I turn away, tucking my chin against my chest, my face burning, dreading the drop. There's a man in the ladies' toilets! In my mind, I can already hear the shrill voice of a complainant—step one in bringing down the fragile house of cards that is my newfound mental health.

Instead, I hear a warm voice, familiar, friendly. "There she is! Oh my God, Hannah, that dress is so you."

I raise my head and see Olivia stood in the door. She's wearing tight jeans and a light sweater, her hair mussed up in that very-deliberate-but-looks-very-lazy way. A carrier bag is in her hand.

"Olivia?" I turn to Jessie. "Did you plan this?"

"The accusation," says Jessie, gasping. "But yes. I did. We need to wake up the girl inside you, Hannah, and Olivia is better than I am."

"I thought we were just buying a dress?"

"And wearing it," Jessie says. "You look way too pretty to just take that thing off and put your horrible school uniform on again."

"Green is definitely your colour," Olivia adds. "Really brings out your eyes."

I shake my head. "I can't... Look at me. People will think I'm a boy in a dress."

"They won't," Jessie assures me. "And even if they did, it wouldn't be a bad thing. But I knew you'd be all in your own head about it—Liv's told me all about how hard it is to be yourself in public for the first time—which is why we're giving you a makeover. Not a professional one. I can't afford that on my pocket money."

"Not to mention, the lady who runs the salon is a massive TERF," adds Olivia.

"But when we're done here, you're going to be the belle of the ball."

Olivia catches the nervous look in my eyes—nervous because, despite the sudden realisation that I really want to look pretty, I'm terrified that even in make-up I won't—and gives me  a reassuring smile. "Only if you want us to, of course."

Do I want to? I mean, yes, of course, but there's a part of me that wonders if it's actually good for my mental state. It's been less than a week since I figured out I'm a girl. My world is spinning. I haven't even begun to make sense of everything—what if I see myself, in a pretty dress, all made up, as feminine as I can possibly look, and I still don't like what I see? For as long as I haven't ever worn make-up, I can sustain the lie that a bit of powder can work miracles.

But then, I do want to be cute.

"Yes," I tell Olivia. "Work your magic."

And it begins. Olivia takes out an assortment of brushes and powders and things from her bag, too many for me to remember what they are, while Jessie stands to block me from the mirror. "You mustn't peep until it's all done," she tells me.

I can't imagine it looking good. Even just feeling the tickle of a brush on my cheek or the gently insistent nudge of a pencil on my eyeline makes me feel like a clown. That must be what I look like, right? Hannah has left the building. Now stands Bozo the Clown. But both Olivia and Jessie gush as they look at me.

At one point, Olivia pauses and holds two tubes of something up to compare. She whispers something to Jessie, who nods. As Olivia gets back to her work, Jessie whispers in my ear: "Oh, you are going to look gorgeous!" I can't see it myself.

I mean that literally. I have no idea what I look like; I never even got a chance to see how my dress looks on me before circumstances overtook me. I'd be lying if I said that didn't make me a little anxious.

At last, Olivia draws back. "I think that's it," she says, regarding me. "Hannah, you look wonderful."

"She really does," Jessie agrees.

"Close your eyes," Olivia tells me. I obey. A hand touches my shoulder, either hers or Jessie's, and gently manoeuvres me into place. Then: "Now open."

I open my eyes.

There, in the bathroom mirror before me, stood between Olivia and Jessie, is a girl. She's beautiful. Her dress hugs a shapely body, her green-shadowed eyes pop out of a soft face with a rose-blush complexion. She is everything I think of when I imagine what sort of girl I want to be.

And she's me.

She's me.

I'm the girl in the mirror.

"Thank you," I say, turning to Olivia.

"How do you feel?" Jessie asks.

"Wonderful," I say. "I never knew I could look so pretty."

"That's the dysphoria talking," says Olivia. "I was there once. You're so busy noticing all the things you hate about your body that your mind refuses to believe that there are some parts which were perfect all along. You've always had a feminine face shape, Hannah. You just couldn't see it until the rest of you was brought to the fore."

I beam, staring at myself in the mirror, until Jessie nudges me.

"You can't stay there staring at yourself all day," she says. "And I don't want to waste our first full girls' day stood in the bathroom. Come on! It's time to bring the real Hannah out into the world."

All of a sudden, stupidly, I'm nervous again. Why should I be? I can see myself in the mirror. I know I look pretty, feminine. But suddenly I'm scared of being spotted and outed. I open my mouth to voice a protest...

...and Olivia grabs my arm, dragging me to the door. "Do you know how much of her life a trans girl will steal, if she keeps hiding away? Too much. If you wait until you're ready, you'll never be ready." She pushes open the door and drags me through, Jessie at the rear to prevent me from hanging back.

And then I'm through the door.

Outside. In public. And unashamedly me.

A few passers-by glance our way, but only the most casual of glances. Nobody calls me out. Nobody starts screaming at the "man in a dress".

Nobody cares.

I'm a girl and nobody cares.

And it's great.

 *

The rest of the day passes on a cloud. Olivia stays with us for the rest of our shopping trip, the two of them gushing over a hundred items they think would look good on me, most of which show more skin than I'm comfortable with showing. Mercifully for my bank account, they don't insist on any further purchases. They seem satisfied by my first foray into girlhood.

Olivia comes back to Jessie's with us, but only for a quick bite to eat before she has to head home. There are beef sandwiches on a ceramic tray in Jessie's annexe for us, courtesy of her mother. They're delicious. Too much to eat them all, though; my stomach gives up before we're halfway through. Then, stuffed to burst, we bid Olivia farewell, and the two of us talk about sweet nothings until it's well past sunset.

I've never felt so at ease. Shorn of my façade of masculinity, I don't have to hide anything. I can speak openly, and freely, and funnily enough the conversation flows effortlessly then. I don't want today to end.

It does, of course. Good things always do. It's nearly eleven PM when, yawning, Jessie suggests we get ready for bed. She hands me a packet of moist face wipes. "Those will get the makeup off," she tells me. "You don't want to sleep with makeup on, ever. Bad for your pores."

I take the wipes, sadly, and head to the bathroom. There, after one last look at my beautiful face, courtesy of Olivia's handiwork, I start to clean my face. Deep breath, Hannah. It'll be over soon.

Running a wipe across my face, something catches. My hand stops, midway through cleaning a cheek. Despite myself, I feel tears beginning to pool in my eyes, and the next thing I know I'm bawling. Jessie's there straight away. She hugs me silently while I sob, waits for the outpouring to subside. And for a moment I wonder if it will ever stop. I could cry forever.

It does, of course. My tear ducts run dry.

"Hannah." Jessie says my name and it's as beautiful as snowdrops on a mountain flower. "What's wrong?"

The hug breaks apart, and I look into her eyes. Oh, it's easy to get lost in those eyes. I find myself guarded—worried that telling Jessie all that's on my mind might be enough to drive her away. And now she's in my life, I want her there forever.

And suddenly I'm not guarded any more. It all spills out. "I hate that I have to take this off," I tell her. "I hate that, come Monday, I'll have to pretend to be a boy again. I think today was the best day of my life. Just being me... and it cuts me up that I have to end it. But what if I'm just some pervert? It almost feels shameful to enjoy being a girl. I'm a boy, or I'm supposed to be. And I'm happier than ever before the day I get to wear a dress and be pretty. I kind of feel like I'm betraying my masculinity, somehow. What will Mum think? She probably hates me already. How do I tell her that I'm ready to stop being her son, ready to just be cute and feminine all the time? What if she won't support me? And what if I'm just making a mistake? What if I'm just telling myself I enjoyed myself today, because deep down I can't bear to admit that I was wrong?" I pause only long enough to take a breath. "I like you, Jessie. Like you like you. Always have. Being a girl, however fun it is, means giving up the chance to be with you. To be your boyfriend. And I just don't know if it's worth it. I don't know what means more to me." I smile weakly. "I'm sorry. That's a lot."

Jessie shakes her head. "It's not a lot," she says. "And isn't it easier shared?"

I nod. "I guess."

"My mum always says that when you have a lot of problems, you need to focus on one of them, and the rest will keep till morning," Jessie says, putting an arm around me. "And I can help you with one of those problems right now." She leans forward and kisses me; it's not a long kiss, like I've seen in the movies, with tongues and things, but it's right on my lips and long enough to make it clear it's not just a platonic kiss. When she pulls away, I can still taste some of her lipstick on my mouth.

"But... I'm a girl now."

"And?"

"You like boys. So you can't like me. Unless you're bisexual—are you bisexual?" I'm rambling because I'm nervous.

Jessie shakes her head. "I'm not bisexual," she says. "Hannah, I like girls. Only girls."

I furrow my brow. "But you said you dated Sam Douglas."

She nods. "Hannah, do you even know who Sam Douglas is?"

"No." I shake my head. "I mean, I've probably seen him around, because it's a small school, but I don't know him."

"She is the captain of the netball team, you silly girl," Jessie says.

"She? Sam Douglas is a girl?"

"Why else do you think we had to hide the fact that we were dating?" Jessie slaps her forehead. "God, you are so oblivious sometimes, Hannah."

"Sorry," I murmur.

"No. Don't be sorry. I like that part of you—it's really cute."

I'm barely getting used to being a girl, and I'm really not used to being called cute. I blush a deep crimson. That makes Jessie giggle.

"Everything makes so much more sense now," she says. "I've always kind of liked you, Hannah. Like, more than a background level of like, but a few notches short of a full-blown crush. But recently I couldn't stop thinking about you. It's why I asked you to sit with the girls, to be honest. I wanted to get to know you better, even if it was messing with my idea of what my sexuality was. So I said to myself: this year is the year I solve the Hannah Carden mystery."

"Ooh, I like the sound of being a mystery," I giggle.

"Do you have any idea how long I waited outside the school gates on the first day back? Just circling until we could meet by chance." Jessie blushes. "I wanted to know you better, Hannah. To know what liking you meant for me. Now I know. I'm so gay I can spot girls before they spot themselves."

"Maybe you are bi," I say.

Jessie dismisses the idea. "No chance. I've never even been a little bit attracted to any boy apart from you; I literally don't have any conception of whether men are handsome or not, because it just doesn't register with me. But you... you were the one little wrinkle that I couldn't smooth flat. And it turns out that, actually, you're a girl. And if it's what you want too, I'd like to see where this goes."

"Where what goes?"

"This." Jessie gestures broadly around the room. "Us. Me and you, together. I like the idea of you being my girlfriend."

I've never been in a situation like this before. I'm literally, like, a million times closer than I've ever been before to having a girlfriend. I don't know what to say. So instead I blush and titter. "I would very much like to be your girlfriend," I say, eventually.

And just like that, Jessie and I become girlfriend and girlfriend.