Jane bouncing up and down in an electric blue wig and a black t-shirt with a full moon across the chest.

"I thought you would be in pigtails today," Jessica said to Jane as she walked in behind Emily and Anna, “After all that is what Jenny was sporting in London."

"I was going to, but Mrs Appleby wouldn't let me dye my hair the right colour, so I decided to stick to this," Jane replied.

Emily took a seat on her bean bag between Wendy and Anna, as the familiar rendition Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata 3rd Movement played on electric guitar filled the room.

"Good evening, Moonlighters, Generation2K here again," Emily heard her own slightly distorted voice ring out around the room as she watched the other girls stare intently at the screen.

"Welcome to another episode on the Moonlight server. I know most of you were expecting another pre-recorded episode of Theme Hospital. That will now be tomorrow. I wasn't sure if I would even be able to record at school, so this is mainly a test video to see how well things are working. I must thank the Head and my House mistress for arranging for me to have a place to record. Only a couple of the students here know my identity, and I would like to keep it that way if possible. If you suspect I'm going to your school, please keep it to yourself. I don't want to be the cause of discomfort for anybody wrongly accused of being me. You all know my views on bullying, so I won't talk about that again."

"This is mostly going to be a caving episode. I need to restock my redstone supply after using it up helping The Viking Man set up the automatic sugar cane and cactus farm. I know we will probably have an infinite supply once the witch farm is operational, but Tango is still sorting out the item elevators and sorting mechanism."

Speaking of Mr Viking, I must thank him for what happened yesterday. At least its yesterday for me, you might not see this for another day or two, depending on if I can get the video rendered and uploaded. The server ping isn't too bad. It’s not as fast as at home. It’s enough for playing online, but I don't think the connection will cope with uploading, at least during the week. I don't plan on doing any streaming anyway as that is not an issue. While I can disappear for an hour, my fellow students might become suspicious if I vanish for several hours coinciding with a live stream.

Anyway, if I have bandwidth issues I can pop the video on a DVD and post it to my cousin for her to upload. Never underestimate the bandwidth of a Royal Mail van.

Those of you who follow my tweets will know I made an appearance at Liverpool Street station. I'm sorry I couldn't talk too many of you; I was a bit worried about homophobic reactions so was a bit cautious. Thankfully my worries turned out to be unfounded, so next time I might actually stop to chat. I'll have to check the dates, but I might be able to attend the Minecraft convention this year in London. I did attend last time it was here, but that was before I joined the Moonlighters and I was just another anonymous face in the crowd. As my regulars will know, I won a competition to be a guest of honour at a pre-panel dinner with the other Moonlighters, and it was there that I hit it off with the others and they decided to risk letting me on their server. If it not being for them already knowing they were going to be starting again with a new world a few weeks afterwards, they wouldn't have let me on. Luckily for me they decided to let me stay beyond the reset, and the rest is history.

"So, anyway, back to yesterday. I want to thank the musicians. In no particular order we have, Jonathan, Edward, PD496, Abby, Xylophone girl, Chioma, I hope I said that right, Jessica, Mandy, Tom, Rocker449 and Smithy. Viking man was also there and spoke with some of the fans on my behalf. Special shout outs go to Buzzbee, MQc567, Shiran, DocZee, MissQ, CutieKitten, EmilyB, and Panther."

Emily silently giggled to herself as Jane squealed and bounced at the mention of her name. The other girls had also reacted, but not as much.

"I also want to apologise to the group of school girls in light blue uniforms; especially the tall one with the short hair who looked particularly embarrassed. Everybody was on the lookout for boys dressed as school girls, so if I made any of you uncomfortable I'm sorry, and I hope my tweets cleared up any confusion. Two of those girls I've already mentioned, as they were playing instruments, and because of that I know which school they are from. If anybody is watching from that institution, I arranged it so that my website will issue vouchers to anybody using a student or teacher email address from there."

The conversation on screen was interrupted by a large green shape falling into shot on the far left of the screen. Jenny barely had time to block before the creature exploded sending her flying into a lava pool, sending her health bar tumbling. The player on screen acted out of instinct and instantly selected the splash potion of fire resistance on the hot bar, smashing it on the ground as she climbed out of the deadly liquid.

A slow motion instant replay followed.

"Wow, half a heart. That was close. I'm going to pause for a moment to catch my breath and recover some HP. I'll be back after a commercial break. Good luck with the random number generator; hopefully it isn't one you've seen a thousand times before."

Most of the eyes in the room had fallen on a very embarrassed Wendy.

"Wait; was the tall embarrassed one you?" Anna asked.

"Who else do you know who was at the station that fits that description," Wendy replied, "I had no idea that was going to happen, the first I heard was when Jessica pulled her phone out and showed the tweet."

"Well, Svetlana is also tall and often looks embarrassed to be with us, although I don't think we arrived until after Jenny had gone," Anna replied.

"Svetlana looks more disgusted than embarrassed," Wendy countered.

"Disgusting more like," Abby added.

"No name calling please, even if it is for the Ice Queen" Mr Connor interrupted, having paused the video at the end of the advert seeing Wendy's distress.

Emily couldn't help but laugh, drawing the attention of the other girls, "isn’t that like the pot calling the kettle black? How come you get to call her names and we don't?"

"Because she gave permission for the name to be used," Anna replied, "being compared to royalty sits well with her vanity."

Mr Connor gave a brief reminder on the bullying policy, mainly for Emily's benefit. He felt the need to make sure the new student was aware of the rules, something of which he shouldn't need to remind the existing students.

The video resumed to a short montage of sped up footage of Jenny running back to base, depositing the collected resources into chests, and repairing her tools, weapons and armour, that had taken damage. The montage ended with the run back to the cave currently being explored.

"Welcome back, I decided to take the time to run back to base to clear my inventory, and my armour was almost on the point of breaking, especially the legs, as they have fire resistance, so took the brunt of the lava damage. Now I said previously that I didn't know how well I could record at school, and this is a test of the setup I now have. I have reviewed the footage, especially the sound, and everything seems fine. I was worried about the possibilities of echo's or picking up background sounds. One worry I had, was if I could be overheard by other students, but I had a friend stand outside the door listening to me talk, and as long as I don't shout, you can't hear me.

The next few minutes of narration continued to describe the new bedroom. While a lot of the details were true, many things had been changed to prevent Emily being found out. The most significant was stating that as a male student, she had a room to herself for obvious reasons. This was no longer the case for Emily. Also, she led her audience to believe she was recording in her room. She had actually been assigned to one of the soundproof solo practice booths in the music department. Her cover was that she was learning to play the guitar, which was true. However, she was more proficient than what was being let on, and didn't need as much practice time as allotted.

"Now I know from the comments on previous videos that a lot of you are wondering how I would be able to record without others finding out. The answer is simple; there is a slot on the timetable for personal activities. Each student gets time during the day for pursuing personal interests. It generally has to be something educational or worthwhile. Foreign students can have extra English lessons, while the native English speakers can learn languages not on the main schedule. A lot of girls have music lessons, either as part of an orchestra, or individual music tuition. Some go in for acting or additional sports. I've signed up for elocution lessons, so if I start talking with a posh accent, that will be why. I think one of the teachers is even offering lessons in Klingon if enough girls are interested.

"Some of my activity slots have been designated as recording sessions for YouTube, although they are listed as organ practice on my timetable.

"That is something I will need to get used to. I've always had the flexibility to record when I feel like it, although in reality I often used to time my recording sessions to when my parents were out of the house and couldn’t hear me. My time now is much more controlled than before. Last term I used to try and get all my homework done during school time, spending as little time as possible on it. I would then do recording as soon as I got home, as I would have about an hour and a half before my parents got in from work. I would then spend the evenings doing my editing and off-camera work, and then finish off any leftover homework.

"My day is now a lot more structured. There are dedicated slots in the evening reserved for doing homework. There is very little time to go off and be by yourself. Even during the few hours of free time, you are encouraged to be engaging in group activities. I knew this before I came here, but it is still a culture shock to be here.

"In many respects this is a good thing. The reason I wanted to go to an all-girls school was to see if I fitted in as a girl. I have always felt more feminine than masculine, but the whole gender issue is always something that bothered me. Am I genuinely transgendered, or am I just imagining it? This is the acid test. If I can cope here, and actually fit in with my peers without appearing strange or out of place, then I can confidently say I'm a girl. That is why I don't want the other girls to know about me. I want to be accepted at face value, not have the nagging doubt that they are only humouring my presence.

"Some of the girls have been coming here for years, but already I seem to fit in, and honestly, I think for the first time in my life I'm making friends without having to constantly worry about saying the wrong thing. I can be as tomboyish as I like and get away with it, and I can let myself be as girly as I like and nobody is going to think it odd.

"Anyway, I need to head back to base and bring this video to an end. I'm due back in class in ten minutes so need to get a move on. I'll have to see how well this new schedule works out, as I have very little time for recording. I certainly don't have hours I can spend playing off camera getting ready to record like I normally do, so I may end up doing a lot of videos like this where I'm just pottering about talking. I'm probably not going to be able to do any collabs either, as scheduling will be a nightmare. I did get to participate in the new series of Ultra Hard Core. It was filmed in one session last Saturday and episodes of that will be released over the next three weeks, I think the first one is due out on Friday. I also have a challenge map recorded with Tango and Viking that we will upload after UHC has finished airing. I have plenty of pre-recorded episodes to keep my channel going for the next month or two, so you will have plenty to watch.

"So, from the Moonlight server, this is Jenny wishing you all a good night, and don't let the bed bugs bite!"

~o~O~o~

Susan was suspicious. It was nearly lunch time on Friday and she had yet to hear anything from her Aunt and Uncle. When they had stormed out the night before with the impression that their son was in Taunton, she expected them to come back either that evening, or first thing in the morning.

With her phone confiscated, she couldn't contact Emily to warn her of the situation. She had rectified that first thing this morning by sending an email using the school computers. She had warned Emily that her parents were back and on the warpath, but not to worry as the situation was under control. Susan didn't feel in control. In fact she was concerned that something may be happening.

Half an hour before, Tim had been called to the office. She had also seen David walk past her classroom door a few minutes later. She didn't think it coincidence that the two people Jason regarded as friends were called to the office in such a short time span.

It was no surprise when the school secretary came to the classroom door, and requested that Susan accompany her to the office. Collecting her things, she packed her bag and started to follow the older women to the front of the school.

Entering the headmaster’s office as instructed she found four people waiting for her. Sat round a small coffee table were a female police officer and her uncle. The headmaster was sat at his desk and her mother was sat off to one side, presumably to act as witness but not taking part in the conversation.

"Susan, I'm PC Clarkson," the police officer introduced herself. "I'm sure you know why you have been called here."

"Yes, my aunt and uncle have forgotten to which school they have sent my cousin, and I'm guessing they haven't remembered yet. I'm surprised Aunt Marilyn isn't here actually."

"Your aunt is waiting at home manning the phone in case Jason calls home," her uncle answered.

"Why would you be expecting a phone call during school hours? It is technically possible to phone at morning break or lunch, but it’s not really practical for holding a long conversation as there isn't time," Susan asked.

Arnold was about to speak, but the officer signalled him to remain quiet.

"Susan, Jason is now classified as a missing person. I am trying to ascertain what has happened to him, and you seem to be the only person to know his whereabouts. If you know where he is, now is the time to start explaining what is going on. If you refuse to co-operate then I may have to charge you for obstruction of justice. Where is he?"

Susan checked her watch, it was nearly noon, "At this precise moment I believe he is in Mr Jennings' Science class."

"Which school?"

"The one he," Susan pointed to her uncle," signed the paperwork for."

"I have the supposed confirmation letter from the school here," the officer stated, "I have reason to believe it is fake. The logo appears to have been altered, and the return address is missing. Also, this is not the logo for St. Mary's."

Susan looked at the paperwork. Being familiar with the logos of both the schools in question, she could easily see how the letter had been changed.

"Actually, I've seen the original. That is the correct logo, but some parts of it have been redacted, along with the address, as you mentioned. You will note that this is a general circular letter that all parents and guardians receive, reminding them of the term dates. There is actually another letter that would have addressed acceptance in more detail."

"We have spoken to your previous school and the Local Education Authority. According to them, Jason is being home schooled," the officer stated.

"Did Uncle Arnold not explain that? When it was originally decided that the situation at his previous school had become unreasonable, they signed the paperwork to remove him from school while they worked out where they transfer him too. My uncle wasn't keen on the idea of having to find a new school, so left it up to Jason to do the leg work researching his own schooling. However, Jason's preferred option was rejected, and instead it was decided to send him to St. Mary's. The application was made and accepted. I guess there has been a delay in getting the paperwork up to date with the L.E.A."

"This is where we have a problem with what you are telling us. Jason is not at St. Mary's."

"You think I'm lying? How do you know he is not at St. Mary's? Have you considered that he might not be registered under the same name? Simply asking the school might not be enough to find him."

"Do I take it from that he is using another name? After speaking to your previous school, we travelled to St. Mary's and spoke to them. We took photos with us, to make sure. None of the students or teachers had seen him. We also did the same at the Taunton International School."

Susan chuckled. "Now it is my turn to have a problem with what I'm being told. It is not physically possible for you have to been to all three schools this morning. The earliest you could have spoken to anybody in Westbury is eight o'clock this morning when the school first opened its doors. Assuming you were only there for a few minutes, even if your squad car is a Bugatti Veyron, I don't think you can make a four hundred mile round trip in the space of a little over three and three quarter hours. The journey takes at least four hours by car, one way, and I happen to know that there is major road works en-route. That doesn't even take into account taking a detour to Taunton for the school you mentioned there, which would be in the opposite direction and add at least another two hours."

Silence filled the room as Susan's declaration sank in.

"Looking at Google," the headmaster stated, having called the site up on his computer, "There are quite a lot St Mary's around the country. Ignoring schools that obviously cater for the lower ages only, I'm seeing possible candidates in Cambridge, Ascot, Hampstead, Chesthunt in Hertfordshire, one in North East Derbyshire, Colchester in Essex, Wymondham in Norfolk, Croydon, Maidenhead, Hull, somewhere in Lancashire and the list goes on. There are plenty more. We can obviously ignore the Girl's schools and concentrate on the co-ed and Boy's schools, but even then, there are a lot to choose from. Mary is probably the most popular saint to name things after."

"It is a bit confusing, isn't it," Susan declared, "With so many schools with similar names; I can see how easy it is to get them in a muddle. Especially if the brochures and forms get mixed up and you don't read the paperwork properly before signing it, something Uncle Arnold has done on many occasions. Really, you should have learned to read things properly by now. Is the deed poll changing your name to Mickey Mouse still up on the wall at work?"

Susan grinned at her uncle before adding, "Jason filled the forms in and placed them on Uncle Arnold’s desk to be signed, which he did. Jason didn't need to forge any signatures; he simply put the form alongside the brochure for the St Mary's in Taunton, with the form opened to the right place to be signed. As far as the school is concerned, Jason is attending with full parental permission. It might take you a while, but you now have enough information to find him without further help from me. However, I would be perfectly happy to tell you exactly which school, but before I do that I want to know what you plan on doing with the information."

"Our primary concern is Jason's safe return home. It may be he can continue at this school, if it can be ascertained that his placement is genuine and his parents agree," the constable declared.

"It can't be genuine, Jason can't afford to pay the school fees for a start," Arnold stated.

"That is complete bullshit," Susan replied, her swearing shocking the adults. "Look, I'm not going to deny it was a struggle to raise the funds, and it’s not one hundred percent certain if the fees for next term can be met, but Jason isn't as poor as being made out. He is independently wealthy and not financially dependent on his parents. Unfortunately he isn't old enough for legal emancipation by the courts; otherwise the application would have already been made. Also, I have serious concerns of Jason's safety. I don't think his parents would directly attempt to harm him, but he is already exhibiting all the signs of clinical depression, and if that buffoon storms into the place causing a scene, then we could easily have a suicide on our hands. At least at the moment Jason is never alone, and while not an official suicide watch, it’s unlikely he would be able to make an attempt without being noticed. Uncle Arnold, have you told the police why Jason has reason to run away? If you know anything about your only child, it would be easy to work out which school in the correct one."

"That is no way to talk about your uncle," Molly called over to her daughter. She could see her brother-in-law getting annoyed, and although Susan was in some ways correct, it was still rude on her part.

"I simply want my son back, safely, and hopefully without massive debts from whatever stunt he's pulling."

PC Clarkson then suggested, "Susan, you obviously know how to contact Jason. Can we at least establish he is safe and well be getting him to contact us. Perhaps, if we can speak to him, then we can persuade him to come home."

Susan looked at her watch again, "Jason's timetable is slightly different to this school. His lunch period will start at 12:40. If I email him now, it might be possible for him to phone, of even video conference, before he heads to the canteen. The boarders usually dump their books back in their lodgings before heading for lunch, and Jason is in the habit of checking for messages. I'll need an internet connection to access my web mail."

The headmaster offered the use of his computer. Susan went to his desk and called up her Gmail account. She quickly penned a note to Jason, including the phone number the head gave her.

Subject: Proof of life required.
Hi Jason,
I'm in my headmaster’s office with a police constable and your father. They would like proof that you are safe and well. If you get this before lunch, can you phone us immediately on the number below? It is direct dial through to us.
Thanks.
Love Susan.

The police officer noted down the email addresses in use, and then stepped out of the office to make a call to the station while they waited for the message to be received. Susan asked to be excused, and was told she could use the disabled bathroom opposite the office, usually reserved for specific students. The adults suspected she may try to contact Jason by other means, so made her leave her schoolbag behind, in case she had a second phone.

Susan did have a backup pay as you go phone in her locker, but didn't bother to sneak away to use it. She knew she didn't need too. Simply by using the name Jason, she was indicating that the communication wasn't secure. The fact the adults had let her explain the situation in her note was an added bonus.

The five people reconvened in the office to wait to see if there would be a call. All eyes were on the clock. Susan explained that it may take a couple of minutes for Jason to get back to the room and respond to the message. If they didn't get a call before ten to one, then chances are he would have gone straight to lunch and may not pick up the message for another half an hour.

At exactly 12:42, the phone started to ring. The head had a special phone designed for sitting in the middle of a table for use at teleconferences. The device didn't have a handset, and instead was a large circular device with a speaker in the top and several direction microphones.

Susan pressed the button to answer the call, and said, "Hello".

"Hello, please may I speak to Susan Bishop, this is her cousin, I had a message to call her on this number," came a familiar voice from the other end. Susan noted that he didn't say his name. She realised that might mean he was worried about being overheard at his end.

"Hi Jason, this is Susan. I'm here with a PC Clarkson and your father. They want to speak to you."

"Hi, I've only got a few minutes before I need to be in the canteen, so I probably can't answer many questions."

"Hi Jason," Arnold stated.

"Hi Dad, I guess you haven't completely disowned me yet, so I might be able to come home for half term. Has Susan told you where I am yet?"

"Jason, this is Constable Clarkson with the Wiltshire Police. Susan tells us you are a four hour drive away at one of the many schools called, St. Mary's. Are you willing to tell us which one?"

"I'm willing to tell you where I am. Dad, I'll tell you if you promise not to go ballistic, and more importantly, not jump in your car and insist you drive straight over here to collect me. If not, then I'm not saying anything further until Susan confirms that you are out of the room. The national newspapers are already camping outside the school gates due to one of the other students. If you cause a scene, it will be on the front of the tabloid newspapers come the morning. I suggest you take my request seriously. I know how much Mum hates making a fuss."

"Ok, I promise to discuss things before doing anything rash. Besides which I don't fancy an eight hour round trip. I didn't get much sleep last night, wondering where you were."

There was a pause while everyone waited for the response from the other end of the line.

"I'm at St. Mary's Academy in Windham. Please don't try to contact the school, as I'm here under a different name, and they don't know about my deception. I'll phone home tonight at nine to talk further, but I have to go now. Susan, full disclosure if needed."

~o~O~o~

Emily hung up the phone and was then laying it down on her desk when the door to her room swung open, catching her by surprise.

"I apologise for failing to knock," Mrs Jackson stated as she entered the room, closing the door behind her, "I was just on my way to see you and the door was ajar. I couldn't help but overhear the end of your conversation; specifically school and deception."

"Oh, shit," Emily quietly swore to herself before taking a deep breath. "Well, I guess the gig is up anyway now the police have become involved. I tricked my parents into signing the applications forms for me coming here. For the past week they think I've been staying with my Aunt and attending St. Mary's in Taunton. My father has been away on business, and coincidentally, my mother has been away looking after a sick relative. She arranged for me to stay with my Aunt; however my cousin intercepted the message, so my Aunt didn't know I should have been staying there. They only worked out I was missing yesterday evening when I didn't come home from school. I was talking to my father and a police officer after my cousin emailed asking me to phone."

Mrs Jackson stood in shock, "You are here without your parents knowing? How in hell did you manage that?"

"Easy," Emily replied, "I wrote to Mrs Rogers and asked if I could be a student here. When it looked likely that I would be allowed to come here, I filled the application forms in myself and then left them for my father to sign. He never reads things properly. I think he may be slight dyslexic, but he would never accept that as he doesn't think the condition exists. He believes it’s just a label given to thick people to make them feel better. Once I had the paperwork in place, the rest was easy. I'm paying for my place here out of my YouTube earnings. My parents are vaguely aware I post clips on the internet, but they have no Idea I'm making money from it. They watched some of my original videos before my channel took off, decided it was fairly harmless and haven't bothered since."

"I think we need to speak with Mrs Rogers," the teacher stated.

"Sure, but could I go have lunch first? I suspect this will take a while, and I'm starving."

"Um sure," Mr Jackson stated, slightly dazed by the weight of the situation. Emily walked past the teacher and out the door, apparently unfazed by the encounter. It wasn't until she was alone in the corridor that the adrenaline spike subsided and she had to lean against the wall for a moment as her knees went weak.

"Are you ok," Wendy asked, as she came out of her own room further down the corridor and spotted her friend.

"Armageddon has begun, both ends," was the coded reply.

Wendy nodded, "So what happens now?"

"We go eat," Emily replied, grabbing her friends arm and pulling her in the direction of the canteen.

~o~O~o~

Anna was already sat at a table by herself when her roommate and Wendy joined her. She had watched the two girls enter and had seen the worried glances as Mrs Jackson had followed them into the canteen and whispered something into Mrs Rogers’s ear. The headmistress had immediately left the room with the teacher. Both of the adults had returned shortly afterwards, Mrs Rogers returning to her lunch, and Mrs Jackson heading for the back of the serving queue.

"What's going on?" Anna whispered to the other two, "Has somebody stumbled onto information they shouldn't?"

"Sort of, but not the secret you are thinking of," Emily whispered back. "Mrs Jackson has just found out I lied on my application to come here. I may be about to be expelled. I'll explain later."

Any further discussion on the subject was cut short as Jessica and Abby joined the table.

~o~O~o~

As soon as Emily hung up, the phone started ringing a second time. PC Clarkson pressed the answer button, stating her name.

"Was that the call you were after?" The caller asked.

"Yes"

"Okay, the trace back on the number indicates it came from a call centre owned my Microsoft."

"Skype to landline," Susan stated.

"Okay, thanks for trying," PC Clarkson stated, "We think we have the location we need anyway."

After the police officer hung up the call, the headmaster interjected, "I've just been trying to find Windham on Bing maps, the only place I can find is somewhere in America."

"You had the school website in the list you read out earlier," Susan declared. "Windham isn't spelt as you might imagine. Its w-y-m-o-n-d-h-a-m and its south of Norwich on the A11. The boarding school isn't in the town itself, but slightly to the North."

"That can't be the right school," the police officer stated looking over the headmasters shoulder at the screen having walked round behind him.

"What is the problem?" Arnold asked, unable to see the screen from his seat.

"What did you actually bother to tell the police? You obviously didn't mention Jason's gender issues," Susan asked her uncle before turning to the people looking at the computer. "Yes, that is definitely the school where she has been for the past week. St. Mary's Academy for Girls, Barnham Broom Road, Wymondham, Norfolk."

"Jason is at a Girls' school?" Arnold asked in surprise, a slight edge of anger creeping into his voice.

"Yes, and if you hadn't banned her from talking about her feminine side, after the shrink suggested it; and also banned her from further discussion on where she was going to school after you rejected her initial suggestions out of hand and told her she was going to other St Mary's, she might have talked to you about it. Well, she's done what you told her to do, she's gone to St. Mary's, just not the one you wanted her to go to," Susan let rip into her uncle.

"Let's calm down," PC Clarkson intervened, "now, Mr Bridges, exactly what is the medical status of your child. Are we dealing with an individual who is transgender, or intersexed?"

"Neither," he replied through gritted teeth. "There is no medical issue with my son. I don't know what ridiculous flight of fancy he has decided to go on this time."

"Oh get real," Molly interrupted. "Just because you won't accept Jason has issues, doesn't mean that they don't exist. He's always been on the effeminate side. The reason you had to swap his school in the first place was due to bullying related to his sexuality. It became apparent to the other students that Jason had a crush on another male, and this unfortunately led to some harassment."

"My son is not gay; he's simply shy and get's tongue tied at inopportune moments. The whole thing was blown out of proportion. If he's gay, how come he’s been dating your next door neighbour’s daughter for the past few months?"

"Wendy Spencer?" Molly asked in surprise. "I didn't think Audrey allowed her daughter to date. She seems to keep her on a tight leash. I'm guessing they probably didn't go out much and spent most of the time at my place."

Susan started laughing, attracting the attention of the others, "Mrs Spencer has never met Jason as such, at least never as a boy. She thinks Jason, or more accurately, Emily, is a girl, and therefore there is no problem with her being around Wendy. The three of us have hung out together both at our house and theirs without it ever being an issue. In fact Mum, you’ve almost seen Jason en femme on several occasions. Emily tends to dress neutrally when there is a chance you are around, usually just covering her wig with a baseball cap. Although since letting her hair grow out, she hasn't needed to use the wigs as often."

"I thought you said you provided us with an up to date picture," PC Clarkson stated.

"It was taken last week," Arnold replied.

Susan glanced at the photo on top of the officers file. It showed Jason sat on a garden swing reading a book on a tablet. "Oh, that is such a cute shot of Emily. I assume she didn't know you were there. It’s a pity she's wearing her wig, she looks much better when she lets her hair down."

"Wig?" Arnold asked.

"She's been growing her hair out in anticipating going back to school, have you not noticed she has been hiding her head whenever possible. Silly question, of course you didn't," Susan stated. "I can call some photo's up on the internet taken Monday lunch time if you want to see a comparison."

Having been offered the control of the computer, Susan called up her email and opened the private gallery link she had been sent from John's wife. Susan had looked over the photos and chosen which ones to tweet on Emily's behalf. Scrolling through the gallery, she came to the shot showing John Larking and Emily on Liverpool Street station, clicking on it to make it full screen.

"Well, if it wasn’t for the spot on the left cheek, and small scar above the right eyebrow, I would think these are shots of two different people," the police officer remarked, "I assume this was taken on the way to school as she is wearing the same uniform as the students on the St. Mary's website. That looks like Liverpool Street station in the background."

Susan nodded.

"Wait, I know that man," Arnold stated, "He's the auditor we have visit us at work."

"I doubt he will be back doing much auditing this year. He went full time as a YouTuber six months ago," Susan stated. "He was there doing a promotional stunt for Rampaging Squirrels. The game went live on Steam on Wednesday."

"Isn't that the game I keep having to drag you away from," Molly asked her daughter. "If it’s only just gone live, how come you've been playing it for weeks?"

"Jason’s been glued to it as well," Arnold stated. "He explained the concept to me last week. Can't see the appeal myself, but then I can't see why Angry Birds was a success either."

"I have early access due to being a beta tester," Susan admitted, "Wendy is as well. It’s one of the perks of being related to one of the developers. If this thing sells as well as everyone predicts, then Emily won't have to worry about the rest of her school fees, and can possibly take herself through university as well."

Having heard about the game, and who was producing it, the headmaster made the missing connection. He immediately called up YouTube and went to his subscriptions. Hitting the last posted video the sound of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata 3rd Movement played on electric guitar filled the room followed by a voice saying, "Good evening, Moonlighters, Generation2K here again. Welcome to another episode on the Moonlight server. I know most of you were expecting another pre-recorded episode of Theme Hospital. That will now be tomorrow."

"Is that who I think it is?" PC Clarkson asked. "I somehow doubt there is more than one transsexual boarding school student starting at a new school this week. Does this mean the school is fully aware of her being male? I was going to ask earlier, but got sidetracked."

"Yes and yes," Susan replied.

"That can't be Jason, it sounds nothing like him," Arnold stated with annoyance. "You all heard him on the phone earlier. That is not the same person."

Susan quickly explained the voice modulation software used for the recordings to disguise the voice.

"I think I have enough information here," the police officer declared, "Mr Bridges, I will drop you back off at home, where you can discuss this turn of events with your wife. I suggest you might want to watch some more of these videos, they may prove insightful. Afterwards I will return to station and phone the school to verify that your child is present."

"Only speak with the Headmistress, Mrs Rogers, or Mrs Milligan, her secretary," Susan instructed, "None of the other office staff know about Emily's dual Identity. It’s being kept on a very strict need to know basis."

After thanking the headmaster for his time, and the use of his office, PC Clarkson led Arnold out of the school. Molly informed her daughter that she would deal with her after school, allowing Emily to catch the tail end of her lunch break before having to return to afternoon lessons.

Playing her way - Chapter 5

© D.L.

Emily, Anna and Wendy had found a shady spot under a tree away from other students. They had a short time before they had to split up to go to various lunch time clubs and activities. Wendy was part of the debating society and Anna was due for a private Violin lesson. Emily would also be heading to the music department, but for a recording session. After explaining her deception to Anna, and filling Wendy in on the latest developments she wasn't sure she was in the mood for recording any videos.

Emily often used recording as stress relief, venting her frustrations out to whoever was willing to listen. She decided she wasn't ready to talk about her feelings this time.

After locking the door and firing up her laptop, she logged into the Moonlight server twice, once with her normal account, and secondly with her camera account. She checked to see if anybody else was online, but she was the only person present on the server. She went to her storage room and geared up while waiting for the virtual sunset.

"Good evening, Moonlighters, Generation2K here again with another episode from the Moonlight server," Emily spoke clearly and calmly into her microphone as the moon rose behind her digital representation. "I'm feeling a bit worn down today, and I'm not in a talkative mood, especially since what is bothering me isn't something I can share with you as it involves school. Normally, I wouldn't bother recording when I'm feeling like this, but as I have limited time, it would seem a waste not to record when I have the opportunity.

"So I was wondering what I could do, and then I remembered the obscene amount of TNT I had in storage. I wanted to make a moat around my castle, and now seems a good time. I have the basic foundations in place, and a few buildings, so I now know how much room I need. As my outer walls are only partially complete, I figure I can blow stuff up without needing to worry about stray blasts. I'll place some water down to protect key areas first, and then I'll start blasting away.

"I should stress, this isn't going to be a small moat. I'm thinking all the way down to bedrock and just as wide, so at least 60 meters deep, and possibly as wide as 100 meters. All the stone I blow up will come in handy for the walls, and I don't need to worry how much gets destroyed, because the will be plenty left over."

After quickly running round to blast proof certain parts of the area, she put her camera account in the sky to catch the view and started to record a montage of stuff blowing up on a large scale. She didn't dare do too much in one go, as the server may crash; she was pushing it to the limit with lag spikes. After each blast she ran round collecting all the stone and mineral drops before they reached the five minute counter and despawned, to be lost forever.

She did one final sweep round the base for dropped items before finishing recording. She still had more work to do, and would need to record an outro, but that would have to wait until the next day. She could potentially film some more silent montage footage in her room later if she wanted.

Shutting down her laptop and placing it in her bag, she switched the do not disturb light off, and exited the room.

Mrs Rogers was sat opposite the door waiting for her to emerge. The headmistress was uneasy about the situation, fearing that the girl may try to harm herself. This was one of the few times the student would be alone and have ample opportunity if she was so way inclined. Mrs Rogers was relieved when the light went off and the door opened.

"Emily, a productive session I hope?" the headmistress enquired, to which Emily nodded.

"I've just been having a nice conversation with a PC Clarkson. I'm sure you can guess what it is about. I need you to accompany me to my office; you have been excused from netball practice this afternoon."

"Yes, I have been expecting this since the first day of school. Please may we call at my room first; I would like to pick up some paperwork that may be required."

Emily followed the headmistress out of the room.

~o~O~o~

Mrs Rogers looked at the girl sat opposite her. Even knowing from the start that the person in front of her was male, it was difficult for her to see anything other than a young girl. As much as she wanted to find reason to expel Emily for her behaviour, she had to admit that technically, nothing the girl had ever said had been incorrect. Despite all the deception, the girl had made sure to never actually outright lie.

The headmistress looked over the paperwork spread on her desk. Right from the start Emily had been the primary contact person for the school. She had been in the unfortunate position before where the only contact with the parents was to sign the cheque, the child simply being dumped on the school as a convenience while the parents indulged in a playboy lifestyle. On several occasions, the schools initial contact had been through a nanny or agency, rather than directly with the guardian.

It was therefore not completely surprising when Emily did the initial approach asking for a position. Considering the child was independently wealthy, Mrs Rogers could understand a certain degree of emancipation being present. When the contracts came through from John Larking, she had unwittingly fallen into the trap of believing he was acting on behalf of the parents. Rereading the letters, it was clear his sole concern was with Emily, and not for her family.

The school had not blindly accepted the application. Mrs Milligan had wrote to the psychiatrist who had given the initial diagnoses, and had been able to confirm that Emily had indeed been a patient, and the letter stating an initial diagnosis of gender dysphoria with a recommendation of further study, was in fact genuine. The doctor had pointed out that the family were not satisfied with the diagnosis, so sessions had ceased a couple of months before.

As the school would be entering a legal contract with G2K Limited, they had done due diligence on checking out the company in question. Credit checks had been run, and a copy of the last annual report and accounts were obtained from Companies House. The company registration all checked out. The address matched the official government records, as did the names of the directors. The contract involving a percentage of the new game's revenue, and of the cut of advertising revenue for recordings made during school time, was thoroughly investigated by the schools lawyers. Several of the governors had also independently had the contract examined by their own lawyers.

That left the correspondence between the school and Mr and Mrs Bridges. This is where the authenticity fell to pieces.

Emily had exploited her parents mercilessly, and had video evidence of it being done. For every letter that was sent to the school, she had a video of the document being signed.

Mrs Rogers wasn't sure what equipment Emily had been using, but it must have been high specification. In each case a hi-definition video was available, giving enough detail for it to be clear what was being signed in each case. From the angles involved, it appeared the camera had been hidden on a high shelf in the father’s home office.

The first clip was of the application form being signed.

"I will not listen to anymore of the nonsense," Arnold's voice could be heard off-camera. The anger showing through in the tone of voice, "You will go to St. Mary's, and that is final. I refuse to discuss this anymore."

"Fine," Emily stated abruptly, walking into shot, "In that case sign the application form and send it off. It’s already filled in; it just needs your signature."

Mrs Rogers could barely recognise the child in the video. Gone were the long flowing locks of hair. Instead the child had short hair, several shades darker in colour. The figure was also dressed in jeans and a corduroy shirt. The slumped posture was stereotypical of a teenage boy, although technically Emily was not quite a teenager at the time.

The boy in the video opened a desk draw and pulled it out a folder. He turned it in such a way as to have the cover pass square on to the camera for a brief moment before holding it in the air for the father to see, who could now be seen entering the shot. The folder was clearly for St Mary's of Taunton.

Placing the folder on the desk, the child opened it and thumbed through the paperwork, pulling out the form and a pre-addressed envelope. The front of the form was only in shot for a few frames, but by pausing the video it was clear to see the layout matched that of St. Mary's in Norfolk. The girl's school logo clearly visible in the top left. The form was immediately turned to the page where the large signature box required attention.

The father then signed the document without even giving it more that a cursory glance to make sure the signature was in the right place.

Jason then folded the paperwork, keeping it face down so as not to be identifiable as the wrong form, and placed it into the envelope before sealing it.

Two other clips had been provided. In each case it was documents being signed. Mr Bridges would sit at his desk and then take all the paperwork out from a tray on his desk. Each document would be covered in post-it notes. It was clear that the person wasn't looking at the documents themselves, but merely reading the note on the post-it. After discarding the post it, each document would be flicked through to where a smaller post it note with an arrow on was stuck. A signature would be added at the location where the arrow was pointed, and the post-it removed and discarded.

Most of the documents seemed to be invoices and purchase orders, with a few letters and reports mixed in. In amongst the piles were the letters sent to the school. Again, the letters were signed without being read.

Once signed, the documents all went into a briefcase, presumably for taking into the man's place of work.

Mrs Rogers gathered the page in front of her into a neat pile and looked across at the girl patiently waiting to hear her fate.

"I think it is time to call your parents," the headmistress stated. Using the phone on her desk as a speakerphone, she dialled the number.

"Hello, Marilyn speaking," the voice came from the other end.

"Good afternoon, I'm calling about your missing child, who is sat here with me. My name is Mrs Rogers and I'm the headmistress of St. Mary's Academy in Norfolk."

"Hold on a moment, I will just fetch my husband."

There was a brief pause while Marilyn went to get her husband. A distant voice could be heard saying he would pick up the second phone in the bedroom. A click could be heard and Mr Bridges voice came on the line saying, "Hello. The police said that you were going to call".

"Good afternoon Mr Bridges. We need to discuss what happens next."

"As you are aware, we are quite a distance away. While it would be possible to come and collect Jason this evening if required, I would rather not start an eight hour round trip this late in the afternoon. If it is not too much trouble, I would like to leave that journey to tomorrow."

"Mr Bridges, I have absolutely no problem with your child staying here another night. In fact, I am perfectly happy for your child to remain here to the end of term and beyond if that is your wish. I would have to ask you to sign a fresh set of applications forms if that was the case, as the authenticity of the original set is in question. However, if you could make it to the school, it would certainly be useful to meet in person."

"Looking at the sat-nav, it should take us about four to four and a half hours to drive there. I note there are road works on the A11 where they are dualling a section. I don't know how much that would delay things."

"It may delay you by half an hour or so. I assume you have our address?"

"Barnham Broom Road? We got the address from your website."

"That is correct. I take it you are aware that this is a girl's school and we therefore don't normally allow boys to attend."

"I guess it must have been a shock to discover one of your students was actually a boy disguising himself as a girl," Marilyn stated. "I can understand how awkward that must be for you. Has he behaved himself in that regard, or are we facing further issues."

"Mrs Bridges, one thing that was never lied about was the physical gender of your child. We knew she was male from the very first enquiry. The board discussed the issue, and it was decided that transgender students could attend, as long as they presented themselves as female. Your daughter's presence has already been accounted for, and isn't an issue for us. I deliberately use the feminine pronouns, as your child is attending this school as a girl, and so far, nobody has voiced any suspicion that she isn't anything other than a normal girl."

There was a notable silence from the other end. Mrs Rogers continued, "I would like to ask one favour of you both. When you come here tomorrow, I would like to ask you not to reveal that your child is male. We have been keeping your child's gender on a need to know basis, and while we always knew it was possible the secret would be revealed, we would prefer not to have to deal with that particular issue if possible, especially if you plan on taking the child with you when you leave."

"I think we can manage to call her Jennifer instead of Jason," Arnold stated reluctantly, "it will be difficult, but we can understand how you wouldn't want a public scene."

"Dad, my name is Emily. I assume Susan has pointed you at my YouTube channel. I use a different name online."

"Oh, we assumed that you had adopted Jenny as your name," her mother said. "Are you using your real surname?"

"I take it the deed poll changing your child's name from Jason Edward Bridges to Emily Jennifer Bridges is also fake," the headmistress enquired.

"I think I better look at all the paperwork you have tomorrow," Marilyn stated in an annoyed tone, "my husband seems to have a habit of signing things without reading them first."

Emily smirked to herself. For the most part her father was the head of the household, but on occasion her mother would put her foot down and could be a force to be reckoned with. Her father had indeed signed that as well, although the only people to receive a copy of the documentation was the school, so technically it wasn't an official name change, simply an alias.

"What time do you expect to arrive?" Mrs Rogers asked. "If it is of any help, one of our teachers has offered a guest room that you can use for the night if you wish to stay overnight. That would give us plenty of time to talk and go over what has happened, and how to sort out the mess that Emily has made for herself."

"Yes, that would be handy," Arnold replied, "I guess we will aim to arrive around 2pm."

"In that case I will make the arrangements and look forward to seeing you tomorrow. When you arrive, give your names to the person on the gate, and they will direct you to the right place. Again, please remember to call your child Emily and use feminine pronouns while you are here."

After final farewells, the phone call ended.

"You're not throwing me out of school?" Emily asked.

"No, but you may wish I had," the headmistress answered. "I would only use exclusion as a last resort, especially as there is a financial benefit for the school to have you here. Instead I'm sure I can find a way of punishing you. We have slightly more flexibility than a normal school in when and how we can issue detentions. You may be finding your amount of free time in the evenings and weekends restricted more than normal for a few weeks. Now, your fellow students are already outside playing netball. I don't think it is worth the disruption for you to join them halfway through a match, so I think we should find you an alternative activity for the remainder of the afternoon. The builders have left a large amount of brick dust all over the place. I think you can start by cleaning and polishing the silverware out in reception."

The school had several large display cabinets housing various trophies and award plaques earned by the students. Emily was set to work making them shine. Emily wasn't going to complain. She knew she was going to be in trouble from the start and was therefore willing to pay the price if it meant she could remain at the school. At least Mrs Rogers seemed to be happy to let her stay, if her parents would let her.

~o~O~o~

"In one hundred yards, turn right," the electronic voice called out. "Turn Right."

The silver Ford Focus slowed down to check for oncoming traffic, before crossing and heading down the small country lane heading out of Wymondham. The houses on the edge of town disappearing out of sight as the vehicle proceeded down the field lined road.

"In three hundred yards, you have reached your destination," the sat-nav declared. "You have reached your destination."

Marilyn switched the device off. They had looked at Google street map before leaving, and knew the gates to the school were round the next bend.

The large metal gates were set back from the road. Arnold turned onto the private road and came to a stop. A security guard was sat in the small hut erected at the entrance. Arnold opened the driver’s side window and spoke to the guard, "Mr and Mrs Bridges, Mrs Rogers is expecting us."

The guard glanced at his clipboard, "Certainly, please follow the signs for reception and use the visitor spaces near the entrance. It’s straight ahead."

The guard pressed a button and the large gates rolled to the side. Once out of the way, Arnold put the car back into gear and proceeded to drive up the road leading to the school.

The school grounds were surrounded by a tall brick wall. The school was not visible from the entrance. As the car travelled up the tree lined road, it emerged from the wooded area to reveal what was once a large stately home. The group of buildings was a mixture of old and new. While some where centuries old, others were obviously new. A small section of one of the buildings was currently in the process of being repaired. A small area had been sectioned off with temporary fencing. A group of people in business suits and hard hats were busy discussing things as they passed.

Mr Bridges spotted the visitors spaces near the door. Coming to a halt, he reversed the car into a space. He climbed out of the car and stretched his legs. A tall thin man in a business suit approached them, as Marilyn walked round the car to join her husband.

"Mr and Mrs Bridges?" the man asked, "Good afternoon, I'm Stuart Jennings; I'm your daughters Science teacher. Mrs Rogers sends her apologies, but she has been tied up with insurance Assessors’. You may have passed them on your way up the drive. We had a minor accident here last week, a car managed to hit a wall."

"I saw that in the news while reading up about the school," Marilyn stated after introducing herself and her husband, "it said one of the students had been injured."

"Julia, unfortunately: she was released from hospital a few days ago. The injuries were not as bad as first suspected. Only one leg was broken, the other only being bruised. She is back in lessons, but taking things easy. We have a registered nurse living on site. Can I offer you some refreshments after your journey?"

"That would be nice, thank you" Arnold stated.

Mr Jennings led them through the main entrance and down a corridor and into a large room filled with chairs and tables. A number of the tables were occupied by girls playing chess. They were mainly dressed in jeans and t-shirts, although a couple of the girls were in skirts. None of them were in uniform. The teacher led the pair to a counter where cups, saucers, and glasses were stacked. Boxes of tea and jars of coffee stood alongside an instant hot water tap. A glass doored fridge stood next to the counter containing milk and fruit juice. They had to wait while a number of girls dressed in sports kits helped themselves to bottles of cold water.

"This is the main canteen", Mr Jennings explained. "The girls can come here for snacks and refreshments outside of meal times. At the weekend we don't have a set timetable. The girls who just left are all on the hockey team, so I suspect they are heading off to practice. The group over there are the chess club. I'm not entirely sure where your daughter is at the moment; I think her friends were trying to keep her distracted, I'm sure they will make an appearance eventually."

The bridges helped themselves to tea and joined Mr Jennings at one of the tables.

"I understand this is your first visit to the school. I don't believe you were able to make it when Emily and her cousin Susan visited us last term."

At the puzzled looks, Mr Jennings continued, "We didn't think you knew about that. They came to stay for a couple nights during half term as a guest of an existing student. I don't think Mrs Bishop was aware either. They were brought by Mr Spencer, whose daughter invited them."

"Susan's birthday present," Marilyn stated, "She asked to go to a concert in Thetford forest, not far from here. She asked if Jason could go with her."

Marilyn immediately blushed and looked nervous. Mr Jennings ignored the remark, "If you would like a tour of our facilities while you are here, then that can be arranged."

As they drunk there tea, Mr Jennings gave them an overview of the school. Afterwards they made use of facilities to freshen up. When they emerged from the bathrooms, they found Mr Jennings speaking quietly with a short Asian looking girl, who unlike her fellow students, appeared to be dressed in uniform.

"Miss Kwon informs me that Mrs Rogers is ready to see you know," Mr Jennings explained, "she will take you to her offices."

The young girl curtsied, "Please follow me."

As they rounded a corner, they were stopped by a tall girl with a Russian accent, "Anna, have you - oh," the girl stopped mid sentence realising the girl was in uniform and not alone.

"I'm on official school business; I will come back when once I have finished escorting our visitors."

"My apologies," the taller girl said before retreating to let the others pass."

Anna grinned as she walked down the corridor, she loved it when her sister had to apologise to her.

~o~O~o~

"Go right in," Mrs Milligan called to Anna. The girl nodded and led the visitors into the office. Anna held the door open, as the two adults followed her in. Mrs Rogers stood up and came across to shake hands with her guests.

"One, no impact," Anna called out as she left and closed the door behind her.

After introductions and pleasantries the adults got down to business.

"Firstly, thank you for coming," Mrs Rogers stated, "and for trying not causing a scene."

"Is that what Miss Kwon was referring to," Marilyn blushed.

"There are seven people aware of your daughters physical gender, Mr Jennings is one. Anna, the girl you have just me is one of only two students that know, although there is one other who may be partially aware. Those in the know have been keeping an ear out, and as of yet there doesn't appear to be any rumours circulating. In fact I would go as far as saying that Emily has adapted to life here quicker than most of the other students boarding for the first time. Admittedly about half of the students her age have been here a number of years already.

"Emily has told me that you don't necessarily approve of her living as a girl. All I can say is that she has been here a week in close proximity to a number of girls, and has had no problems blending in. In fact I think I can say she has made at least four close friends since starting here, and seems to get on well with many more. Did Jason have a lot of friends before?"

"He used hang around a bit with David and Tim while at school," Marilyn stated, "but outside school he mainly hung around with his cousin Susan and her friends. We didn't know until speaking with Susan that he has been hanging with her and a neighbouring girl, Wendy, while being cross dressed."

"Wendy is the other girl here who knows about your daughters’ secret. She is a student here. I think it best if we go through all the documents I have one by one and try to figure out exactly what your child has been up to, and how we want to take it from there."

~o~O~o~

Emily was sat at the desk in her room. Her laptop was on, and she was playing on the Moonlight server, gathering more resources. She wasn't recording, but was ready to hit the record button should something unexpected happen. If needed, she would record the footage without her microphone on and add a voiceover later. She daren't record her voice in her room in case she was overheard.

Anna was lead on her bed watching Emily play, fascinated at the behind the scenes activity Emily put into her channel.

It was almost time to head down for supper, so Emily logged out of the server and closed the game down. She was about to close her computer when a school wide message popped up in the bottom of the screen. The school had its own private social media site where the students could message each other.

"Oh, shit," Anna exclaimed as Emily opened the message and clicked on the linked photo, "Svetlana has gone too far this time."

"You best go find her, I'll meet you in the canteen in a few minutes," Emily replied.

Playing her way - Conclusion

© D.L.

Mrs Rogers had just arrived in the canteen with Mr and Mrs Bridges, when Mrs Milligan came running across with an iPad in hand.

"That girl!" the headmistress exclaimed, "excuse me, it seems I have an issue to sort out."

"Where is she, I'll kill her!" shouted a very irate Julia, as she hobbled into the canteen as fast as her crutches could carry her.

"What's the matter Julian? Or should I be calling you Generation2K?" Svetlana answered from across the room, "Annoyed that your secret is out."

"I am NOT a boy," Julia raged as she tried to hop across the room swinging her crutch at the other girl.

"Funny, I don't know many girls who can pee standing up, and as a new student currently staying in the infirmary and excused from games, nobody has had opportunity to verify either way."

Svetlana had gone to the nurses’ office to buy some tampons. The nurse ran a small chemists chop from her office selling personal hygiene products so the girls didn't need to travel into the town. The nurse was out of the room when Svetlana walked in. Julia, unaware that the nurse had left, was making use of the toilet facilities in the infirmary. Given one of her legs was plastered, and the other hurting due to bruising, standing up and sitting down was proving awkward, especially in the confines of a small bathroom. The nurse had suggested that reaming in an upright position aided by a female urinary device may be more comfortable and convenient for urination. Julia was trying out the device, and hadn't shut the door fully. As she had her back to the door, she didn't see Svetlana photograph her with her phone.

"Svetty, darling," Berry interrupted in a condescending tone, "have you never tried peeing standing up, it’s very liberating, and very handy at gigs where the toilet facilities are lacking."

"I do it all the time when in costume," Jane added, who was currently living up to her nickname of CutieKitten by wearing a fake leopard skin skirt with a tail hanging out the back, and a pair of furry ears on her head, "When I'm in a full cat suit, it is often easier than trying to peel off enough clothes. I deliberately build in a suitable access when designing them."

"You should speak to the nurse, she stocks the necessary equipment," Berry added.

"What have you got against Jenny anyway?" Jane asked, "Are you just annoyed that you are no longer the richest girl here?"

"Svetlana isn't the richest anyway, even excluding Jenny if she was here," Anna stated, joining the conversation. Turning to Svetlana she added. "In fact, given that your father’s football club will be issuing a press statement in a few minutes declaring bankruptcy, you will be lucky if you can even afford to stay on beyond this term. He's going to have to sell a lot of assets to cover the debts and live as frugally as possible."

"What?" Svetlana screamed. "Well if I'm out of here, so are you, so you have no room to gloat. In fact, one of his assets is a big share holding in this school, so you may all be in trouble."

"Enough," Mrs Rogers shouted, causing the room to fall silent. "Firstly, Julia is not Generation2K. This is the second time this week you have accused a student of being transsexual. Any further wild accusations from anybody and they will be finding they will be the ones proving their femininity to the rest of the students. You might also want to think before you try and slander anybody else, as your father has enough issues without trying to fight off libel cases, and I know several students who have access to the right people and funds to be able to sue your family.

"Secondly, Mr Gurevich has already sold his stake in this establishment. We may have to tighten our purse strings slightly, as he was going to sponsor several school activities this year, but I already have an alternative revenue source secured, and the new shareholder is interesting in investing more money.

"Thirdly, I think you owe Miss Jones an apology for false accusations and invasion of her privacy."

Svetlana looked between Julia, who had calmed down but was still being restrained by a couple of friends, and the headmistress. She used the silence to weigh her options, as the other students waited for her response.

"This alternative revenue source; it wouldn't by chance be a profit sharing agreement with Generation2K for videos she makes while here? I concede I may have gotten the wrong people, but it is an awful big co-incidence that I found Julia in the bathroom. There is also the issue that several of the girls here are beta testers for Rampant Squirrels, or whatever it’s called, so must have close ties to Generation2K or one of the other server members.

"I have absolutely no problem proving that I'm female. I've tanned myself on nudist beaches many times and am willing to bare all. I challenge Emily and Julia to do the same. The photographic evidence against Julia, and the fact nobody who isn't on the school payroll can vouch for her, would seem rather compelling. Emily is a beta tester and therefore has close person ties to this conspiracy. Her only alibi is Anna, and we all know how easily she can be bought, plus Anna is a huge Generation2K fan and would probably be willing to share a room with him anyway."

"Stop right there," Mrs Rogers stated. "This nonsense has gone far enough!"

"Challenge accepted," Julia shouted.

"Fine, I'll do it as well," Emily stated reluctantly, "but only if it is just the three of us together with an independent witness to report back to everybody else, assuming we can find a person we can all agree on. I'm not willing to parade around naked in front of the whole school."

"This is completely unnecessary, and this school will not tolerate public nudity," Mrs Rogers tried to regain control of the situation. She could guess what Emily was planning to do to herself, if not already done, having discussed the possibility on the first day of school. However, the headmistress was not certain how well the stunt could be pulled off.

"You can't prevent us undressing in the privacy of our own rooms," Svetlana replied, "I like Emily's idea. I nominate Francine. She isn't a gaming fan, and is wealthy enough not to be bribed."

Nobody voiced any objections.

"Alright," Mrs Rogers conceded, "But I get to dictate the where and when. I want to speak to each of you individually first to make absolutely sure you are happy to do this and not being pressured into something you will regret later. Svetlana, Emily, Julia, Francine, please accompany me to my office."

The headmistress called Svetlana into her office first, while the other girls waited outside. She then proceeded to lecture the student for five minutes. Mrs Rogers made it clear that Svetlana was in serious trouble, and that she would be reporting her behaviour to her father, who had already stated that any further incidents would mean a loss of privileges. The only thing keeping her in school being that her father was too busy to collect her, and the likelihood would be that she wouldn't be coming back when term ended.

The headmistress then pulled Julia in to reprimand her for accepting the challenge after she had already told the girls not to take the matter further. She also pointed out to the girl, that her actions had effectively bullied Emily into having to also accept the challenge.

Sending Julia back outside, she then brought Emily into her office.

"What is your plan?" the headmistress asked. "Can you pass naked like you suggested? Do you need time to prepare?"

"I plan to expose myself, in all senses of the word," Emily replied. "I haven't had time to glue myself, and I don't intend too. I saw the look of annoyance on Dad's face when he came in. I won't be staying here anyway, so what does it matter?"

"On the contrary, I don't think that is certain. I have been working on them all afternoon, and I think I may yet persuade them to let you stay. Don't give up just yet."

"Okay, but I don't see a way out of this one. Just make sure I go first, before Julia, so she doesn't have to be embarrassed. I don’t want her suffering because of me."

"I'll have a word with Francine and see how best to approach this," the headmistress replied, "I think it best to pre-warn her. I have a feeling on how this might pan out, and it may be your favour."

Mrs Rogers sent Emily outside to wait, while she called the elder girl in to discuss her role.

~o~O~o~

The four girls where called by the headmistress into the nurses office. The Headmistress had gone in first to have a word with the nurse beforehand.

The two adults stood to one side to observe the proceedings from a distance.

"Right," Francine stated, "It is my understanding that I'm to arbitrate in this matter. Svetlana has questioned the gender of Emily and Julia. I am to examine all three girls, starting with Svetlana, to determine if they are indeed female."

Turning first to Svetlana, "I believe you, as challenger, have to first prove that you are indeed female, so my question is, just how far are you willing to prove yourself, bearing in mind, you can't ask either of the other girls to do something that you are not willing to do yourself. In other words, strip."

Svetlana kicked off her trainers, removed her blouse and jeans, unbuckled and discarded her bra, then removed her panties. She stood in full view of the other girls wearing nothing but a pair of short socks.

"You know, I'm not one hundred percent convinced yet," Francine pondered, "Those breasts look a bit to firm and plump, they may be surgically enhanced."

"These are real, I have not had a boob job," Svetlana replied, placing her hands on her hips, her body language showing her annoyance.

"I think we perhaps should apply the tampon test," Francine added, "How about you get up on the stirrup chair so we can get a better view."

"This is ridiculous," Svetlana grumbled as she climbed into the chair and spread her legs.

"If you are unwilling, or physically unable due to being male, then we can always call this off," Francine smiled, enjoying making the other girl uncomfortable, "Just be thankful I didn't opt for the dildo test instead. Having a twelve-inch purple cock rammed up you could potentially be a lot more uncomfortable than a relatively small tampon, especially if you've never had anything that big inside you. The more you moan, the more I'm going to take that as you being male."

Svetlana took the tampon offered by the nurse, removed the packaging and carefully inserted it into herself while the others watched.

"Satisfied now?" she asked.

"Okay, I'll accept that you are most likely female," Francine conceded, "you can get down from the chair now. Emily, your turn next."

Emily turned her back to the three other girls. She reached round and unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor. With shaky hands she briefly fumbled with the catch on her bra, before it too, fell to the ground. Finally, taking a deep breath, she dropped her panties before spinning round to face the waiting audience.

Julia gasped at the sight of the obviously male genitalia hanging between Emily's legs.

"I was right!" Svetlana exclaimed.

"Hold it!" Francine shouted, "We all agreed that I'm the one who decides who is and isn't female here. Let me examine the evidence. Chair please, Emily."

Emily jumped into the chair and waited, uncertain of what was going to happen next. She couldn't bear looking at herself, so focussed her attention to Francine. She couldn't take looking in Svetlana's direction as her gloating would have been too much, and she didn’t want to risk the sight of her naked body to cause any physical reaction in her own, although having spent a week seeing Anna naked as she changed for bed, Emily was used to the sight of naked girls.

"Starting from the top, facial shape is more oval than square. Jaw line is slightly pointed. Breast development appears normal: average size for her age. Areolas are of a suitable size, and no obvious chest hair. Waist is slightly narrower than the hips. Moving down, the clitoral hood appears to be larger than normal, but not large enough to function as a penis. Labia are above average in size, but could easily be fixed. I'm guessing the hymen is still in place, so the tampon test wouldn’t be appropriate. I can see why you were embarrassed to have to appear naked in front of others. Given all the evidence, I'm happy to declare you as being female."

"What? Are you serious?" Svetlana shouted. "He is obviously male, and those breasts are obviously glued on."

Emily glanced at her chest. The breast forms where not even a B cup and not the best of colour matches having been bought mail order. Not expecting to have to strip, Emily hadn't bothered to hide the edges very well.

"Yes, I am," Francine replied, "You asked me to decide, and I say she is female. It will be my word against yours when we go back out there."

"Actually, it will be three against one," Julia stated, as she pulled her t-shirt over her head and unclipped her bra. "Because I doubt Emily is going to disagree, and I'll quite happily back up Francine."

Emily, realising what Julia was doing immediately looked away. Before anybody could object, Julia had let her underwear fall to the floor.

"Emily, get up, it's my turn in the chair. Could you give me a hand, I'm not sure I can get into it easily with this caste."

"Given your injuries, don't bother with the chair," Francine stated, "I can see enough with you standing to declare you to be female, unlike the other two, I'm not seeing any evidence to suggest you are anything other than a normal girl."

"What's the matter Emily?" Julia asked, "Are you afraid to look at me? I wouldn't have stripped off I didn't feel comfortable in being seen. After all we are all girls here."

Emily turned and looked at Julia, although was having trouble seeing due to the tears forming in her eyes.

"Thanks, that actually means a lot to me," Emily stated, jumping down from the chair and retrieving her clothes.

Feeling uncomfortable, Emily started to dress. The nurse came over and picked up Julia's clothes, and started to help her into them, realising that the girl couldn’t bend down and pick them off the floor very easily by herself.

"So, Svetlana, are you going to drop the matter or cause further trouble?" the headmistress asked.

"Why are you doing this? Don't you care about him being here?" Svetlana asked Francine.

"Honestly, I don't care if one of the students is male, and neither do most of the others. That isn’t just my opinion. While you have extra English lessons, to talk proper like what we do,” Francine said the last part of the sentence in a tongue in cheek thick local accent, “The debating club meets to discuss stuff. One of the things we debated at the end of last term was the scenario of a transsexual student. Jane had suggested the topic after Generation2K had announced that she was seeking a place at a private girl’s school. Not that any of us knew that she would be coming here. We all have private rooms to change in, so it’s not as though we have to worry about voyeurism. In fact I know several girls who would be delighted to know their favourite online celebrity is at school with them. We even debated what we should do on finding out, and the consensus ended up being keeping the issue private."

Francine then added, "What the girls do care about is you swanning around here like lady muck, lording it over everybody else. You're always wondering why Anna is so popular. You've made her so by treating her so badly, everybody feels sorry for her having to put up with your bullshit. I don't think there is a girl out there who won't be pleased to see you go. Perhaps with you gone, Anna can finally focus on her education instead of picking up after you."

"If I go, so does Anna," Svetlana stated.

"Not necessarily," Emily stated, "Anna has told me a lot about her relationship with your family. Your father gives her almost as much money as he gives you. However, unlike you, she doesn't go out and spend it all on designer clothes and salon visits. She can probably pay for her remaining years here out of her savings. Can you do the same?"

"Anna has enough friends here who would probably chip in to keep her here if she does run short," Francine suggested.

"Assuming I can even earn enough to stay here myself, I would certainly help her out," Emily stated, "that is if I don't get forced out before then."

"I will also add that the school fully supports Emily being here," Mrs Rogers declared, "That includes the board of governors, which included your father before he stood down from the position. He also agreed to have Anna swap rooms and share with Emily, despite her being male."

"Also, as a paid employee, Anna's money is perfectly safe," Julia stated. "Yours on the other hand? Let's just say that the Inland Revenue don't take kindly to people trying to get out of debt by gifting large sums to relatives. My Dads a lawyer, and has been involved in quite a few cases of tax invasion."

Svetlana didn't know whether to believe the girl, or if she was just trying to wind her up. Either way, she decided she best check her bank accounts that evening, and if needed, move some cash around.

Everybody except Svetlana was now dressed, and started to leave the room. The Russian girl swiftly started to put her clothes on so that she could follow.

Svetlana was still looking slightly dishevelled as she came into the canteen just in time for her to hear Francine state, "I have examined all three students, and can declare that they are all girls. So unless Miss Gurevich wants to carry on making a fool of herself, this matter is over."

Svetlana decided not to say anything further, instead leading the returning girls over to the hot and cold buffet that the school provided for evening meals, the rest of the school having already started while the girls were out of the room.

Berry, having already finished eating, and still feeling partly responsible for her mother causing the girl's injuries, came over to carry Julia's plate for her. The other girls chose their food, and returned to their respective tables.

~o~O~o~

The canteen slowly emptied as the girls left for the various clubs and activities that were available to them. Emily, having started eating later than everyone else, was one of the last to finish. She sat sipping her apple juice, watching her parents speak to the teachers at the other end of the room.

The constant glances in her direction from her parents were making her uncomfortable. Finally deciding she had enough, she downed the last of her drink, and took her plates and glass back to the collection point.

"I'm going to lie down in my room," Emily told her friends before heading out the door.

"I don't think she should be alone right now," Wendy stated, afraid that Emily might not be in a good state of mind.

"I'll go make sure she is alright," Anna replied, "It's my room as well, so she can't ask me to leave."

~o~O~o~

Emily was sat on her bed propped up against her bean bag, using it as an impromptu back-rest. Her laptop was resting on her knees, and she was blowing some more stuff up on the Moonlight server.

A knock came on the door. Anna, who was half-watching Emily, and half-sketching on an art pad, got up from her own bed and went to the door. Looking through the peep-hole she saw the group of people outside and let them in.

Mrs Rogers led Emily's parents into the room. Emily, seeing who had come in logged out of the server and her game, and put the laptop to sleep.

"This is where your daughter has been staying," Mrs Rogers explained. "She was originally going to have a room to herself, for obvious reasons. However, the accident has meant that part of the building, including several student bedrooms, has had to be evacuated. This has left us slightly short on space, so Anna, who was already aware of your daughter’s physical characteristics, volunteered to room with her. Anna's father has approved of the arrangement, and I have already shown you the letter that suggested you would approve as well."

"While I'm sure Anna is trustworthy, considering the amount of deception going on, do you actually trust our Child to behave?" Arnold enquired.

Anna couldn't help but starting to giggle, "Don't worry Mr Bridges, I'm perfectly safe from Emily. I'm a blue belt in Taekwon-Do, she isn't going to force me into anything I don't want to do. She's the one who has to worry about me. Besides which, I'm not a lesbian and have no intention of becoming pregnant before I'm at least twenty five. However, if her staying here is dependent on having a room to herself, then I'll move out. I can always go back to sharing with my half-sister, even if it means having to effectively be her slave."

Emily didn't say anything. She knew she was breaking her parents trust, but even so, her father’s insinuation still hurt. Especially considering her at times very obvious first crush had been on a boy. Something he was aware of due to the trouble it had caused at her previous school and something which had never been denied, at least to her parents. She had tried to deny it at school for self-protection, but it didn't work. Emily couldn't look at her parents so closed her eyes, which despite her best efforts, were starting to water. A solitary tear rolled down her face to be quickly wiped away.

Marilyn looked at her son. The person in front of her was obviously Jason, but at the same time, it was hard to picture him as a boy. At a quick glance he could almost be mistaken for his cousin Susan. The dress and cardigan didn't look out of place, and the longer hair pulled back into a simple pony tail seemed to suit him. She could tell that her son was nervous by the way he was fiddling with the position of his skirt and rubbing his bare feet together. His toenails sparkled in the early evening light, the dark blue glitter polish reflecting in the sunlight. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen his feet, as he always wore socks at home. Thinking back, she wondered if the polish was a new thing, as it did look slightly worn. Strangely, his fingernails were plain, but then she hadn't seen nail polish on any of the girls, so assumed it might be frowned upon as part of the school dress code.

Mrs Bridges had spent most of the previous afternoon, and half the night, watching videos of her child’s online activities. Susan had emailed a playlist that she had created that highlighted some of the best bits. With her husband, she had used YouTubes' ability to play at double speed to catch up on the activities, mainly focusing on the 'talky' episodes where Jason had vented his feelings. She also thought back to earlier in the day when she had first saw her child.

It was mid afternoon, and the Bridges had been going through the documents that the school had been given. The headmistress decided that a break was in order, and suggested talking a walk in the fresh air. Marilyn could see that the headmistress was trying to sell them the idea of Jason staying at the school, and had already admitted there was a benefit for the school if he were to stay. They had toured some of the outside facilities, calling in on the sports complex, where there was a fully equipped gym, and the swimming pool where a number of girls were practicing laps. One of the places they had visited was the squash courts. Looking down into the playing area from a viewing platform on an upper floor, they had seen a group of girls messing around in an informal practice. It took a couple of minutes to realise the happy excited girl bounding around in a short skirt with her pony tail flapping wildly was their son. The way he was laughing and giggling with the others was so at odds with the sad withdrawn individual they were familiar with. He seemed so relaxed and carefree.

Emily hadn't noticed that she was being watched. The lights in the court were bright in comparison with the relatively dark observation platform, making it difficult to see if anybody was there, even if she had thought to look in that direction, which she hadn't bothered to do.

"Am I even going to be here, or is that question academic?" Emily had asked softly, bringing Marilyn back to the present. "If you are going to drag me off home, then it won't matter what room Anna is in."

"We will let you know in the morning," Emily's mother declared, giving a stern look to her husband, who was probably going to say something else. "We have things we need to discuss. Get a good night’s sleep, and don't worry. Tell me honestly, irrespective of if Anna is your roommate, do you want to stay here?"

"Yes, I like it here. I want to be able to stay," Emily sobbed.

After looking round the room, Marilyn led the visitors out, to give the girls some peace. They headed down to the reception where Mr Jennings was waiting for them to arrive. After collecting the cases from their car, Mr Jennings gave them a lift to his house in the nearby town for the night.

~o~O~o~

Emily felt the warmth of the autumn sun on her face as she exited Wymondham Abbey, having just taken part in the service. She was dressed in her uniform, as were a number of the girls with her. She wasn't overly religious, and wouldn’t normally have considered going, but Wendy had persuaded her to try it.

St Marys, despite the religious name, was not tied to any church. It was not compulsory to attend a service, but left the decision up to the students. They did facilitate any student wishing to worship, and ran a shuttle service for any students wishing to attend any of the various churches in the town. The Abbey, the United Reform Church, the Baptist Church, and the City Church were all within walking distance of the town centre.

Janette, the eldest girl present being in her final year, called the other students to order, and once everyone was accounted for, led her fellow students up the path leading back into the town. When off school grounds, the students were required to stay in groups and be on their best behaviour, or risk being banned from leaving school.

~o~O~o~

Arnold had been surprised to hear that his son wasn't at the school when he arrived back Sunday morning. By the time he and his wife had breakfast, and Mr Jennings had run them back to the school, Emily had already left.

Mr and Mrs Bridges were sat on a bench together, overlooking a neatly cut green. They were watching a group of younger girls learning to play Crocket from Mr Jennings. They turned to see the bus drive up to the main entrance and come to a halt. Marilyn spotted her child exit the vehicle and line up with the other girls to enter the building and swipe their security cards to denote they were back on school grounds.

Spotting her parents, once Emily had completed the task of signing in, she excused herself from the crowd and headed over to the bench. Her parents stood up as she approached, and suggested they should take a walk round the grounds and find somewhere quiet they could talk. Emily nodded, and led the three to a secluded spot in some woodland, away from the other students.

Satisfied that they were far enough away as to not be overheard, Emily asked, "So, what happens next?"

"Jason," her father stated, causing her to wince, "while I don't agree with what you are doing here, I feel you are old enough to start to make your own decisions, and probably mistakes, in life. If you want to stay here, then that is up to you. However, if you do so, you will be doing it without our support. We will not pay a penny to your education here, and won't bail you out should you run out of funds. Although from what I have seen, you seem to have the situation under control financially, for which I'm impressed. You want your independence, you can have it, but don't come crying to us if you get in trouble, or the other students turn on you for being male. You will have to remain here until the end of term, no matter how bad the situation may get. You've made your own bed, so now you have to lie in it."

"You can come home for half-term if you wish," her mother added, "but while at home, you will need to return to being our son. I'm not willing to have to explain to all our neighbours and friends why we suddenly have a daughter and not a son. I assume you can manage that?"

"As long as I don't have to shave my head or anything else stupid," Emily replied, "Although by the time half-term arrives, I may find it difficult to have to hide myself again."

"We realise that may become harder to achieve over time," her mother declared, "Especially if you go down the road of blocking or inverting your puberty."

Emily looked up in surprise. Her doctors had tried to issue blockers before, and while she did have a short course, the prescription hadn't been renewed.

"We have discussed signing over your guardianship over to Mrs Jennings," Arnold told Emily, "Although she is connected to the school through her husband, she is independent of the bureaucracy here, and can therefore make decisions regarding your future that are unbiased by the business relationship you have with the school. That would include full authority for authorising any medical procedures deemed required by your doctors. Mrs Jennings has offered to make arrangements for you seeing a physiatrist and endocrinologist. That is if you agree."

"I've never met her," Emily replied, "but if you are willing to do that, and she seems to support my need for medical intervention, then I don't have a problem."

"You'll like her," Marilyn stated. "She's here this morning, so that you can get acquainted."

"Emily," her father said, causing her to smile, "I think it’s time we headed back and got this paperwork signed."

Emily led the family back to the school offices. Mrs Jennings was sat having coffee with Mrs Rogers in her office when they arrived back. After Emily had been introduced to her new guardian, Marilyn carefully reviewed all the paperwork that Mrs Rogers had prepared for them, and was the first to sign the documents, before overseeing her husband, to make sure he signed in the correct places.

~o~O~o~

It was shortly after two in the afternoon. The Bridges had joined their daughter for lunch, a traditional roast dinner, before setting off for home. Mrs Roger, Wendy and Anna looked on as Emily hugged her mother and then shook hands with her father.

Emily waved as the car drove out of sight as her parent left without her. A tear rolled down her face, more from happiness than sadness. Her parents hadn't exactly welcomed the change, but at least they hadn't completely disowned her. The return home may be awkward, but that was in the future. For the time being she was where she wanted to be, and more important, what she wanted to be: a schoolgirl at a prestigious girls' school, surrounded by close friends that accepted her for who, not what, she was. Anna, her roommate for at least the rest of the term, and money permitted, possibly the rest of her school life, put her arm around Emily in a comforting hug.

Playing her way 2 - Chapter 1

© D.L.

Emily casually strolled down the pathway towards the shelter of the large oak tree. A light rain splashed in the puddles she stepped over, not wanting to get her shoes wetter than needed. She had her umbrella in one hand, and her mobile phone in the other, watching the bars of signal strength vary from practically nothing all the way up to half strength.

She knew from experience, that the signal was not good around the school grounds, but she knew of a spot where she could sit in relative dryness and obtain a signal.

Only a few of the girls were venturing out this evening. The sun was about to set, and the weather cool as autumn turned to winter. Emily needed some privacy where she knew she would not be overheard.

Although she often talked to her parents from her bedroom in the boarding school, this time she didn't want to be overheard by her room mate, Anna.

Coming to her destination, the young girl unfolded the black bin liner and spread it on the slightly damp ground beneath the tree. Sitting down on the dry plastic, she hit the speed dial for her parents.

“Hello, Marilyn speaking,” came the answer.

“Hi, mum,” Emily said, trying not to sound nervous. She contacted her parents once a week, and it always made her worried that an argument might start. However, to be fair, her parents were trying to compromise.

“Hi sweetheart, It's nice to hear from you,” her mother replied. “I wasn't expecting your call until tomorrow.”

Emily checked the date her phone, she hadn't phoned a day early as far as she knew. A sound in the background caught her attention. The phone picking up noise that the human ear would normally ignore.

“Do you have company?” Emily asked.

“Your Aunt Liz and Uncle Bill are here with Jack and Becky.”

“Is that Jason,” a male voice, her uncle, could be heard in the background.

This wasn't what Emily wanted to here. The fact that her old male name was in use meant her suspicions were correct. Her parents had yet to admit she was transsexual to the rest of the family.

“Hold on, I'll switch to speakerphone,” Marilyn said with a sigh. “Okay, are you still there, Jason?”

Emily clenched her fist. Her mother had deliberately chosen to use her male name, so it was clear everyone was expecting a boy to answer. She could disobey, but she didn't fancy burning that bridge just yet. It was rare to speak to this part of the family, usually only seeing them a couple of times a year.

Her father, Arnold, didn't like Bill much. Arnold Bridges was a working class person and didn't like the ultra-liberal viewpoints of his brother-in-law. It also didn't help that Bill was snobbish in his attitude.

“Hi everybody, what's the special occasion?”

“Your Aunt Liz's Fortieth Birthday,” Arnold stated.

“Ignore him, I'm only twenty-five.” Her aunt countered.

“Wow, I didn't realise you had Tom when you were eleven,” Emily answered, “Not the youngest gymslip mum I've heard of, but pretty close.”

“Jason was always good at maths,” Jack could be heard above the laughter. “Nice one, you've made her go all red.”

“Have I got the date wrong, I didn't think your birthday was until the twentieth,” Emily asked, realising that she had yet to send a card, Although she had planned on checking with her parents to see if they had included her name on theirs.

"No, we went out a week early, as I'm presenting at a conference next weekend," Bill replied, "Got to traipse all the way into the back of beyond."

"Stop moaning, Dunstan Hall looks to be a good hotel, and from what I can see, Norwich seems a nice city to visit."

"I'm sure you'll have an excellent time shopping, dear," Bill sarcastically added.

"Bill offered to take me as well," Liz explained, "I'll be heading into the city while he talks all day."

"Remember to pack your swimming costume and golf clubs," Emily stated, "I've only seen photo's of the pool, but it does look nice. I have been around the golf course several times. Uncle Bill, I suggest packing some extra golf balls, the water hazard is a pain. I always manage to hit it without fail."

"You've been there?" Bill asked in surprise.

"Yeah, John stayed there when he came to visit me last month. Mr Jennings took me over there, and we had a round of golf while we discussed business. Usually, John wouldn't bother staying the night, as he's only a couple of hours drive away, but he wanted to catch a show at the Norwich theatre, so decided to bring his wife and make a day of it. Dunstan hall is the closest hotel with a golf course. It's a ten to fifteen-minute drive, depending on traffic. There is another one in Sprowston, but that is the other side of the city from where I am."

"You're in Norfolk?" Liz inquired.

Emily's parents were remaining silent, and she decided to do the same. It was obvious that her location hadn't been revealed. She leant her head back against the bark of the tree and pictured the embarrassed faces of her parents. While Emily had initially chosen to hide her location from her parents, since they discovered her whereabouts and allowed her to stay, she was no longer considering it a secret, at least amongst her family. Her professional identity was still to be kept out of public knowledge, as that would cause her difficulties. There were still people at her old school who would love to upset her given the opportunity.

Deciding to probe further Emily was the first to break the silence, "Where did you think I was?"

"We hadn't really considered it," Bill replied. "When we asked if you could come to dinner, Arnold said you were unavailable due to getting a part-time job. Tom almost couldn't make it either for the same reason. He went straight to work after leaving the restaurant. Where do you work?"

Tom had recently got a part-time job washing cars at a local dealership. Emily wasn't sure what type of job they were expecting her to say. The real source of her income would be a shock. Not wanting to reveal that her status as a YouTube celebrity, or a part owner and major contributor to a successful indie games company, she had to think before replying.

"Well, technically I work from home I suppose, if you classify the whole school as home instead of just my dorm room. To save cost, I don't have a room to myself, which limits what I can do, although my room-mate is very accommodating."

Emily smiled to herself thinking about her room-mate, Anna. The lively half-Russian, half-Korean teenager was the reason for making the phone call outside. Emily wanted to give her a pleasant surprise. When Emily originally arranged to attend boarding school, only a few staff members knew that she was actually male, and none of the students were supposed to know. Due to that, she had paid for a single room, rather than the cheaper shared accommodation. Unfortunately due to an accident, one of the dorm buildings had to be temporarily closed due to a car crashing into a supporting wall.

Anna, due to her father being a school governor, actually knew of Emily's status before she started, and volunteered to be her room-mate in order to maintain the secret. Due to students needing to double up, Emily would have otherwise been the only resident with a single room.

"I've actually had a very unusual day today," Emily continued. "I've been helping to record an album for a chart-topping artist, although I suspect this one won't be making the top ten. I'm not allowed to say who, although it will become obvious if the record label actually allows it to be released. The artist in question has recently found god, so has decided to do a series of hymns with our school choir singing gospel over the top of a heavy metal backing. I didn't think it was going to work but having seen the final edit, it actually pulls together well."

"Would this be the same artist who caused the trouble at the start of term, and who has a daughter in attendance?" Marilyn enquired of her daughter.

"Yes, that's the one. To make it up to the school, three-quarters of the proceeds are being given away. Half is directly for the school, and one-quarter is going straight to the students. It's being produced entirely by the student body with virtually no outside help and only minimal guidance from the teachers. Anybody involved in the album is going to get a share. We aren't expecting much, other than perhaps something to brag about on our CV's."

"So what exactly were you doing? Singing or perhaps playing the guitar?" Becky asked excitedly.

"There are fifteen tracks total. I play guitar in six of them and sing in four. We had competitions to select who did what. My voice isn't that strong, unless part of a big group. I turned out to be one of the better guitarists, So got to lead on two, and backing on four others. My main contribution is that I've edited most of the videos, as I'm the most experienced with the software. I'll get you a copy of the album for Christmas, as I think you'll like it."

"Arnold," Bill stated, "I didn't realise you'd sent Jason to boarding school. I knew he hasn't been around much, but I thought he was just commuting to a school in the next county."

"It wasn't my idea," my father replied. "He arranged this himself. I still think it's a waste of money, but I understand the reason, and as long as I'm not having to pay for it, I'm not going to object. I suspect the proceeds to this album will keep him there for another term. My child seems to have a bit of a Midas touch and getting involved with business ventures that turn out to be very profitable."

Emily could tell her father was reluctant to talk about it, especially to Bill, although finally having something to brag about may have been overcoming that embarrassment. Bill likes to brag about his family, and that he has sent his two sons to a top private boy's school, although not as boarders. They have been trying to persuade Becky to go to private school as well, but so far she has put her foot down and refused to be separated from her friends.

"Speaking of Christmas," Emily's mother interrupted, possibly to stop the conversation from going into Emily's whereabouts and source of income, "we were just discussing going over to your aunt and uncles for Christmas day. Bill has suggested a big family get together and suggested we all chip in and hire a chef for the day. He knows someone willing to earn some extra money, and the price quoted isn't as extortionate as I would have imagined. You are of course invited, if you want to be here."

"That is why I phoned," Emily stated. "I'm potentially willing to abide by the rules, as long as I don't have to get a hair cut. I also have another request, and I would like you to hear me out before getting upset, angry, or instantly dismissing the idea."

"Perhaps we should discuss this later," her mother replied.

"I really need an answer straight away, as this is going to affect other people as well. School rules are simple. Students can't travel alone. To come home by myself, you are going to have to collect me. Either from here, or I get the train as far as London Liverpool Street. There are enough students travelling that a teacher will come that far. I travelled to London last time with Wendy and her mother, but Wendy has decided to spend Christmas with her father in Scotland, so won't be heading our direction. I have just learned that one of my close friends won't be able to go home this Christmas. Given the trouble Svetlana had in Russia, the planned trip to Korea has been cancelled. Is there any chance you would consider letting Anna come for Christmas?"

"Which one of you is going to Harry Potter under the stairs?" Arnold asked, causing Tom and Becky to chuckle.

"Arnold!" his wife scolded him.

"Alright," he laughed, "Do you want me to get the camp bed out of the attic, or were you planning on sharing your bed?"

The line went dead quiet. The seemingly out of character statement causing surprise. Bill, Liz, and their children not expecting that Arnold would glibly let his teenage son share a room with a girl and the connotations that implied. Emily smiled to herself, wishing she could have made the call over Skype Video to see the shocked faces. However, the need to do so on a mobile phone with limited bandwidth prevented that.

Emily's argument for sharing a room with Anna while at home was going to be that she had been sharing a room with the girl for the last few months at school. Obviously, her relatives were unaware that this was the case.

"That might depend on the weather," Emily mischievously replied. "If it gets really cold, then yes. Otherwise, it will depend on if you plan on serving sprouts."

It took a few moments to register, then the unmistakable sound of Arnold laughing, followed by the sniggering of Emily's cousins could be heard.

"Fine," Marilyn sighed. "If that's the cost of getting you home for Christmas, so be it. You can bring her along, but you sleep in separate beds, with the door open, and you change alone in the bathroom. How come she isn't staying with her sister?"

"Half-sister," Emily countered, "Svetlana is going to stay with her mother, and Anna doesn't get along with her step-mother. Her father is still stuck in Russia, so Anna isn't keen on staying there."

"Is her sister still treating her like a maid?"

"Occasionally, although she is a lot humbler than she used to be. Uncle Bill, do you have any objections to me bringing an extra person along if we are at your house?"

"The more the merrier," he replied. "Any chance we could meet up next weekend? We should be free on Sunday."

"I'll let you know later this week. If Anna is willing to join me, then we can potentially meet you for lunch in Norwich. School rules, we have to travel in pairs, and it would probably be a good idea for you to meet if you are inviting her to Christmas dinner."

"Okay Jason, looking forward to hearing from you," Bill stated.

Emily knew this was going to be awkward. Doing a switch to male presentation wasn't easy, but potentially doable. Either that, or she would have to introduce them to her true self. She would need to talk with her parents again before making further arrangements, to see if they would lift the ban on anybody in the family knowing that Emily/Jason is transgendered, other than the ones who already knew.

"I'm going to have to go. I need to go find Anna and invite her to stay. She will need permission from her father. I also need to make sure that the school will let us travel, and make arrangements for next weekend. Mum, I'll phone tomorrow. Uncle Bill, I'll phone you mid-week."

After saying goodbye to everyone, Emily hung up. In some respects, she would have preferred to talk to her parents alone, as she could have gone into more detail without having to worry about upsetting them. However, this way, she thought, she may be forcing them to accept the reality that keeping her transition a secret isn't practical.

Emily picked up her makeshift seat and started to walk back to her room. She had an invitation to make.

Playing her way 2 - Chapter 2

© D.L.

Emily sat on the bulging suitcase as Anna carefully zipped it closed. The suitcase was only moderately sized and contained most of Anna's clothes for the fortnight that she would be staying with the Bridges.

Emily's suitcase was only half full, and she had offered to carry some extra sets of shoes for Anna. Each girl also had a rucksack carrying small gifts to put under the family Christmas tree.

Anna was also taking her Violin, so that she could practice, and more importantly play at a private gig that she had been invited to via Emily.

Emily had not brought her guitars to school, as she couldn't carry them on her journey. Instead, she had been using one of the school instruments initially, before treating herself to a second-hand guitar from a local shop.

Emily was travelling lighter due to having a full wardrobe, and two other guitars, at home.

Not that she was particularly thrilled to be wearing what her wardrobe contained. Her parents had yet to fully accept her need to live her life as female. She had therefore reluctantly agreed to use a male presentation while at home. The predominantly male clothing would be put to use for most of the trip. Only a couple of dresses and skirts and an odd blouse were being taken home. Most of the luggage being underwear and nightwear. Items that would not be on public view and could, therefore, be of a more feminine persuasion.

After one last check through their dorm room, the girls picked out their bags and headed downstairs towards the bus.

Due to the mass exodus for the Christmas holidays, the school was busy. Soon they were in the designated position with a number of other girls as the sixteen seat minibus pulled up to the kerb. This would be the third trip this morning into the train station.

Mrs Jackson rounded up her charges and ushered them onto the bus. After checking everything was in order, they proceeded out of the school grounds. Twenty minutes later they were dropped off at Norwich station for the journey south to the capital. Ironically they would actually be passing through a station less than two miles from the school, but the express they were taking wouldn't be stopping, and it was quicker to drive to the main terminus rather than catch a local train and wait for a connection.

They were just in time to wave at Svetlana, Anna's half sister, as she passed through the gates for the westward bound train to Peterborough and then Ely, where she would be meeting her mother and travelling Northwards towards Sheffield.

Half an hour later, Mrs Jackson led the small group of students through the gates and onto the southward bound train. They had booked seats around two tables in one of the middle carriages.

Anna and Jane sat facing backwards on the right side of the gangway, while Emily and Jessica sat opposite. Mrs Jackson had grabbed one of the forward facing seats along with Abby. Francine and Janette sat across the table.

Due to still being relatively early in the day for delays to accumulate, the train left promptly at 10 am for the two-hour trip to London, Liverpool Street.

~o~O~o~

There was a group of people waiting for the arrival of the St. Mary's students as they exited the platform into the main concourse.

Jane bounced across to hug her father, a middle-aged man in a smart business suit. He had left his place of employment in Whitehall at lunch time to collect his daughter. He would then take her home, having booked the afternoon off. Abby strolled across to meet her older brother and her mother.

Mrs Jackson obtained the signatures of the adults before everyone said their goodbyes to the girls. Jane following her father towards the tube station to take the Circle line clockwise to Victoria station and onwards into Kent. Abby and her family heading to the nearby taxi rank for a trip across the city to Kensington.

"Alright girls," the teacher stated, "I trust you all to behave. Janette, as the eldest, you are in charge until its time to split up. I'll see you all in the new year."

Mrs Jackson saw them as far as she could, before splitting off in the maze of subterranean tunnels below. She was quite happy to escort the girls to London and get a free trip to the capital. She would be heading via the Bakerloo line to Oxford street for a couple of hours shopping before returning home.

The remaining four girls headed to the platform for the counter-clockwise Circle line towards Paddington and the trains heading west. While a taxi was an option, the train tickets already included tube travel, so it wasn't worthwhile incurring the extra expense.

Once at Paddington station, Janette was the first to leave the group, shortly after they arrived, boarding a train for Swansea. While the school preferred their students to be accompanied, as she was in her final year, the school and her parents had agreed that she could travel alone part of the way. It was deemed safe to be alone on the train as long as she was accompanied at either end of the journey. It was the trip across the capital that held the greatest risk.

The three remaining girls, Francine, Anna and Emily, headed to find something to eat, having an hour and a half wait before their train. Anna and Emily could have opted for an earlier train but were waiting for the train Francine needed to be on. They departed London shortly after three in the afternoon.

~o~O~o~

Marilyn swore silently to herself as for the third time she was met with voicemail. Having already left one message, she hung up the phone.

She realised too late that she shouldn't have mentioned on which train Jason would be arriving home.

It had been the previous night at her fitness club. Marilyn had mentioned in passing to one of her friends, Astrid, that Jason would be home the following day. This had led to the discussion of how he was getting home. One simple sentence was all it took, "Oh, he'll be travelling by train, I think he gets in about half four."

Nothing further had been said on the subject until half an hour before. It was lunch time and Astrid had called into Marilyn's office during her lunch break. Her friend had decided that as Marilyn was working, she would meet Jason and make sure he got home okay. Astrid was older and recently retired with too much free time on her hands.

~o~O~o~

"Trouble?" Anna asked her roommate, the frustrated look not going unnoticed.

"That voicemail was from my mother," Emily replied. "We are going to be met at the station by a friend of hers, Astrid."

"I take it they are not expecting your current appearance?" Anna asked quietly, being careful to word the question in case other passengers were listening.

Emily nodded, "This is going to be a complete farce and end in an argument. Astrid hasn't been informed and my mother doesn't want her to find out."

"Can you change out of you school uniform before we get there?" Francine asked. She was one of the few students who knew of Emily's status.

Emily shook her head whispering, "I can't even manage a tomboy look, not that it would do any good."

"Overcompensating. Everything she has at school is ultra-girly-girl. The only thing she has with legs in are shorts, and we didn't pack any as it's too cold," Anna added. "Nothing of mine will fit her either."

"I have the pair of trousers I left home in to come to school in the first place," Emily corrected, "but I didn't bother to pack those."

Francine wasn't carrying luggage in the traditional sense. The only bags she carried contained Christmas presents. The only clothes being what she was wearing, the same type of skirt, blouse and blazer as the other two. Another one of the school rules was that they were to travel at least part of the way in the School uniform. This was mainly for the first part of the trip where one teacher had to keep track of a number of students, and it was easier to spot the kids in uniform.

"Astrid is expecting a single person, most likely a scruffy youth dressed in jeans and a hoodie. Not two posh immaculately dressed school girls. Chances are we can walk straight past her," Emily explained. "The platforms are surrounded by railway lines. The only way on or off the station is via a single tunnel under the tracks. Therefore, there are likely only two places she will be waiting. Either at the stairs off the platform or at the main entrance."

"So we will have to walk right past her," Anna surmised, "I'm not sure if this will work."

Emily thought for a moment before saying, "You saw how many school kids got on at Reading. There will be at least a dozen getting off at our stop. As we are right at the front in first class, we will be at the opposite end of the platform from the stairs. Between us and the exit will be a building containing a waiting room, cafe and toilets. We get off onto platform 2. Instead of walking down the right side of the building on platform 2, we cross the island and walk down the other side of the building on platform 3. If Astrid is paying attention to platform 2 then we may be able to slip past in the crowd."

"What if she isn't on the platform?" Francine asked.

"Then we wait until she comes looking. If she heads into the waiting room, then we slip around back and out. Anna can stay in view, as long as I have the building between me and her."

"I don't understand your parents," Francine stated. "They must know you will be travelling in uniform, surely your neighbours are going to see you return home."

"Look at how dark it is getting already. It will be half an hour after sunset by the time we get to the station. Nobody is going to be able to get a good look at us when we get home. Most of our street will either be out at work or have their curtains closed by then anyway."

The train pulled into the station a few minutes late at just past half past four. The two girls had said goodbye to their travelling companion and made their way to the door, bags in hand.

Anna stepped off first, followed by Emily. The later keeping further up the platform using the former as a shield. It only took a few seconds for Emily to identify Astrid and step out of view putting the station buildings between the two.

"Grey haired women, blue coat, black skirt, holding the hand of a small boy in a red coat."

Anna assessed the situation. Emily had been almost correct. She counted another nine people stepping off the train, of which at least six were definitely teenaged or below. Of the others, two looked to be in their twenties, with one being an older man with greying hair.

A glance at the information screen revealed that another train would arrive on platform 3 within 5 minutes. The train they had left was not due to leave immediately, and wouldn't depart until after the next train had arrived, allowing for passengers to interchange if required. There were a number of people milling around on the platforms waiting for trains.

Anna got her mobile phone out and held it to her ear, pretending to make a call. In reality, she had activated the camera in the back and was pointing it down the station. Emily had her own phone out and was watching the video feed over a private wifi link between the two devices.

Emily carefully moved down platform 3 keeping the other side of the waiting room from Astrid and her grandson, monitoring the woman on the wifi link. Once at the end of the wall nearest the exit stairs she turned to face the edge of the platform, her back now being towards Astrid, and edged slightly to her right so her back was slightly visible around the corner.

With a few quick flicks of her fingers, she pinged a message to Anna, who on hearing her phone beep, started to follow the path her friend had taken.

Emily had switched on the front facing camera on her phone and pulled out a lipstick. Using the phone as a mirror, she started to touch up her lips while keeping a sly eye on her target.

Astrid double checked the arrivals board, as she had been since she arrived fifteen minutes before the train was due to arrive. She had picked her young grandson up from his primary school then had taken a scenic route to the station, calling at a local shop to pick up some magazines for herself and some comics for the young boy. They had an hour to wait after leaving the school before the train would arrive.

Not wanting to spend too long parked at the station, incurring parking fees, Astrid had waited a while on the road near the shops before proceeding to the station.

Astrid kept a close eye on the train as it pulled into the station. Marilyn couldn't tell her what her son was likely to be wearing. The answer of "whatever is currently in fashion," didn't help much, other than possibly to eliminate the people in obvious school uniforms.

It had been over six months since she last saw the boy, but she hoped that even if she failed to spot him, the message had reached him and he would come to her.

A number of people had gotten off the train. The two girls in matching skirts and blazers, along with the older man, were immediately dismissed as she focused on the other passengers. One pair in jeans and hoodies had disappeared directly into the waiting room. One she had presumed to be female, given the loopy earring, but it was tricky to see body shape under the thick clothing. The gender of the companion couldn't be seen at first glance, not helped by not being able to get a clear view of the person's face.

Switching focus, Astrid looked at the other people as they walked past her position at the top of the exit stairs.

Not seeing Jason among those leaving, she started to wonder what was going on. After a few minutes, a second train pulled in on the other platform. However, only people who were obviously adults got off that train.

Switching back to the first train, she scanned the windows for anybody else looking like they were getting off, but the was nobody moving down the train that she could see. Just to make sure, she waited until the train was starting to move before considering moving.

As far as Astrid could tell, the were only four people left who had gotten off the train Jason should have been on. The two girls had moved to the other platform and appeared to be waiting for a connection. That left the two who had gone into the waiting room.

Briefly stepping to the other platform to look down that side of the building, to check that she hadn't missed anybody, Astrid noted that the only entrance to the building between the platforms was on platform 2. Realising that the pair from the train would have to leave the same way they entered, Astrid began to walk to the door.

Only a few people were inside. The girl with the looped earring and hoodie wasn't visible, but that wasn't totally unexpected as the ladies toilets were accessed from inside the waiting room. The door into the gents being on the outside of the building.

The other person, who Astrid had hoped to be Jason was at a counter buying a couple of bottles of cola. Astrid waited for the person to turn round, only to be disappointed to find out it wasn't who she was looking for. Jason didn't have a face covered in freckles.

Having made their break to the exit, the two girls descended the stairs and went through the tunnel to emerge out of the station. Emily led Anna to the taxi rank when she spotted that the were a couple of cabs waiting for fairs.

Normally she would have walked home from the station, but given the amount of luggage the two were carrying, and that it was dark, Emily figured a taxi was the best option. It wouldn't have been an issue if presenting as Jason, but a girl is potentially more vulnerable. The other reason was that she didn't want to be on the streets if Astrid drove by looking for Jason.

A few minutes later they pulled up outside the Bridge's house. As Emily got out of the car, she heard there phone starting to ring indoors. With key already in hand, she dashed to the front door, swiftly unlocking it and entering.

Realising that her friend was occupied, Anna paid the driver and helped him unload the bags from the boot. The driver, seeing that the other girl was on the phone just inside the house, picked what the remaining passenger couldn't carry and took it to the door. Once both girls were safely to the door, he turned and departed, heading back to the taxi rank at the station.

"It didn't take as long to get across London as I thought, so I ended up catching an earlier connection," Emily explained.

"Oh, I thought perhaps you had missed the train," Astrid replied, "but I thought I better double check that I hadn't missed you."

"Did you also ring a couple of minutes ago?" Emily slyly asked, just in case this wasn't Astrid's first attempt, "Only I was in the bathroom and couldn't get to it."

"No, it wasn't me," Astrid replied, "I tried you mother's mobile first, to see if she had heard anything, but she isn't answering."

"Yeah, I couldn't get through either. Sorry that you had a wasted trip. If I had known you were going to the station, I would have phoned you earlier. I'm sure your mobile number is in our address book."

"Didn't you get the message from your mother?"

"No, I need to get a new battery for my phone. It was claiming 75% charge when I left this morning, but it had gone flat in the space of about an hour, and I wasn't even using it."

While Emily was lying to Astrid, Anna went into the kitchen at the back of the property and phoned the school on her mobile to say they had arrived safely. The office would be maintaining a list of those travelling without supervision and ticking off progress. A call had already been made earlier to inform the school that they had boarded their final train.

Anna had just hung up when Emily came into the room. After switching the kettle on, Emily shew Anna up to her old room where they would be sleeping, pointing out the location of the bathroom as they passed.

Playing her way 2 - Chapter 3

© D.L.

Marilyn put the last of the shopping bags into the boot of the car. Shutting the hatchback, she pushed the trolley over to the trolley park before unlocking the car doors and getting into the driver's seat.

Fishing her phone out of her handbag, she checked for messages. There were several missed calls from Astrid. The phone had been on silent and deliberately ignored while in the supermarket. Scrolling through the texts, she saw the one that she was hoping to receive. The message from Emily that she was home safely without incident.

Putting the phone away, she pulled out of the parking space and headed for the exit.

~o~O~o~

It was half five when the silver Ford Focus reversed into the driveway at the front of the house. Marilyn looked towards the property. Several lamps were on timers so that the home was always somewhat lit up in the evenings. However, today the curtains were fully closed and more light was peaking around the edges than what would be provided by the lamps, indicating the main overhead lights were on.

Turning the key in the Yale lock, she opened the door to be greeted by the sound of Christmas music. Turning back to her car, she opened the boot and lifted the shopping bags out and into the hall.

On hearing the door open, a figure emerged from the front room. The smiling face of her only child was standing at the door. The mother examined her offspring. Worried what people might think, and given her husband's reluctance to address the issue, Marilyn had asked her daughter to return to be her son over the Christmas period. Emily had agreed, but only in so far as not to make changes that would prevent presentation as female in the new year, such as cutting her hair short.

The teenager stood in front of her was of indeterminate gender. The baggy boy cut jeans, and Christmas sweater, while masculine would not look out of place on a girl. Anybody who knew the child would easily recognise the face of Jason. No sign of makeup or earrings were present. Only the small holes in the bottom of the earlobes indicating that earnings would normally be worn.

Marilyn had wondered how long her child's hair had grown. Whenever she saw her on screen over Skype, Emily had her hair in a high ponytail, and it was no secret that in that style she added extensions so that it was much bulkier and longer than reality. However, virtually no hair was visible, due to being covered by a Santa hat. Unlike most of the cheap ones on sale, this appeared to be made out of quality fake fur in a dark red, with a white fur ball and trim.

"Hi Mum, need a hand?" Emily asked pointing at the bags.

Marilyn nodded and handed over the bags she was holding.

"Hello Mrs Bridges," Anna stated as she emerged into the hall, having heard Emily greet her mother. She had stayed out of sight initially in case it was Astrid at the door. The two had changed out of their school uniforms as soon as they got in, in case the nosey women had come calling. Even if out of uniform, there was a risk that she might recognise Anna as the girl she had seen at the station, and therefore correctly assume that Jason was the other girl.

Anna was dressed in a similar fashion to Emily, only her jeans were a tighter cut, and her jumper had two distinctly feminine bumps. It was only after seeing Anna that Marilyn realised why she felt something odd looking at Emily. It had taken her a while to get used to seeing her child wearing breast forms, and it hadn't immediately registered that her child's chest was much flatter than she had become accustomed too.

The three took the bags into the kitchen to unpack. Anna taking things out of the bags and mother and daughter putting stuff away.

"I take it you've removed your breast forms," Marilyn stated, glancing at her child.

"Yeah, for the moment. I am wearing a training bra, but I don't think it shows too much."

"Is that because it feels weird without one?"

"Yes, but I find my nipples get sore without protection. Plus it's itchy. I either need to wear a bra or a tight soft camisole."

"You're budding?" Marilyn stopped what she was doing in surprise. "I didn't think you had gone onto hormones."

She and her husband Arnold had signed guardian rights to one of her child's teachers and his wife. While the practice of having a designated guardian close to the school who can take responsibility for the child in boarding is not unusual, it is normally only done for foreign students so that they have somebody to look after them in the country in an emergency. Although they had signed the authorisation for any medical procedures, they were to be kept informed of their child's treatment.

"I haven't. I'm only on blockers. However, according to my endocrinologist, I have slightly above average levels of natural oestrogen for a male. I'm at the upper limit of what would be considered normal. The blockers actually worked too well, I've had to cut back the dosage. Instead of stabilising my testosterone at a low level, it's practically wiped it out. The net result is I now have the start of breast growth, not that I'm going to complain about that unless you count them not growing fast enough as being a valid issue, but that is something I think most girls can relate too."

"Her dosage is being closely monitored," Anna added, just in case there was any suggestion that the dosage was incorrect on purpose, "She has to get the tablets from the nurse after breakfast. We realised something wasn't quite right when she had a massive crying jag after being hit with a squash ball."

"It hurt; I had a bump on my head for three days," Emily countered.

"Only if you looked at it with a microscope, and you had received harder hits without worrying before. I know Svetlana is annoying, but raging that she was trying to kill you was slightly over the top."

"Okay, I had a bad reaction and I apologised," turning to her mother, "The glue for the forms was causing skin irritation, so we, that is the nurse and I, treated it with aloe vera. There is no medical evidence that it has any effect, but it does contain phytoestrogens, which can potentially mimic female hormones. Given that my balance was already out of whack, it may have pushed me slightly further to the feminine side than the doctors intended."

"I can tell from the smile on your face, that that doesn't bother you," Marilyn responded.

After finishing putting the groceries away, and putting a large Cumberland pie in the oven, the three women went into the front room to talk further, Emily explaining what had happened at the train station.

~o~O~o~

It was shortly after six o'clock, an hour earlier than expected, that Arnold unlocked the front door and stepped into the hall.

"Arnold, is that you?" Marilyn called out from the front room.

A sad weary figure stepped into the room to the shock of the onlookers. The left shirt sleeve was torn away at the shoulder, and the front covered in blood.

"It's not mine," Arnold stated, indicating his front. "Put the kettle on, I need a shower."

Not sure what to say, his wife silently went to the kitchen to make tea. The two teens glanced at each other in worry but waited patiently for an explanation.

Ten minutes later, Arnold settled down in his easy chair, now dressed in pyjamas and dressing gown.

"There was an accident at work. Thankfully not a fatal one, but a closer call than should have ever happened. Stanley got thrown across the room by that damn arm. Concussion and three cracked ribs. The blood was from him landing on edge of the conveyor. It took a large chunk out of his arm. I used my shirt to stem the bleeding."

"Not the robotic arm you shut down yesterday?" Marilyn gasped.

"Andy overrode my decision, said I was being paranoid. Claimed I was being obstructive and not acting as a team player. I may not be an engineer, but I can tell when something is malfunctioning. Bill has been moaning for weeks that the software keeps crashing. It is supposed to fail safe, but several times it continued moving after the control application stopped responding. I finally had enough yesterday when instead of placing the motor in the housing, it shoved it down so hard it bent the bench."

"I didn't know the factory was automated," Emily stated, "Is this something new, I know you said they were upgrading the shop floor."

"They were put in about three months ago. Five of them. Never have worked right. They were bought for practically nothing from a bankrupt factory in Scotland. Cobbled together with some cheap controllers from China, and programmed by a bunch of monkeys in India who work for a pittance. The claim was that it would double production speed and pay for itself in six months."

"I take it that estimate was over optimistic?" Anna inquired.

Arnold stroked his chin in thought, "If they worked properly, then they would have helped greatly. Perhaps not as much as double. I would say an increase of 50 percent max. In reality, due to them constantly needing to be rebooted, I would say about twenty percent. The truth of the matter is you don't need to pay a robot wages, and the company is struggling for cash, barely broke even last year, and rumour has it will publish a big loss this year."

"How did they afford to upgrade?" Anna asked.

"They had to take a big loan. They also let go a lot of the temporary workers. Basically, anybody they thought they could do without and who hadn't been there long. They would have to pay longer serving staff too much redundancy to be worth it. Several people have walked since then, we are at least ten people short of what we need. If I thought I could get a job elsewhere, I would be walking as well. I may yet have too. Andy, the current operations' director and my direct boss, is looking for a scapegoat to get him off the hook. I pissed him off by immediately calling the Health and Safety Executive. He tried to lay into me for that. I told him to fuck off. He appointed me a safety officer and any injuries involving broken bones or loss of consciousness from a head injury has to be reported by law."

"You think he is going to get you fired?" The worry evident in Marilyn's voice.

Arnold shook his head, "He can try, but I don't think it'll wash. Frank, the current owner and chief exec, won't let him. Trouble is, I happen to know that the business is being sold. Frank's retiring. He'll put in a good word for me, but I don't know who will take over, or what they may decide. We find out who the new owner is at tomorrow's Christmas party."

"Is that still going ahead?" Emily asked. "I've been asked to play the guitar again this year, and Anna was going to join me on Violin. I understand Tom has left."

To save money, for the past few years, Any staff who were musically inclined, or knew any volunteers who were, would provide music during the annual party. Traditionally, the factory would shut down over Christmas, as it was too expensive to keep it running and pay overtime. The last working day would finish early, and all the staff and their families would gather in one of the warehouses for music, dancing, and the consumption of cheap alcohol. The only time drink was allowed on the premises.

Jason, being a competent guitar player, had joined in for several years. Norman, one of the organisers, had emailed Jason asking if he would be available. Several of the other regulars in the makeshift band had left.

Arnold nodded, "Yeah, Frank didn't want to dampen spirits. A lot of the other senior managers are trying to downplay the seriousness of the incident, in an attempt to impress the new owners, not that it is going to work. It's a foreign company, Kabunsuri Industries, so they perhaps think they might not be familiar with British regulations. I tried googling them, but they don't seem to have much of a web presence. As far as I can tell, they are a holding company."

After taking a drink of his tea, he continued, "Don't mention anything at the party tomorrow, the official announcement of the sale hasn't been made, although most people know Frank is retiring. That is another reason for keeping the party going, as it doubles as his retirement do. I can drive you over tomorrow afternoon. I've sort of been given the day off. I'm to work from home until further notice. Basically, I have to write a report for management and be interviewed by the government inspectors. We don't think the police will get involved, but it's a possibility. What were your plans tomorrow?"

"Well, we were assuming we would need to catch the train, like I did last year," Emily replied. "I was going to spend the morning working. That is recording some more episodes for YouTube. Anna also has some business to attend to."

"I have some reports to read and write," Anna added. "I've been learning business from my father. I have a number of investments to review. While I can't officially control my trust fund or buy and sell shares, I can put my opinions forward and my investment manager usually does what I ask. He safeguards 75% of the portfolio, and lets me play with the other 25%."

"No offence, but is learning how to trade from someone who has just been declared bankrupt a good idea?" Arnold asked.

Anna laughed, "He may be bankrupt, but that wasn't unexpected. In fact, we have known for three years that this may happen and it was planned for. Putting money into a football club was never a good investment, and was mainly done for entertainment. Dad has a lot of skeletons in his closet, it was only a matter of time before some of his past caught up with him. Several women have claimed he fathered their children. So far, I'm the only love-child that has been proven by paternity tests."

Pausing to sip her tea, she continued, "In order to become rich in Russia in the late nineties, you needed to be in a privileged position, to begin with. He's never said, but I get the impression many backhanders were involved in the early days. Both to corrupt government officials, and the mafia. He may not be popular with the current high-ups, hence the recent trouble, but he still has connections. That is how he was able to get Svetlana back to this country."

What was going to be a simple business trip and skiing holiday during half term had turned into a nightmare for the Gurevich family. Some of Mr Gurevich's less reputable associates were not pleased with some of his recent business activities. This had led to his arrest and detainment by certain corrupt government officials, and the seizing of the assets held in Russian banks. His families passports had immediately been confiscated and they were placed under house arrest.

Realising that they may be in danger, he called in favours to have his wife and child smuggled out of the country. It had taken all the skill of some former KGB operatives, and a suitcase of dollar bills, to elude the authorities and drive over the border into Estonia.

Although their Russian passports had been revoked, Svetlana and her mother both had dual nationality. Svetlana being born in the UK held a British passport, and her mother was born in Estonia while it was still part of the Soviet block. Although she had spent most of her life in Russia, she was eligible for Estonian citizenship. This had become useful due to the relaxed border rules inside the European Union, allowing her to relocate to England.

Mr Gurevich, while not a European national, was initially able to live in Britain due to his wife's status. He had subsequently applied and obtained British citizenship after 5 years. Anna had been brought into the country five and a half years ago and had recently applied for citizenship after the required five years residence.

Anna had not gone with them on that trip, opting to stay behind and go on a school arranged trip for the week. While applying for residency, Miss Kwon was keeping time spent outside of the UK to a minimum. She joined twenty other students on a trip to York. Emily had opted to stay at the school and spent the time recording a series to be screened on her YouTube channel over the coming weeks.

Although her relationship was mostly secret, Anna's being a blood relative was known to some of Mr Gurevich's enemies. The plan had been to visit her mother in South Korea over Christmas, but it had been decided to cancel that trip for safety. Anna did not yet have a British passport, only a Korean one. The chances of her being prevented from travelling back were limited. However, it was deemed prudent not to try going over international borders unless absolutely necessary.

"My father had planned to wind up most of his business interests after five years. He has been transferring assets into a retirement fund for the last three years. He predicted the downturn in the markets but didn't quite judge the impact. It hit him harder than expected. Also, being sued for discrimination tipped the balance. He had plenty of money to pay the creditors at the football club but wasn't able to liquidise them quick enough. Hence, he filed bankruptcy for protection while he sorted things out.

"The business in Russia was nasty, but not entirely unexpected. His mistake was underestimating the resentment and resourcefulness of some of his opponents."

"I read in the paper that he was basically under house arrest and virtually penniless," Arnold stated.

"Not quite true," Anna replied, "He is still employed by several holding companies and receives a nice pay cheque to keep him comfortable. Most of which is going in bribes to keep out of prison.

"He is under house arrest, but it is one of the nicest houses in the region. He is quite happy with the arrangement, considering how much worse it could have gotten.

"Specifically, myself, my mother, Svetlana, and Svetlana's mother all own holding companies in our own names which have him as an employee. Svetlana and I are both wealthy in our own rights. Svetlana's only interest in money is spending it, so I actually have the bigger fortune, as I make my investments work for me, which is what I will be doing tomorrow."

Playing her way 2 - Chapter 4

© D.L.

The silver Ford Focus edged its way through the late afternoon traffic. Arnold steered the car into the side street towards his place of employment. His wife sat at his side. Anna and Jason sat in the rear.

Emily, as promised, was using her male persona. She had opted for a pair of black trousers, and an overly large red sweater with a reindeer knitted onto the front. Her hair was hidden under a Santa hat.

Anna, in support of her friend, was dressed in a similar style. However, her black trousers were much more feminine in appearance, and her sweater was blue with white snowflakes.

Pulling into the parking space, the teens got out and went to the boot to retrieve their instruments. Arnold led them through to where three other musicians were setting up.

Norman, a portly chap in his late forties, was tightening the final screws on his drum kit in one of the corners.

Angella, a girl in her late teens, was fiddling with the amplifier, hooking up her electric guitar.

Marc, a tall man in his early twenties, was setting up a large electric keyboard.

"Jason, good to see you mate," Marc stated, shaking hands, "and this must be Anna, nice to meet you."

"There are three more inputs on this amp," Angella stated, "I see you've brought multiple instruments".

"I have my acoustic as a backup," Emily stated holding up one of her two guitars, "in case we have a problem with the electrics, or there weren't enough jacks."

"I only brought my Electric Violin," Anna stated, "It's a lot lighter than my traditional one, less prone to damage, and won't cost a bomb to replace should anything happen."

"Nice kit," Angella admired the instrument as she helped Anna hook it up.

"I assume we're doing the same as last year," Emily enquired, "All of us playing the standards, then taking it in turns to do solo's or duets."

"Pretty much," Marc stated, "Although I don't know how well that will work, considering we've never practised with Anna, and the last time we practised with you was last Christmas."

"Anna and I have been practising based on the recordings we made before last year's do," Emily replied. "I think we can fit it all together, as long as we keep a steady tempo and know how many verses we are going to do of each tune."

By the time they had finished setting up, the room had filled up with people. An older man approached them, with a slightly younger man with greying hair in tow.

"Hi Mr Farcombe," Norman greeted Frank, the retiring business owner. "We are all ready to go. How do you want to proceed?"

"Can you play a couple of classics while everyone filters in? I'll then make some announcements, then we can really get this party started."

"Okay, boss. Let's start with Jingle bells to warm up, followed by Deck the Halls."

While the band played sleigh ride, Frank Farcombe came over and stood to the side of where they were playing. On finishing the song, Angella, who had been singing, handed him the microphone she had been using.

"Good afternoon, everybody," Frank stated. "I'm glad you could all be here today. It is with mixed emotion that I stand before you. This will be my last Christmas party here. As some of you already know, I'm retiring as of the new year. This has caused some speculation as to who exactly is taking over, and what the future may bring. It is no secret that we have been struggling. The interest for our electric motor production has been shrinking as we compete with the Asian markets. I would like to introduce you to my replacement, not only as the chief executive but also as a representative of the new owners, Hans Hertz."

The man who had been following the owner for the past hour stepped forward and took the mic. "Thank you, Frank. As stated, my name is Hans Hertz, and effective immediately, I'm taking over responsibility for this company. Don't panic, I'm not planning on any sweeping changes immediately. I also want to state that anybody who still wants to work here will have a job. I bring with me a contract that will keep everybody more than busy for the next three years."

A small cheer could be heard from the back of the crowd. Some of the managers were trying to get the crowds excited but were not having a lot of success.

"This plant won't be changing its name, but it is now owned by a company none of you will have ever heard of, Kabunsuri Industries. It's an investment company, and as such it doesn't actually do anything, other than own other companies. One of which happens to be one of our suppliers and another is our third biggest customer. It, therefore, made sense for it to buy out the company in the middle."

Hans continued to talk about the companies in question and what the expected turnover would be. He then gave a brief overview of his history. Having gotten a business degree in his native Germany, he had held a series of management positions across Europe, gradually making his way up the corporate ladder. His previous post being the second in command of one of the companies customers. The same company already owned by Kabunsuri for the previous six months.

Finally, after ten minutes, Hans handed over to Frank's personal secretary for her to make a short speech, and present him with a retirement present.

Marc signalled the resumption of the music with his best Noddy Holder impression, bellowing "It's Christmas!"

After three more songs, The band started to take turns at songs. Anna took the opportunity to approach Mr Hertz.

Frank had been circulating the room. Noticing the conversation happening between Anna and Hans, he made his way over to a couple standing quietly in the corner, trying not to attract attention. Arnold and Marilyn were keeping out of the way of other management, given the incident the previous day.

"Marilyn, nice to see you again," Frank greeted, "Arnold, exactly who is that charming girl you have brought with you, other than obviously being a close friend of Jason."

"Her name is Anna Kwon," Arnold stated. "She goes to the same boarding school as Jason. She couldn't travel home to Korea for Christmas, so Jason asked if she could stay with us for the holiday."

"She isn't German then?" Frank asked.

"No, but her father is Russian, hence her mixed looks. Why did you think she was German?"

"She has spent the last ten minutes speaking to Hans in what I assume is fluent German. After she introduced herself, they started to discuss something before disappearing into a side office. I think Andy is getting a bit worried, he was trying to earwig what was being said, although he doesn't speak the language as far as I know. How much does she know about what happened yesterday?"

"Yes, that is a very good question," Andy stated having come over, "You were told to keep your mouth shut, that doesn't mean getting someone else to do your dirty work."

A shrill note interrupted the proceedings. "Sorry," Jason called out, having hit the wrong note in his solo.

~o~O~o~

"I'm impressed. You have found out more in the last twenty-four hours than I've learned in the last week," Hans stated in German. "You are certain Mr Bridges is a reliable source."

"While he may be borderline incompetent at paperwork and bookkeeping, he does seem to know how to keep this place running," Anna replied. "We spent several hours last night, and several more this morning talking about this place. He hasn't put two and two together yet. He knows I'm wealthy, and that I have an interest in business, which is why he was happy to answer my questions about his industry, thinking my interest is only for my own education. I think he is telling the truth about the factory and what happened yesterday."

The high pitched shrill note penetrated the office. "Something is going on, that was the warning signal from Emily," Anna stated.

Hans led the way out of the office, immediately noting Andy and Arnold facing off against each other.

Anna slipped out behind him and headed back to the other musicians. Angella had taken over the lead, allowing Emily to step down and take a drink.

"Is that your father's boss?" Anna whispered.

"Yep, I spotted the smug arsehole immediately. Never have liked him," Emily replied. "Just what have you been up to?"

"Making sure that we can both afford to stay at school," Anna cryptically replied.

~o~O~o~

"We told you what to say, so you better make sure you get the facts straight," Andy was forcefully stating to Arnold, "and anything you have told that young slut over there, better get corrected."

Arnold was boiling with anger, but keeping the outward appearance of calm. He watched as Hans quietly snuck up behind Andy, listening to the ranting.

"Mr Harris," the heavily accented, and therefore unmistakable voice, caused Andy to spin round to face his new employer. "I will be operating a zero tolerance to bullying. Let this be your one and only warning. I would also strongly suggest you kerb your language towards Miss Kwon, she has both the resources and contacts to wipe the floor with you for slander."

"And exactly why might I need to do that," Anna stated, as she and Emily joined the small group of people.

"My apologies," Andy stated. If he left it at that, then the matter may have been over. However, he couldn't resist one last jibe. "I was under the impression you were staying with the Bridges."

"I do not see how that is relevant," Hans declared.

"Mr Bridges lives in a two bedroom house," Anna replied. "He is inferring that I am participating in an underage sexual relationship with my friend here."

"Sorry Dad," Emily stated, "I knew we would have neighbours and family jumping to conclusions. I overlooked your probably soon to be former boss making the connection."

Hans smiled, "do I take it that you wish to invoke article 17. I take your use of the past tense to indicate that you expect Mr Harris will not be employed here much longer."

Emily looked at Anna, "What have you been up to? Exactly what is article 17, and how come I can invoke it? Have you forgotten I know that your mother lives in Bunsu-ri? Kabunsuri being your initials, ordered the traditional Korean way of family name first, and the place your mother is from, is too big a coincidence."

Anna blushed, "Remember a few weeks back I didn't have any change to buy a bottle of coke, so you paid for both of us then refused to let me pay you back."

"It was hardly worth bothering with 50p"

"Well, after I bought the company and wrote off the debts, I sold 49 pence worth of shares to you at cost price. John signed the documents on your behalf and they are now held as part of your trust fund."

Frank was now laughing, "Andy, I take it you didn't read the memo with the new articles of association for the business. The shareholders of the company have always had the power to issue a vote of no confidence in any of the directors. As long as the majority of shareholders agree, then they have the power to fire any of the board of directors. When I was the sole shareholder, it didn't matter because I was also CEO and had the power to hire and fire anyway. I set up that clause knowing I would some day retire, but I wanted a way to keep a controlling interest, even if I stepped down as chief exec."

Turning more sombre, he continued, "I was at the hospital when Stanley's wife arrived. Three minutes, thirty-two seconds. That's how long it took before she was on the phone to a compensation lawyer. The only reason it took that long was because she had to walk outside to use her mobile phone. Luckily our insurance company is likely to foot the bill. They will no doubt settle out of court. We might not be so lucky with the HSE. They could decide that we were negligent."

"That is why we need to keep our facts straight," Andy countered, "Arnold raised a safety concern. We mitigated that concern."

"Putting up some cheap chain-link fence, secured on scaffold poles held up by brackets held on the ground by a couple of six-inch screws can hardly be expected to stop the movement of a half-ton of robotic arm," Arnold countered.

"I agree," Hans stated. "Which is why I'm appointing Mr Bridges as director of Health and Safety. He seems to be the only one around here with an adequate grasp of what is required. I can't stop the shareholders firing you, but I did make a promise just now that anybody who wanted to continue to work here could. Therefore, I am willing to employ you as a junior machine operator. I never said that it would be the same job at the same pay. Until everybody, and by that I mean not only management but everyone who works around the equipment, is satisfied with the operational safety, I am not authorising the unattended use of the arms."

Turning to Arnold, Hans asked, "If we disconnected the current control units, and instead operated the arms manually by remote control, do you think we could do so safely?"

"If we can cap the movement speed and fit extra dead man switches, then we might be able to use them. I would prefer if we could erect a stronger protective cage."

"Okay, first thing in the new year find out what we need to physically restrain these things. I can give you the details of the company who installed our equipment when I was at Bristol. I think their software is compatible with our hardware," Hans stated.

Turning back to Andy, he continued, "You can leave right now. Your presence isn't required at this party, it's souring the mood. I don't want to see you here until the new year. If you decide to return, you will be operating one of the arms. Probably not the one that injured Stanley, as that one is too close to the main walkway through the factory. I suspect we will have to do some remodelling before we can use that one again. But the others are in less problematic positions."

Not trusting himself to say something he might regret, Andy stormed out of the room, towards his car. As he left a cheer could be heard from some of the workers.

The confrontation in the corner had not gone unnoticed, and looking round the room, Hans could see interest was piqued. Marc had come to an end of a song a minute before and hadn't started another. He quickly said something in German to Anna, who nodded and whispered into Emily's ear.

The two teens returned to the makeshift stage. Taking the microphone from Marc, Anna addressed the audience. "As it is probably going to be around the grapevine by the end of the night, I might as well make it official and prevent any Chinese whispers. Kabunsuri Industries was set up as a trust fund to earn me money. If you think it's just some toy for a spoilt little rich kid to play with on a whim, then you're wrong. I'm not allowed to make any decisions on my own. If I want to buy something, then it has to be approved by a committee of experienced financial advisors.

"It's no secret that this company is in trouble. It will be years before I get a return on my investment, but I'm not here to make a quick buck. If I didn't think it could be turned around, I wouldn't be investing.

"I will, however, admit that I'm going to be a bit more lenient in what profit levels I'll accept since I found out one of by best friends had family working here. To stop me screwing up, I've given Jason some of my shares. He's also no slouch when it comes to business. My money comes from family, his is self-earned. He's paying his way through boarding school. I know how much our school fees are, and I've also seen the wage bill, so I know what everyone here is earning, including Mr Bridges. It isn't enough to pay the school fees and eat."

"You can threaten to fire me as much as you want, I'm not letting you get a tattoo," Arnold called out from the crowd, causing a few roars of laughter.

"Be nice," Emily replied, "Remember, I get to choose your nursing home when you get older."

"Did we forget to mention shareholders only get to vote once a year at the annual general meeting?" Hans asked, getting in on the act.

"Does that mean I can't decorate the canteen with pink unicorns?" Anna pouted.

"Only if you want all the men to go on strike," Hans replied.

"Okay, we'll let you run the company, Jason and I will simply provide the entertainment, after all, we have school to go to," Anna stated before switching to a singing voice, "I really can't stay."

Emily, immediately recognising the duet they had practised as a finale took Anna's queue to sing, "Baby, it's cold outside."

As they were singing, Angella took the opportunity to grab some fake mistletoe and had it ready to hold above their heads. Both of them had spotted what was going on. Anna nodded to Emily, so after the last line she took the signal and pulled her friend in close and planted a delicate kiss on her lips.

~o~O~o~

"So how much of the company do I actually own?" Emily asked as they drove home after the party.

"49%, the same as me. I bought the company for £1. Obviously, it cost me a lot more than that, as they had over 200k of debts which I've had to wipe out. I'm not passing any debt onto you," Anna replied. "While on paper, I'm a millionaire, most of that is tied up in investments. I've basically used all my available funds that I'm allowed to access in this deal. My father won't allow me to dip into my personal savings for business deals. He wants to make sure I have enough left for school, university, and a deposit on a house. If I want to spend any more, I'll have to liquidate some of the other stock I own."

"Why give me 49%?"

"Hans has the final 2%, that way any voting can't be deadlocked if we disagree."

"No, that's not what I mean, although I can see how that is a good idea," Emily clarified, "why give me any percentage at all."

"Several reasons. One: you have personal involvement with the company, as you have family employed there. I don't want to screw this up and destroy our friendship because I've done something which causes your father to lose his job."

"Don't worry about me," Arnold interjected from the front passenger seat. "I'm perfectly capable of getting myself fired by myself."

"Two," Anna continued, ignoring the quip, "you need to start diversifying your portfolio, and beginning with something you are familiar with and have an interest in is a good starting point. You may have a successful games company at the moment, but realistically how long is it going to last? Take Mojang for example. They have one big game with Minecraft, but their other games, like Scrolls, are minuscule in comparison."

"Hey, if Microsoft wants to offer me a couple of billion to buy me out, I'll follow Notch's example," Emily countered."
"Don't get your hopes up," Anna stated. "How many games companies collapse after their second or third titles? If they even make it that far? Also, given how fast the internet evolves, how long will it be until Youtube becomes the next GeoCities?

"Three: every business venture you've been involved in so far has turned out to be profitable. I'm hoping some of that luck rubs off on me."

"I hope you're right and haven't just jinxed it," Emily countered.

"You seem confident that you can pull the business around," Arnold stated, "what makes you so sure?"

"A lot of business isn't about what you know, it's about who you know," Anna declared. "That's why freemasonry has been so successful. I have some very good people in place, and I have contacts across various industries that I can call on when I need expertise.

"Also, I now own the end to end production from raw material to shop, and as such, I don't care if individual parts of the process only break even or even run at a loss, as long as the whole gives me a profit at the end of the day.

"The business isn't in as bad a position as it looks. A large chunk of money was being spent on paying interest on debts. I've wiped that out. Frank was originally on a very high salary, although admittedly he's drastically reduced the money he takes home in recent years to help the business. Hans is actually a couple of grand a year cheaper than Frank. Also, sounds like Andy will get a pay cut. If we can manage it, some of the other high paid staff might get reductions. If any decide to walk, they will be replaced with cheaper alternatives.

"Mr Bridges, you are likely to get a pay increase for being made Health and Safety director, but you won't be going up to what Mr Harris was earning. It's not that your work isn't valued, it's that we are paying the other directors too much. I leave that sort of decision to Hans. I suggest general policy, Hans deals with the details. My preference is to focus pay increases on the lowest paid in the workforce, as that seems to have a greater impact overall on morale."

"I can understand that," Arnold replied. "There is very much a 'them and us' attitude in the workforce. I'm in a fairly unique position in that although I'm technically management, I didn't start off that way. I have far more contact with people than some of the other managers, so I'm still regarded by quite a few as being in the 'us' category. There is a joke at work that I've been promoted into a position where I can't do any damage, and there is probably some truth in that."

"Morale is the other thing that needs improving," Anna declared. "We need to stop haemorrhaging good workers. We need everybody to take more pride in their work, to improve quality and increase productivity. Hans was alarmed when he read how many faulty units don't pass QA, or worse, get returned from the customers.

"Hopefully simply being under new ownership might help. While the factory is shut down over Christmas, we've booked some additional maintenance. We are concentrating on areas that affect the most number of people. So instead of painting the executive offices, we will be painting the staff canteen. I was only half joking earlier about the pink unicorns. We actually have some pieces of artwork to put up to brighten the area up a bit, one of which is a print of a painting of a unicorn. We've got some new couches and chairs to replace the threadbare ones.

"The ladies toilets will end up in pink. I think the gents is going to be pale lavender. The worn and battered stall doors and walls are being replaced, and new taps fitted.

"The car park is going to get a fresh coat of tarmac. All those weed-filled cracks and potholes will be gone. Ideally, we want some nice surprises when the bulk of the staff returns to work in the new year. Although with only a few working days between Christmas and new year, there is a limit to what can be achieved. Some things, such as the car park, might not happen until January."

Arnold chuckled, "If you can fix the plumbing you will be very popular. You turn on the tap and half the time you get no water, then ten seconds later you get drenched. Seriously, though, I know a few people will scoff at you wasting money, but I know a lot more will appreciate the gesture."

"Hold on," Emily stated, "isn't one of the products you manufacture an electric water pump? If you are having trouble with water pressure, surely you can fix it?"

"Don't be ridiculous. That's way too logical for our maintenance staff," Arnold replied. "Besides, I think they tried that, and it didn't work as planned. There is only a finite amount of water coming down the pipes. If you try to pump if through faster it seems to only suck it out of other taps in the building. The real answer is thicker pipes. Most of the building only has half inch piping when it probably needs to be three-quarter. When they built the office suite, it was done on the cheap. One of the directors did the plans rather than employing an architect. They extended the plumbing from the factory, so there is now double the number of sinks and toilets, plus a whole load of radiators, all running off the original water supply."

"Part of the due diligence I did before buying the company was having all the buildings and assets assessed. The surveyors picked up on the plumbing problems, which is one of the things on the to-do list. One of the suggestions was to capture rainwater off the roof and use it to flush the toilets. Not only is is environmentally friendly, it will reduce the demand on the plumbing and the water bill.

"One thing that was overlooked was health and safety issues. Depending on what you find is required, some of the funding may have to be diverted. For example, the car park, although some of those pot holes need doing as they are a trip hazard."

Marilyn pulled the car into the driveway. She had offered to drive so that Arnold could have a few drinks, especially as a few of his colleagues wanted to celebrate his promotion. Management provided a few kegs of beer for the staff from a local brewery, but usually, this was supplemented by other wines and spirits brought in by the staff themselves.

The following day was Saturday the 24th, Christmas eve. Anna sent an email to Hans in the morning noting some of the things learnt in the car on the way home regarding things needing to be done. Following breakfast, she accompanied Marilyn to the shops for some last minute grocery shopping.

Emily had convinced her father to spend some of his free time indulging in playing a computer game. It took some persuasion, but Arnold reluctantly agreed to the session being recorded, on the condition he could veto the release if he felt it was too embarrassing.

Over the space of five and a half hours, the pair recorded a ten episode series to be released twice weekly during January entitled "Octodad: Dadliest Catch - with my Dad". The game features as the main character an octopus pretending to be human. The challenge of the game is controlling the creature's limbs. This is made extra hard in multiplayer where one player controls the left arm and left leg, while the other controls the right arm and right leg.

Unlike a lot of her series, Emily didn't include a facecam as her father was participating. She also used her pitch manipulation software to disguise Arnold's voice so the was little chance of the pair of them being recognised by friends or family not in the know.

A text from Hans to Anna suggested they watch the local news. The sale of Farcombe Engineering had made the bulletin. The accident, which had been briefly mentioned on a previous evening, was again referenced as the reporter explained that the company had been bought.

The report included a short clip of Hans stating how happy he was to be taking on the challenge of turning the factory around, and how he hoped the injection of capital and new contracts would have a positive effect.

"What makes this sale unusual, is who owns the parent company," the reporter stated. "We have found out from sources in the company that the two principal owners are a pair of fourteen-year-old girls. Both of which are rumoured to be self-made millionaires.

"They have asked not to be named, as they are both still at school and don't want to be singled out. We understand one of the girls was forced to change schools recently through bullying.

"One of the girls is multi-lingual and started to earn her fortune through providing tuition and translation for footballers at one of the premier league clubs after she stepped in to help one of her family members who worked there.

"The other girl has a regular following on YouTube, and has recently branched out into the music industry with her first single already in the top forty."

Marilyn looked at her daughter in surprise, "I didn't know you had released a single."

"I haven't, exactly," Emily replied, "at least not on my own. I'm lead guitarist on Alicia Morgan's new single. I told you about it a couple of months ago. At least they didn't mention Raging Squirrels. Although, if there are any of my viewers working at the factory, they may put two and two together if they realise the gender switch isn't an accident."

"I'm guessing Hans knows who you are?" Arnold asked.

Emily looked to Anna for an answer, who replied, "Yes, he was involved in the stock transfer to your holding company, so knows who you are. He would have been both the official and unofficial sources for the reports. As well as some posters on bullying in the workplace, there will also be some posters on diversity dotted around the factory. If anybody fails to take the hints, then they can either agree to some extra training, or they will be asked to leave."

"That is a relief," Arnold stated, "I was worried what might happen if your secret got out. I can think of several people who might not like the revelation, and I don't think either Frank or Andy would necessarily have my back."

"You are thinking of letting people know we have a daughter now?" Marilyn asked.

"I think we are kidding ourselves if we think we can keep a lid on this forever," Arnold replied. "I won't be shouting it from the rooftops, but I'm not necessarily going to outright deny it if anybody asks."

"Does that mean I can wear a dress tomorrow?" Emily asked.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," Marilyn stated. "Unless you have already let slip to Bill and Liz?"

"I promise neither Anna or myself have said anything about my transition to my aunt or uncle," Emily replied.

"Why do I get the impression that's a suspiciously specific denial?" her mother asked.

"I have no idea what might have been said between your sisters," Emily countered, "Aunt Molly is fully aware of my status."

Playing her way 2 - Chapter 5

© D.L.

The silver Ford Focus turned in through the tall metal gates onto the brick weave drive. Arnold swung the car around and pulled up in front of one of the garage doors, parking next to the white Fiat 500 already parked there.

Emily recognised the other car as the one belonging to her Aunt Molly and cousin Susan.

Arnold opened the rear hatchback and handed the bags to his passengers to carry inside.

Anna took in the building before her. She had heard from Emily and her parents that Bill and Liz were doing well, and liked to show off. The house in front of her was probably four times the size of the Bridge's residence. When not at school, she had been in the company of millionaires, both business associates of her father, and premier level footballers, so had seen plenty of mansions.

In comparison to most, this was quite modest, but still larger than the average home. From conversations with Emily, she knew it contained six bedrooms, all en-suite.

Liz greeted them at the door, directing the two younger guests in the direction of the games room.

Emily, once again dressed as Jason in a pair of black trousers and a red Christmas jumper with a reindeer on the front, led the way.

Anna, on the other hand, had gone all out. It had taken some convincing by Emily that she shouldn't hold back. Emily had insisted that her friend should make her jealous, and to not worry about it.

Therefore, Anna had gone for a classic little black dress, finishing only halfway done to her knees. The low-cut top maintained modestly by having a lace insert going up to the neck. Anna had found some tights on the internet that were black fishnet style with a holly pattern.

Her look was completed by a pearl necklace and earrings.

~o~O~o~

The games room was about the size of a double garage. Becky and Susan were stood at a pool table that took up nearly half the space. A game was in progress, with Susan leaning over the table to take a shot. Both girls were wearing matching red dresses with white fake fur trim. The only difference in their outfit being that Becky had a silk scarf round her neck.

Jack was sitting on a bean bag holding a controller. The x-box was hooked up to a 40-inch flat screen TV. The familiar sight of Rampaging Squirrels filling the screen.

Tom was sat at a desk in the corner. The triple monitor PC setup had BioShock running on the middle screen, with Twitch chat on the right-hand monitor, and recording software on the left. A small web camera was pointing at Tom's face, and the feed could be seen on the left monitor that was being inserted into the top corner of the live stream.

Both Anna and Emily immediately recognised the software. Emily used the same software when doing live streams.

Tom quickly glanced across, "Hi, I'll be with you in a minute, I'm live on the internet at the moment doing a speed run. For those viewing, more of my family has just arrived, so I will be ending this stream in a short while. Time is coming up in about three minutes."

Emily positioned herself so that she could watch while remaining out of sight of the camera, just in case anybody viewing might recognise her. She didn't think it likely, as she always disguised her voice and appearance online, but caution was always prudent.

Becky, Susan and Jack came across to stand with the two newcomers to see the finally.

Tom was the eldest of the younger generation, being fifteen. His younger brother Jack was thirteen. Becky being the youngest sibling at eleven. Their cousins, Susan and Jason, along with Anna, where all fourteen.

"Time," Tom shouted into the microphone on his headset, "47 minutes 28.4 seconds."

The gathered audience politely clapped from off camera.

"Not bad for a casual run," Tom continued, "well, that is all for today, I have to go. Bye."

Tom shut down the transmission, turning to greet the latest arrivals.

"Great time, that must be close to record pace," Emily stated.

"It's about a minute off my personal best," Tom replied, "I'm actually forth on the record table. I was third until KPCzombie put in a 41:20 a fortnight ago. My best is a 43:50 when you exclude the loading times. That's a 46:03 on a live time."

"Respect," Emily stated, "I struggle to get under an hour when I try. I can potentially get sub fifty-five if I match the combination of my best sectors."

"If you manage it, you should try posting it to YouTube, if you have the capability," Tom said, not realising he was speaking to a YouTube celebrity, "you could potentially get yourself on the top 40 leaderboard."

"Congratulations," Anna stated, "I didn't realise Jason had such a talented family."

"Everyone, this is Anna Kwon," Emily introduced her friend, "We met at boarding school. Her trip home had to be cancelled, so I asked if she could join us."

"Nice to finally meet you in person," Susan said, pulling the other girl into a hug, "beats phone and video conferences."

"The tall one here is Tom Roberts," Emily continued, "the other boy is his brother, Jack, and this young lady is Becky, Tom's Sister."

"I see you're a Squirrels fan," Anna addressed Jack, "is that expert mode?"

"Yeah," Jack stated shyly, getting tongue-tied speaking to a girl, "I've completed the game on normal mode, but I'm completely stuck on level 15."

"I've offered to help, but he's refusing to accept help from a girl," Susan countered, "as if only boys can play games."

"I've shown him how to skip the level," Tom offered.

"I want to complete the game properly," Jack replied. "Once I've done a glitchless run, I'll consider the speedrun techniques."

"That level is virtually impossible," Tom stated, "each jump has a fifty-fifty chance of failure, and there must be thirty jumps to make."

"Twenty-eight," Anna corrected. "Fourteen if you have stockpiled enough health packs to rocket jump over two at a time."

The level in question is played from a top-down perspective and involves jumping between floating icebergs while being fired on by a missile launcher. The missiles destroy the iceberg you are currently occupying, plus one of the two icebergs you can jump too. On normal mode, it is possible to see the missiles coming before you jump, so as long as you get the timing right, you can easily jump to the correct iceberg.

On expert mode, you are forced to jump before you can see the second missile, so you can't predict which of the two options is correct using visual clues alone. The speed increases throughout the level.

"Susan, how many attempts did it take you to complete the level?" Emily asked.

"Got it first go on normal. Took ten attempts on expert, until I worked out how to tell which was the right platform. I can now complete it 90% of the time on expert and about 50% of the time on insane mode," Susan replied.

"I haven't managed insane mode yet," Anna stated, "I struggle on expert without the game running at double speed."

"Would you like me to teach you the secret to level 15 on expert?" Emily asked, "Since its obvious neither of you boys have figured it out yet."

"Okay, this I've got to see," Tom stated.

Emily picked up the controller and sat down with her back to the TV.

"Becky, can I borrow your scarf please," Emily asked.

Puzzled, Becky removed the silk scarf from around her neck and handed over the garment to her cousin. Emily rolled the scarf and tied it around her head.

"You are going to attempt expert blindfolded?" Jack asked in amazement.

"No," Emily replied, "I'm going to attempt it on insane. It might take me a couple of tries, I usually only do this with headphones. I'll need the volume up, and for you all to remain quiet."

Susan created a new game in an unused save slot before using the level select to start the game in insane mode at the start of level 15. Once ready, she handed the controller to Emily.

Taking a deep breath, Emily hit start. The sound of the heavy-rock backing track, playing at double tempo, filled the room. Listening closely to the music she waited for the sound of two rockets firing. Immediately after the second rocket sound, the next beat in the dynamically generated background music was a snare drum. With lightning quick reactions, Emily simultaneously hit the jump and left buttons. The thud of the player character landing amid two explosions signalled the manoeuvre was successful.

Less than a half second later the process repeated. This time the beat after the second rocket was a bass drum, indicating the need to jump to the right.

Susan and Anna, having witnessed the feat before, grinned to one another as the other three audience members watched on in astonishment as jump after jump was timed to perfection until the end of the level was reached.

Emily removed the blindfold and handed the scarf back to Becky. Clapping could be heard from the doorway.

"That was mighty impressive," Bill stated as he walked further into the room. "How did you do it?"

"You have to listen for the audio cues. It is possible with visual cues only, but they are all on the extreme edge of the screen and a very easy to miss, especially as each platform has a different hint. You either have to learn the position of 48 single pixel flashes, or learn two sounds."

Turning to Jack, Emily continued, "next time you play, listen to the percussion. If you get a snare drum immediately after the second rocket launches you need to jump left, otherwise jump right. You have three beats to make the jump. You will be in the air for two beats. If you get the timing right, you will be jumping on every eighth beat."

"I wish I recorded that," Tom stated, "that was awesome."

"Once the next patch is released, the whole game will be able to be completed blindfolded," Emily added, "There is currently a section in level 18 lacking audio cues. Once Alan finishes the coding, John will push the release. It was supposed to be done in time for Christmas, but Alan's wife broke her arm, so he's had to spend more time looking after their baby. I'm planning on making a blindfolded run and uploading it to YouTube in the new year."

What Emily didn't say was that she had already done a developers commentary on her channel for the levels she designed, including level 15. It had been her idea to base a level on audio feedback instead of visual feedback. The other developers weren't sure about the idea, but after the level was successful, they decided to make the whole game playable by audio, allowing it to be speed-run blindfolded, joining a select few games that can be run blindfolded, and the only one specifically designed to allow it.

The new patch was going to add a new challenge mode where the visuals are totally replaced by a troll-face over the top of a psychedelic background.

"I came in to say that we are ready to start handing out some presents, as the Phillips have arrived, if you would like to come through," Bill stated, revealing the reason for his presence.

~o~O~o~

The large living room was packed with guests as the younger generation filtered in.

The room was a large square. A large fireplace was on one wall. A flame effect gas fire was alight for decoration, but not putting out a lot of heat. To the left of the fireplace stood a 50-inch flat screen TV. On the other side of the fireplace was a large Christmas tree stretching up to the ceiling.

A coffee table stood in the middle of the room, and around the outside where three three-seater couches.

On the couch next to the tree, Emily's parents, Arnold and Marilyn, sat with Emily's Uncle, Dean Phillips.

Directly opposite, Dean's wife Helen was sat with her sister, Molly Bishop. Susan took the spare place on the couch next to her mother, Molly. Becky smoothed her dress under her as she knelt on the floor in front of Susan.

Tom and Jack took seats on the couch directly opposite to the fireplace. They joined their cousin, Eddie Phillips. Eddie was the youngest of the children at only eight and was the son of the youngest of the four sisters, Helen. Liz was the eldest, followed by Marilyn then Molly.

Emily and Anna decided to sit on the floor in front of Marilyn and Arnold. They could have pulled rank on Jack and Eddie but decided they didn't want to sit with the boys. Emily quickly introduced Anna to the remaining guests.

Bill was at a drinks cabinet, distributing sherry to the adults. Liz went to the tree and knelt down next to the pile of presents that had been gathered underneath.

"So that everybody has at least one present to open," Liz started, "I thought we would do a Secret Santa this year."

Liz began to pass around presents. The anonymous gifts were mainly boxes of chocolates or biscuits. Becky got some costume jewellery, but the fun really started when Susan unwrapped a second-hand book - Fifty shades of grey. This caused her do both blush and laugh. She was soon joined laughing by the boys on the couch.

"I was waiting until someone pulled a prank," Liz stated, "Sorry Susan, it seems you pulled the short straw".

Liz pulled the next present from the pile and read the label and gulped. Bill, seeing his wife hesitate asked, "What's the matter?"

"I think this next one might be a prank as well," Liz replied, "Jason, if you want to skip this, or open it in private, you can do."

Emily took the package. It was slightly larger than some of the others. From the size and shape, and the fact it was soft and bendy, she guessed it may be an item of clothing. Emily examined the label. It was printed off on a computer in a handwriting font, so that the was no way of identifying the originator.

"Jason, since you looked so jealous of the girls last year, we thought you might enjoy joining in this year," Emily read aloud. The room had gone silent, some looking on in puzzlement, others in anticipation.

Carefully, Emily turned the package over and broke the tape. Blue fabric became visible from underneath the paper. Unfolding the garment, she held up a blue dress decorated with white snowflakes.

"Wait, is that..." Susan Started to ask.

"The dress I wore last year," Becky interrupted. Becoming slightly agitated, she continued, "I swear it wasn't me."

By now the boys were roaring with laughter.

"Susan?" Emily enquired, figuring as the only other relative of similar age that knew her secret, she was the prime suspect. She knew it wasn't Anna, as she had to buy a tin of shortbread for Liz. Emily also didn't think it likely to be a stunt pulled by any of the adults in the know.

"Don't look at me," Susan replied. "If it was me, I would make sure it would fit. Besides it would have to be someone living here to have access to it."

"It may be a bit short, but unless Becky has grown considerably in the last year, it will probably fit you," Anna assessed. "No offence intended to Becky, but she is heavier build. Whereas you may be taller than your cousin, I don't think you are any wider. You can fit into skinnier styles."

"I think you should try it on," Anna suggested. Playing on the fact that everybody was assuming she was Jason's girlfriend, she practically purred, "for me? I think you'll look really sexy. I'll make it worth your while."

"I think perhaps the culprit should be made to wear it," Bill stated, "Which one of you boys would like to admit it?"

"You are not getting me wearing it," Tom responded, "It wasn't me, and besides it's less likely to fit me than Jason."

"Oh, I'm sure I can find something in my wardrobe that would fit you, young man," Liz stated, much to Tom's embarrassment.

"We could always make Eddie wear it," Helen stated, causing her son to stop laughing, "he is laughing the hardest, and he's small enough to fit in it. That is, unless you want to make Jack wear it."

"I wouldn't want to deny the opportunity to Jason," Jack responded. "He always looks so longingly at Susan and Becky. The way he's gripping that dress, I doubt you'll manage to tear it away from him anyway."

Attention returned to Emily, who was now breathing deeply near panic. She turned and looked worriedly at her parents.

"It's up to you dear," Marilyn stated softly. Arnold nodded agreement.

Emily slowly got to her feet and hung the dress in front of her to access the size.

"That looks a little tight," Susan stated. "I have a suggestion. I happen to know what is inside one of the other presents. It would be a better fit. I doubt you will wanting anything too tight given we are about to eat one of the biggest meals of the year."

"You didn't," Molly almost shouted.

"Of course I did," Susan replied, "However, I wasn't necessarily going to reveal the presents if she didn't show up by herself. I know the rules, and given the boy's reaction, I can see it's probably justified. Car keys, please?"

"Wait, you were going to pull the same stunt?" Dean asked.

Susan smiled and wiggled her eyebrows at her uncle as she disappeared outside, returning a minute later to present Emily with another package. This time the label simply said, "To Emily, Merry Christmas, love from Susan."

Emily unwrapped the present. I was a dress identical to the ones Susan and Becky were wearing. Red with white fake fur trim.

"I see I'm not getting out of this one," Emily replied. "Since everybody seems to think I would be better off dressing as a girl, I guess I should get changed."

"You can use one of the guest bedrooms," Liz stated.

"Here, take these with you," Susan handed Emily a carrier bag with some more wrapped items, "you may need them."

Emily handed the blue dress to her uncle, as he was stood nearby. Bill took the dress and then turned to the boys. By this time only Eddie was still laughing, finding the thought of his cousin dressing as a girl hilarious.

"As you find this so funny, Eddie, I think you just volunteered to wear this."

Bill looked to Dean and Helen, who both nodded that he could go ahead.

Only Tom, due to his close proximity, noticed the sigh Jack let slip. Suspicious of his brother, he decided he needed to have a quiet word with him.

"I'll see that he gets changed," Tom offered, reaching for the dress. His father handed it to him. "Eddie, come with me. Jack, I need you as well."

~o~O~o~

Gulping with fear, Eddie did as his elder cousin ordered. Tom led them upstairs and ordered Eddie into the bathroom with the dress, under strict instructions not to come back out unless he was wearing it.

"What's going on?" Tom asked, "You looked disappointed, and actually annoyed."

"I was supposed to end up in that dress," Jack admitted, barely above a whisper.

"We had an agreement," Liz stated, appearing next to the boys, with Becky following her. "Jason isn't the only boy in the family who was getting jealous. I found out Jack has been trying on Becky's dresses for months. When I noticed the blue dress was missing, I confronted him."

"I tried to deny it by saying it was for a prank to get Jason in a dress," Jack replied.

"I don't get it, why let the joke go ahead?" Tom asked.

"So Jackie would have an excuse for being in a dress for Christmas," Liz answered. "It was going to be punishment for pulling the prank."

"So it backfired," Tom reasoned, "I'm guessing Dad wasn't in on it. Although you were lucky Susan also had the same idea, as I get the feeling Jason was seriously considering putting that dress on."

"Oh, we planned for that," Liz stated. "Susan beat me to it. The is another one of those dresses in Jason's size hanging in my room. Your cousin is transgendered. I found out when I went to Norfolk. She has been living at a girls boarding school for the past few months."

"So, Jack can wear that one instead," Tom suggested.

"It's too big," Jack answered.

"Come with me," Becky stated, grabbing her younger brother's hand and leading her to her bedroom. "I'll find something for you to wear."

"You don't mind?" Jack asked tentatively.

"Who do you think tipped Mum off? I knew it couldn't be Tom, he is bigger than us so would need to borrow off Mum. I figured it was you ages ago. We kept a close eye on that charity bag of my old clothes to see if you would take the bait."

"So, who's getting the dress intended for Jason?" Tom asked.

"Are you interested?" his mother replied.

"Well," Tom hesitated, "I would never normally even consider this, but if it will make the other boys feel more comfortable, I'm willing to wear it, at least until after dinner."

Liz smiled and led the way to the master bedroom.

~o~O~o~

Meanwhile, in the guest bedroom, Emily unwrapped the other gifts in the bag. Having read the labels, and noting the instructions to open alone, she guessed what might be inside.

The first package was a set of three panties. As she was already tucked and wearing two layers of girls underwear, these weren't immediately needed.

The second package contained a padded training bra. It would be needed for making the dress sit right. It wouldn't have been a problem for the blue dress, as that was designed for a pre-pubescent girl.

Emily took off the jumper and the plain white blouse hidden underneath. Neatly folding the garments she placed them in the carrier bag, followed by her trousers. Plain skin coloured tights already covered her legs. She had chosen to wear a pair under her trousers and socks.

Wrapping the bra around her chest, she fastened the clasps and positioned the cups into a comfortable position.

Lifting the dress over her head she let it flow down over her body before zipping it up the back. Emily grinned at the reflection in the mirror. The dress was a perfect fit. Pulling the elastic out of her hair, she let the low boy style ponytail disappear.

Looking at the final present from Susan, a small makeup kit, a silly idea came to her head, "If Jack wants to make me look like a little girl, then perhaps I should oblige him."

Emily carefully applied some lipstick and blush. Using the wrong end of the makeup brush, she applied some fake freckles to her face.

She then proceeded to mess her hair up, before pulling it into two uneven bunches above her ears. One slightly higher than the other.

Laughing at her reflection, she packed up her stuff and headed down the stairs. The sound of laughter was emanating from the main room.

~o~O~o~

Emily entered the room to find the adults laughing. Eddie was sat on the couch, the dress scrunched where he had dropped down, making no effort to arrange it neatly. His arms were folded across his chest and was not looking amused, a scowl evident on his face.

Helen had her smart phone out, taking photo's of her son, much to his annoyance.

A cough from behind her caused her to look round.

"Excuse me, you're blocking the door," Tom stated.

Emily stepped aside to let the two brothers into the room. Gasps went around the room as Tom entered, now dressed identically to Susan, Emily and Becky.

"I knew that would look cute on you Jackie," Becky exclaimed as Jack followed his older brother into the room. The younger boy was now dressed in a green sleeveless dress. To make it a bit more seasonal, he was wearing a Christmas blouse underneath. It was white with small reindeers printed all over. The collar and end of the sleaves were black satin.

"Jason, come here," Marilyn said sternly, pointing at the floor in front of her. "No daughter of mine is going to go around with wonky pigtails. Sit!"

Taking a hairbrush out of her purse, which was sat next to the couch where she was sitting, Marilyn pulled the elastics out of Emily's hair and started to brush it.

"Oo, good idea, Jackie, come here," Becky instructed. Jack looked at his sister, smiled and sat down in front of her. His hair was shorter, but just long enough to pull into short, inch long, pigtails. Liz briefly left the room and returned, handing her daughter some hair accessories.

Susan grinned at the two other boys. Eddie shook his head and put his arms over his head so that she couldn't mess with his hair. Tom politely declined to participate further, "No thanks, but I think I've gone far enough. Eddie, stop being such a wuss. These clothes might feel odd to us, but they are not that uncomfortable. It's not that you're the only boy in a dress, nobody here under the age of thirty is wearing trousers."

"There, that's better, Emily," Marilyn stated, emphasising her daughter's name as she finished putting in two bunches. This time level, neater, and slightly further back, just behind Emily's ears.

Bill snuck out and retrieved his digital camera. It was a professional quality SLR with screw in lenses.

"Okay, boys, and I use that term loosely, I think we should mark the occasion with a few photos," Bill stated.

"Do we have too?" Eddie moaned, "It's bad enough Mum having pictures of me like this."

"Don't worry, I have no intention of publishing these on the internet," Bill replied.

Emily, Eddie, Jack and Tom posed for individual and group photos. Various photos were shot, of the individual families, and finally of the whole group.

"I lied earlier," Bill stated, "I will put these up on the internet so that you can download them, but it will be a password protected drop box file."

"You're being awful good sports about this boys," Dean observed, "Only Eddie seems bothered about having his photo taken."

"Everybody I know has already seen me in a dress before," Emily replied. "You've seen the photo's of the St. Trinians uniform I wore for charity last year. I'll probably post a selfie when I get home."

"I could probably live it down in the unlikely event that my friends got to see it," Tom added, "and nobody is likely to pick on Jack with me about. I know a few people who would come to our aide should anybody decide to make trouble."

Joe, the chef employed to cook the Christmas meal, appeared at the door and announced that dinner was ready to be served. He had been pre-warned by Bill what was happening, so wasn't shocked by seeing a bunch of boys dressed as girls. The only slight surprise was that he couldn't identify the fourth boy. He had previously met Tom, Jack and Becky when he arrived, so was able to recognise them. The youngest child was obviously not happy with the situation, so he rightly assumed that person to be male. However, he couldn't make out the last boy. The remaining children looked to all be girls.