Michael sat on the bench outside the principal’s office, worrying. It had been a complicated day.

He’d never noticed Tracey – the quiet girl at the back of the class – not until she had become Simon that is. Something of the combination of her cropped hair, boy’s uniform and over-exuberant manner had made him notice her, him and called up strange passions he’d not felt for anyone before.

They’d met behind the bike shed as arranged, and silently moved to the darkened corner. She, He had undone her trousers and slid down her pants, to let him look, to see for himself. He’d started, then drawn closer, captured by his emotions. Then Simon had started screaming, and he’d felt the clasp of Mrs Hopkins, firm on his shoulder.

Simon had told her Michael had been pointing and laughing – he’d told Michael this was best – that the adults would never understand otherwise. Certainly, it had made telling his father easier – any other truth would have resulted in pain.

He sat in the cold hall, confused and yet happy.