“I can't reach,” she said, perched on her tiptoes by an open door. “Who puts the big plates all the way back there?”

I gave her a smirk and then reached easily over her head, took two plates, and handed them to her.

“Show off,” she said, grinning, and then went to split the pizza. I leant back against the counter and watched her trying to separate the slices. She was making a mess of it. “How many pieces you want? Because we can both try to do four each but these pieces are seriously huge and if I eat four of them I'm going to be really sick.”

I observed her take four slices, anyway. “Should I go and get the bucket?”

She handed me my plate which was laden with garlic bread and pizza, looking determined. “It smells really good. I have to try, I promise I’ll stop before I need a bucket. Let's go and eat on the balcony!” She stopped on the way past to pet the evil flowers and then continued outside. I followed her, giving the flowers a bit of a measured stare as I went past.

She'd only taken a few bites of her pizza before she'd discovered the view. “Wow, I can't believe you live here!” she said, and then took her phone out of her 'shorts' and took a panorama of the city. “Look, you can see the Harbour Bridge.” She pointed at it. I pretended to be surprised and extremely impressed, and she narrowed her eyes at me. “Well, it's exciting to me, okay? I can see a brick wall through my bedroom window.”

She turned back towards the view and leant her stomach over the balcony. “Whoa, it's really far down to the ground,” she said. “It makes me dizzy.” My grin faded a little; I didn't like her leaning over the edge like that. I put my pizza slice back on my plate as she peered downwards. “Can you imagine falling off the edge? Like what it would be like sailing through the air and knowing you're about to die?”

“Why don't you lean a little further over? Then you won't have to just imagine what it feels like.” I thought I sounded pretty casual, but Bree looked back at me as if I'd asked her to get down.

“You worried I'm going to fall?” she asked, looking amused. “What am I, like, six?”

“What you are is leaning over the edge of a 26th floor balcony.”

She watched me thoughtfully for just a fraction of a second, and then her foot slipped from under her and she lurched towards the railing.

Fuck, my heart stopped. I leapt out of my chair with the intention of trying to grab one of her limbs... and then realised that although the movement had been very sudden, it wasn't something that was likely to propel her over the edge.

Bree stood up straight again and turned so her back was against the rail, giving me a very cheeky grin.

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. She didn't. “You did that on purpose.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Did I scare you?”

I looked down at me and then back at my chair. “No, I just suddenly needed to stand up,” I said flatly, and then sat back down in it and took a deep breath. Fuck.

She looked both delighted and pleased with herself, and then came back to the table and sat in front of her pizza. “So, like, not that I'm complaining at all because it’s awesome, but what made you invite me around? Just bored?” She carefully took a big bite.

I swallowed mine. I knew why I wanted her here, but I wasn’t going to tell her why. She didn’t need to know. “It's all part of my plot to kill you.”

She laughed and said through her mouthful, “Nice try, but I saw you about to rush over and stop me from falling.”

“Of course,” I said. “Your body needs to stay in my apartment so I can feed it to the flowers.”

The next sound she made was alarmingly like choking, but then I realised she was laughing. When she saw me panic again, she just laughed even harder and eventually she needed to put her pizza slice down while she got a hold of herself. “Oh my god,” she said when she did. “You're so awesome. I have no idea how you say all those things with such a completely straight face, it's great. Those poor flowers, though,” she leant back in her chair and looked at them through the open door. “I still feel so sorry for them. It makes me so happy that they found a good home.”

“So what brings you into the city?” I asked her since she'd stopped laughing at me. “Did you have something to do, or is it just really comfortable sitting against my door?”

She made a face. “It's actually kind of a long story.”

I looked pointedly at my plate. I still had three slices and some garlic bread to go. “Well, I have rations. I can go the distance.”

Her nose was still scrunched up. “Nah. I just had a really shit day and the end of the story was that I wanted to see you.”

Well, I wasn’t going to push her to tell me, because I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her why she was here. Instead, I held my arms out and looked down at myself. “And now that you can look upon me, is it everything you'd hoped for?”

She giggled again. “Oh my god, you crack me up! I still can't really believe you let me come over. Like, I know you said you'd be friends with me and stuff but you're so, like, I don't know, 'how dare you talk to me', that I thought maybe you'd just said it to be nice.” She took another bite of pizza, looking very content. “You know when you imagine something really great and then it actually happens? Yeah.”

I snorted. “All I did was open the door and give you pizza,” I said. “If that’s what you were imagining, you're really easy to please.”

Something passed over her face for a second. “Yeah, I am.” She actually waited until she'd swallowed before changing the subject. “Anyway, it's my birthday tomorrow.”

Her birthday tomorr— oh, that's right. When I'd first met her she had mentioned it was soon. “Happy Birthday for tomorrow,” I said automatically. “If you'd told me earlier I would have put candles on the pizza. You going to do anything special?”

She laughed bleakly, and in the process slopped cheese topping all over her t-shirt. Instead of looking distressed about it, though, she just peered down her front and casually scratched at it. “Some of my family is coming over,” she said, and then put the cheese she'd picked off her top in her mouth. She saw my expression. “What? I'm not wasting good cheese, and it's not like this tee is gross or anything.”

I opted not to say anything about the cheese. “You're not going to have a big party for your 18th?”

She shook her head. “My parents don't like me having friends over.”

Something about the way she said that didn't invite further questions, so I left it. I found it kind of weird that she apparently had strict parents when she went running around Sydney in little more than her underwear.

Illustrating that point exactly, while I was watching her, she looked down her front and pulled her t-shirt out so she could inspect it for any remaining cheese. In the process of doing so, she showed me her stomach and the bottom of her bra, and the rest of Sydney far too much cleavage.

Jesus, did that girl have no concept of how she looked? “I can see what you're spending today doing,” I said neutrally. “Celebrating your last day of childhood dressed in clothes you should have retired when you were five.”

She smirked. “I’m so not a child,” she said, glancing down at her breasts and grinning as she examined the grease stain from the cheese across the front of them. “And these are adult clothes.”

“You can say that again.” I watched her try and blot the stain with some serviettes. “Bree, are you sure that's the impression you want to give people?”

Bree gave up on her grease stain. “I don't care what impression people get,” she said easily. “You only live once, and I really like this top, it's really cute and soft and it lets the air in.”

When she went to take another bite of pizza, I sighed. “You're going to ruin your 'cute' top if you don't get that grease stain out now,” I said, standing. “Cheese stains are terrible. Come on, I'll lend you a top and we can soak that one.”

She put her pizza down. “You just want to dress me like a nun,” she accused me, but she followed me inside anyway.

I had only walked into the bedroom to find her a new top, but when I turned to ask her if she'd mind sleeveless, she'd already whipped her top off and was holding it scrunched in one hand.

Her bra was too small, too, and her big breasts were spilling out of it. “Jesus, Bree!” I said, turning my head sharply away from her. “You could have at least waited until you had something to put on instead!”

She sounded indignant. “It's not like it's nothing you haven't seen before, you're a girl too!” she said, but as she said that, something occurred to her. In the reflection of the wardrobe, I could see her giving me a really weird look. I chose to ignore it.

I was busy sorting through my tops for something small enough to fit her and yet something she couldn't accidentally ruin when she spotted something in one of my shelves and finally stopped staring at me. “Cool!” she announced and went for it.

Before I could stop her, she'd pulled out my men's jeans and was holding them out to admire them. She was so short that the hips of my jeans came up under that pornographic bra of hers. The colour drained out of my face. Even if those jeans had had a big Mars symbol painted across them, they couldn't have more obviously been from the men's department.

She didn’t seem to care about that. “Wow, these are way cool. This is more like the stuff I kind of imagined you'd wear. They're yours, right?” She looked up at me for confirmation.

On the tip of my lips I was about to say, 'No, they're my boyfriend's', but then I remembered how angry I'd been at her for lying to me. I considered doing it anyway, but I found myself at an impasse. I didn't say anything, I just felt sick.

“Put them on!” she said, and I could hear the excitement in her voice. “They are so much cooler than that skirt. I don't know why you dressed up for me, anyway. It's stupid. I don't want you to feel like you have to be super formal around me or anything. You can be comfortable, I don’t mind!”

She walked up to me to give me the jeans. I didn't take them from her. “Actually, I'm pretty comfortable now,” I managed to say. I wasn't sure how convincing I was, though.

She wasn't fazed. “Okay, well, do it for me? I want to see how they look. My brother would be so totally jealous, they’re such an awesome brand.”

For just a second I was tempted; what she'd said earlier, the 'you only live once, and I really like this top' was fresh in my mind. But then I thought about what I'd Googled, and remembered all the surgery and doctors and psychologists and I... couldn't. I just couldn't. I didn't want anyone to think I was like that, even if maybe I was. I felt like if I put them on it would be like opening a floodgate and just by looking at me she would know. But I couldn't say anything, I just kind of stood there like a fucking idiot with this topless 17 year old pushing men's jeans into my stomach.

After a few moments, she gave up and stood back. She was directing me that really strange stare again, and I didn't know what to make of it. She probably thought I was a fucking head case, and she was right. Fuck. Why did I think it was a good idea for me to be around people, again? I needed to go be a hermit in a cave somewhere.

“Min,” she said carefully. Her eyes were dipping between mine and my chest. “I want to say something but I'm scared I'll say the wrong thing and you'll be really upset again.”

I felt numb. “Just say it.”

Her brow was actually shaking. “Are you, like, actually a guy? Like, is that your secret?”

I didn't think I'd heard her right. “What?”

She looked uncomfortable. “You know, like, are you just pretending to be a girl?”

I just stared at her for a second. I didn’t know if she’d guessed or not, but I panicked anyway. “What makes you think that?”

She looked upset as she counted off reasons on her fingers. “Like, okay, on Monday I swear you had boobs. Like not big ones or anything, but definitely boobs, and today...” She looked at my chest; I was still wearing that crop top and it flattened them out. “So maybe you were wearing those chicken-fillet-type things flat girls wear. And you won't hug me, and it's like, what are you afraid of me feeling? And then you needed to go and spend like twenty minutes putting on a drag-queen-level makeup before you'd let me in and then I find these boys' jeans in your cupboard, and you're totally uncomfortable with me showing any skin and you won't change in front of me...” She ran out of fingers. “And you're really tall for girl, and you look so ultra-super girly like those pretty Thai ladyboys who are, like, way more beautiful than female women are...” She looked distressed for a second. “Was that a really awful word to use? 'Ladyboy'? I never know the right way to say anything. Just pretend I said all of that but I used the right words, okay?”

I didn't even know where to start. She thought I was physically a boy? Fuck, that would have made life a hell of a lot fucking easier. Female woman? 'Drag queen' makeup? God, it all hurt so much that it got to the point where it didn't.

She took a step back, like she was afraid I was about to yell at her or hit her. “Because it's okay if you are secretly a guy. I'm not, like, hardcore religious or anything, I don't mind, I won't tell anyone!”

It was just so fucking ironic that the only thing I could do was laugh, and that made her look even more scared. Fuck, all I could do was laugh!

“You're scaring me,” she said, looking tiny. She was still just wearing that bra and those shorts.

I tried to stop laughing. “I'm sorry,” I said, sitting back down on the bed so at least I didn't tower over her. “No, I'm not 'actually' a guy.” After I’d said that I decided it didn’t ring true to me, so I tried to think of a different way to describe it. “I mean, yeah, my body's the same as yours.” She didn’t look like she believed me, though, because her eyes kept going back to my chest. “I’m not showing you, Bree,” I told her firmly.

“If it’s not true, then why are you being so weird?”

I closed my eyes. “I can't even begin to tell you. Fuck,” I said, shaking my head. It eventually ended up in my hands.

I felt the bed give as she sat down beside me, and I could see us in the reflection of my wardrobe door. The only other person who'd been on this bed was Henry, and compared to him she was so little. Compared to me she was little. She didn't give me much time to think about that at all, though, because she had already come up with another theory. “Well, did you, like, used to be a guy?”

I threw my hands up. “Oh my god,” I said, and then I started laughing again. “No. Bree...” What do you even say to that? The truth actually seemed far less dramatic than everything she was coming up with. Even still, I couldn’t say it straight away. I was surprised I could even say it at all, since I hadn’t managed to say it to Henry. Henry didn’t often look so close to tears as Bree did now, though. She was hanging on my every word.

“It's just that I think I’m supposed to be a guy,” I told her. I sounded far more definitive than I felt, though, so I added, “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s difficult to think about.”

There was a long silence. I didn't look at her, and I didn't look at the reflection in the wardrobe. I didn't even know what was going to happen until I felt a pair of arms around my shoulders. “Oh.”

“’Oh’?” I asked her, looking across at her. She had her head on my shoulder and all I could see was a mop of blonde curls that smelt like vanilla shampoo.

She looked up. “Well, I wanted to say something nice because I can see you’re really worried about it, but I couldn’t because I don’t see what the big deal is,” she said. “If you want to be a guy, just go for it?”

If only it were that simple. “But how do I 'just go for it'? My life’s already set up. I can’t just, I don’t know, get some injections and then tell everyone I’m a guy and expect nothing except my voice to change.” And I wasn’t even sure I wanted injections, anyway, because then I’d get hairy and I didn’t like the idea of that at all. Fuck, maybe that meant I didn’t want to be a guy? Or was I just scared of making changes that would mean I wouldn’t be able to put on a skirt and keep pretending to everyone that everything was fine? There were just too many questions to even start to answer them all. Where did you start with this stuff?

Bree’s eyes widened as she thought of something. “Are you going to get a dick?”

Those surgery photos, oh my god. My heart sped. “I actually don’t want to think about that now.” Or at all, ever. Instead of dwelling on the pictures I'd seen, I looked across at her next to me. She still had an arm around my shoulder, and she was deep in thought. “How are you okay with this?” I asked her. “It's so fucked up.”

She looked surprised. “Uh?” she said. “It’s actually kind of interesting, and I told you, I’m not some psycho religious nut or something. If you want to be a guy, then que sera sera? And anyway,” she gestured at the women's clothes I was wearing. “You looked better in the painting than in these. Not that you’re not a cute girl or anything,” she hurriedly added. “You’re totally cute. But, yeah. So are you going to put them on?” She placed the jeans in my lap.

This time I accepted them and sighed.

“And take off all that makeup, too,” she instructed me as she sat back. “It's weird. I don’t like it.”

Bree. “Okay,” I said, and stood with the jeans. I grabbed the big faded t-shirt from the wardrobe and then pointed at it. “Just look in there and see if you can find something that will fit you. Nothing that looks too expensive, please.”

I went into the bathroom and slid the door shut. My reflection stared at me from the mirror.

Well. That wasn’t at all what I imagined would happen when I thought about telling someone; there wasn’t even any hint of disgust or judgement in her. It was actually a bit of an anti-climax. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that everyone would be like she was—the world would be a pretty scary place if everyone was like Bree—but it was at least a little bit comforting. I changed into the jeans and t-shirt.

Once I was dressed, I filled the hand basin with water, tied my hair back, and just washed all my makeup off. Then, drying my face and neck, I looked up at the mirror again. I wondered what her reaction to this would be. I looked very different.

When I went back out into my bedroom, Bree had found my new comfy hoodie and put it on. Hilariously, on her it came down to her knees and the sleeves dangled almost as far. She was lying on my bed in it waiting for me, but she sat up as soon as I walked in. Her face lit up. “Yeah!” she said, leaping up and bouncing over to me, long sleeves flopping everywhere.

I felt a bit self-conscious. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said with conviction, and inspected me from all sides while I just stood there. “Wow, you really look like a guy, especially with your hair back. That’s fucking crazy, because like five minutes ago you were the girliest girl in Australia. Anyway, this is way better. I prefer you like this.”

Me too, I thought, and then stressed about Mum, Henry and work.

“So, like, you want to go for a test drive? We could go shopping or something.”

Fuck, no. “Not going to happen,” I said firmly. “I’m not leaving my home in these.”

She looked a bit disappointed. “Okay,” she said, and then shrugged. “I kind of want to finish my pizza anyway.”

After I’d put talcum powder on her stained t-shirt to soak out the grease, she lead me back out onto the balcony. We sat there and ate and chatted—about what I have no idea because I was running on autopilot—until I’d made my way through two slices and was attempting the third. Bree had barely managed two. “You might need to get that bucket after all,” she joked as she held up the third slice and looked apprehensively at it.

“You could just not eat it,” I pointed out.

She looked at me like I was crazy for suggesting such a thing. “I’m going to do it,” she said stoically. “I am.”

“Good luck, then,” I said and then laughed openly at her expression.

She didn't end up taking a bite because she put her pizza down to stare at me. “You look really great when you’re not so uptight,” she said, and then out came her phone.

However relaxed I had looked, I stopped looking that way immediately. I threw up my hands in front of my face and looked away from her. “No, Bree,” I told her as she pointed it at me. “No photos, not of this. Please.”

“But I want to show you how good you look now,” she said, sounding a little disappointed. “I think you'd really like it.”

I probably would, but I really didn't want anyone having any sort of photographic evidence of this. A painting was one thing, actual photos were another, and Bree seemed like the sort of person who’d make bad choices about who she’d showed them to and where she’d upload them. I couldn't risk anyone finding out. “Bree, no.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” she said a little forlornly. “I’m sorry.”

When I saw her expression, I winced; you'd think I'd just run over her new baby kitten. Listening to her sing had nothing on how painful it was to look at her when she was upset. I could hardly bear it. I leant across the table and did a 'gimme' motion towards her phone. Perhaps I could do something else for her, instead.

Looking surprised, she passed it over to me and I fiddled with it. She watched me. “What are you doing?”

I pressed a button, and then looked up at her and waited.

In the living room, my mobile rang. “Happy Birthday,” I said easily, cancelling the call and handing her phone back to her with a smug grin.

Her disappointment transformed into delight in the space of half a second. She stood up to accept the phone from me. “Did you just put your number in my phone?” she asked, in the same tone as she might ask if daddy just bought her a sports car or her team just won the Grand Final.

“Don't text me constantly,” I told her sternly, but there may have been a smile on the corner of my lips. “That's my work phone, too.”

She wasn't at the stage where she could listen to instructions yet. “Did you just put your number in my phone?” she asked me again, and then came to dance around me, shrieking. “Oh my god!” I couldn't not laugh as she literally bounced around my chair. She stopped as suddenly as she started, though, and then looked extremely serious. “I have to hug you now,” she told me gravely.

“You hugged me before,” I pointed out. “That's your quota for today.”

She swatted my face with an empty sleeve. “I can't tell whether you're joking!” she accused me. “It's stressing me out. Just stand up so I can hug you!”

I rolled my eyes and stood, exaggerating my reluctance. I actually didn't mind; she'd touched me so much already I think I'd begun to develop an immunity to it. As soon as I was up she flung her arms around my middle and squished the air out of me. I coughed. “You're really thin,” she said into my ribs, her voice muffled by my t-shirt. “Like, really.”

She couldn’t talk, she was so short I couldn't even hug her properly; my arms rested on her shoulders. “That's a pretty bold statement for someone who's not even a whole person to make.”

“Shut up,” she said into my ribs. “It’s not my fault. My mum is like four foot ten or something. Besides, I only seem ultra-short because you’re huge.” She looked up, panicking. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

I expected it to hurt, but it didn’t. I just pushed her head back into my stomach to shut her up, anyway. “If you’re not careful I will feed you to the evil flowers.”

As she giggled into my t-shirt, I was struck for a moment by how normal this all was. We were just joking around like we had been before, and the fact that I now looked like a guy and was wearing guy's clothes didn't matter. It didn’t even matter that I had no idea what I wanted to do with what was under my clothes, either. The sky hadn’t fallen in, the world hadn’t stopped turning. Though Bree was hardly Henry, or Mum, or anyone at work, it was still reassuring. I was suddenly really glad she’d lied to me.

“You’re breathing funny,” Bree told me, and I looked down at her.

Probably, I thought, I'm high on pizza and garlic bread. I didn't joke this time, though, I just tried to decide if I really wanted to explain to her why I was feeling so good. I might as well. I’d come this far, right?

“You’re the first person I've told about me. And instead of being fucking horrified, you’re hugging me.”

She hadn't been expecting me to be serious, and the look she gave me... Wow. “Can today be my birthday instead?” she asked in this tiny little voice. “There's no way tomorrow can beat this.”

I ruffled her curls and peeled her off me. “Come on, let's eat ourselves into a stupor and watch bad TV,” I suggested. “If you're really nice to me I might draw you an actual birthday present.”

“Oh my god, are you serious?” she asked, galloping after me as I took the rest of our pizza inside so I could set up my laptop. “Are you fucking serious? Just tell me what I need to do!”

I set myself up on the floor with the laptop and tablet and while I was scribbling away on it, Bree leant over the edge of the couch and dropped crumbs all over me and into my hair. I’d drawn a rectangular shape and was choosing colours and levels when she realised what I was painting.

“You’re going to draw an actual present?” she said, giggling. “Like a wrapped present?”

I picked a few colours for the ribbon. “Yup,” I said. “What colour would you like for the wrapping paper?”

She brushed some of the crumbs off the top of my head. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly, and then answered my question. “I don’t care about the wrapping paper, I want to know what’s inside it!”

I held up the tablet so she could see it better. “What do you think’s inside it?”

She gave me a look. “You’re the artist, you tell me!”

I shook my head. “Don't you know anything about art? It’s all about the viewer’s interpretation,” I joked, and then chuckled as she flopped me with a sleeve again.

“Fine,” she said, rolling onto her back on the couch so her head hung upside-down next to mine. She watched me down over her forehead. “I think you bought me some new clothes.”

I laughed at her, and we went backwards and forwards guessing what might be inside until I’d finished the painting. The suggestions got slowly more and more absurd until Bree was insisting that I was buying her a carpet python. “That’ll go with the evil flowers,” I told her. “All I need now is a hairless cat and my collection of evil familiars is complete.”

I pulled the laptop onto my actual lap to upload the painting to Deviant Art, when I noticed an unread email icon down the bottom of my screen. It was from one of my team members, and it had an attachment.

My heart sank. I had work to do.

For about ten seconds, I considered not mentioning it and not doing anything about it. I was enjoying myself and didn’t actually want to start working again just yet… but then I remembered yesterday. Yesterday I’d been practically having a breakdown about my workload and how behind we’d been, I didn’t have the luxury of leaving the docs an hour or two so I could be silly with Bree.

“I thought you were uploading the painting?” Bree asked me, sitting up.

I took a deep breath and then released it. “I just got an email from someone at the office,” I told her, feeling myself deflate. “I’m going to need to do some work now.”

“Oh…” That girl could put so much emotion in a single syllable. She sounded so disappointed. “I’m going to have to go, aren’t I?”

I nodded slowly. “I’m sorry, Bree. Work is insane at the moment.” I pushed myself up off the ground and put my laptop on the table. “Thanks for coming, though.”

“Thanks for having me,” she said automatically. “And thanks for the pizza and the carpet python in a box.”

I grinned, ducking into the bathroom to see if her t-shirt was doing okay. “If you’d given me more warning I could have bought you a real present,” I called back to her. The talcum powder hadn’t soaked up all the oil yet, and her top probably should be washed properly. I could get room service to do that.

That made her perk up. “Really? You’d buy me something?” she asked me as I went back into the living room.

“Sure,” I said, looking out towards the balcony. “I’ll give your t-shirt back to you next time I see you, it’s not done yet. It’s still light, are you okay to catch the train home? I can always drive you if you’re not.”

She stood up, still in my hoodie. “Yeah, I probably won’t go home straight away,” she said, and then pulled the hoodie off to give it back to me. She wasn’t wearing anything except the bra underneath, and it was still a shock seeing that much of her. I didn’t say anything about it this time, though, I just went and grabbed her the first cotton top I found in my drawer. I handed it to her and she pulled it on, being uncharacteristically quiet. It was so big on her it covered more of her thighs than her ‘shorts’ did.

“Happy Birthday for tomorrow,” I said to her at the door as she put her thongs on. “We can have a drink next time I see you, right?”

“Hah,” she said flatly, and the stood in front of me. “At least you have to see me again. You promised to buy me a present and you have my t-shirt. You have to give it back.”

I shot her a half-grin. “Yes, that’s definitely the only reason I’d want to see you again, Bree.”

She actually blushed. “Okay,” she said, giving me a quick hug. “Don't actually buy me a carpet python, though.”

I laughed. “Got it. It would probably just eat you anyway,” I said as I showed her out and we said our goodbyes.

Once she was gone, I sat down in front of my laptop and just stared at the email. I really didn’t feel like working, but I also didn’t feel like having any more meltdowns over being behind in the project, either. Not with everything else I had going on with me.

I downloaded the component and read it through. It was from that young guy in the team, and the quality of it was terrible. I put my head in my hands for a moment. It was going to be a long night.

 

TEN

 

After a full weekend of dressing exactly how I felt comfortable, I wasn't prepared for how difficult it was to face my work clothes on Monday morning. I hadn't even thought about it because I'd been putting them on for five years, but now here I was, standing with my wardrobe open, taking ten minutes to talk myself into putting on a proper bra. I'd never liked bras, but I guess I'd always just figured they were an unavoidable part of being female. Now, it was like a switch had been flipped. I was looking at this lacy black bra in my hands asking myself, 'why the hell would I wear this?'

When I'd finally managed to get it on and put a blouse over it, looking at the shape of my breasts in the mirror felt really strange and uncomfortable. I felt exposed. I felt like people could see something I didn't want them to and I had to spend a good minute or two convincing myself not to take everything off so I could just put the crop-top on underneath. All my summer work blouses were floaty and thin anyway so even with the tight crop-top you'd be able to see I had breasts.

The skirts were a different matter. I did actually own a pair of work pants, but they were tailored to give me the illusion of curvy hips. Mum had had them made for me and I'd only kept them because I was terrified one day she'd demand to see me in them. I'd never liked them, but I put them on anyway and then inspected myself. Not surprisingly, they gave me curvy hips. I made a face at my reflection; I preferred the way my hoodie narrowed me out. Still, I couldn't manage stockings today, so pants it was.

Then I did my makeup, slipped on a pair of heels and rushed out the door.

I made slower progress than usual to work because I'd run out of bandaids and without stockings I kept reopening my blisters. Furthermore, all the reflective surfaces I normally needed to brave on the way to work seemed to have multiplied over the weekend. Looking at myself from every angle like this was depressing, I hated it. Whatever I ended up privately deciding I was, it definitely wouldn't be this.

It was early when I got to the office and none of my team were in yet. I could see the light on in Jason's office so I thought I'd stick my head in there.

“Sorry to bother you,” I said, knocking on his open door as I entered. “Did you get a chance to have a look at the Pink docs?”

Jason turned his attention from the screen to me, and gave me a very obvious once-over. If I thought I was going to be able to forget about my body today, boy, was I wrong.

“Mini in pants,” he said, ignoring my question. “I didn't even know you owned pants, I don't think I've seen you in anything except a skirt in five years. Must be hard to find pants long enough with those legs, hey?” He laughed at himself.

There probably wasn't anything else this man could possibly do that could make me dislike him more than I already did. “I felt like a change,” I said pleasantly, instead of telling him he was a fucking prick and suggesting alternate places he could shove his observations. “So, did you get a chance to read the framework and what we've done with the requirements so far?”

His laugh tapered off and he nodded. “I did, it's not too bad,” he leant back in his chair, considering me. “I like your reasoning, Russia looks like a good direction and there's definitely a market for ridiculously expensive jewellery over there. The upper class is just drenched in oil and mineral money. Did you know the minerals department have trade partners in Vladivostok and Moscow?” I shook my head. “Speak to Frost Energy about getting some leads for buy-ins there. I'll forward you an email from the guy you need to meet with. He'll probably know people who know people. Be discreet when you set up meetings, though; don't put any details in writing.” At my nod, he remembered something and added, “And for fuck's sake do something about that kid in your team.” He sounded annoyed. “What’s his name? Ali? Mohammad?”

He had to be fucking kidding me. “It’s ‘John’,” I said, discovering there were actually things Jason could do to make me dislike him more.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said dismissively. “Anyway, he sent that last component unencrypted and that’s just not good enough.”

I winced. I hadn't noticed, but it didn't surprise me. It was frustrating that Jason had been the one to pick up on that, though, because I’d rather have been on top of that issue myself. “Will do.”

As I was leaving, he stopped me. “Oh, and Mini?” I turned back toward him. I couldn't tell if he was going to say something serious or not. “You did a great job of turning the project around on the weekend. But let's make sure we stay on track, yeah?”

I kept expecting him to finish off with a snide jab at me, but he didn't. He just went back to whatever he'd been doing before I'd called in on him. That actually just made me angrier, because the fact that he'd complimented me made me felt really proud. I shouldn't enjoy getting the approval of pricks like Jason, but apparently I did. Bastard.

I'd gone back into Oslo and sat at my desk, conflicted as to whether I wanted to be angry at Jason or relieved that the project was on track again. In the end, my relief won out.

My meltdown last week apparently hadn’t ruined everything for us after all. We were making good time if Jason thought we were up to the point of scoping contacts; contacts were just one step away from setting up pitches, and that meant we might actually have signatures right after Easter. There was a good chance I could avoid fucking this up if I could just keep my head together and make good use of my time.

There were no clocks in Oslo—on purpose, I think, so we couldn't gaze at them and lament all the hours of our lives we were losing—so I took my phone out of my handbag to check what time it was. If it was before 8:30 I could probably go downstairs and buy Henry some sort of pastry to thank him for being wonderful. As I glanced at the time I noticed I'd gotten a text message.

Bree, I thought, feeling even better. I opened it. “so ive picked like the top 3 places id go if i had to run away....have u been to new zealand canada or sweden???”

I grinned. I had actually been to Canada a number of times on business, but I'd never been able to see any of it because I'd spent the whole time working. I didn't think that was her point, though. “I take it your birthday went well, then?”

“i saved u some cake. can i bring it over before it goes gross??? :) :) :)”

I sat back in my chair. I really needed to focus on my work, but since it had been her 18th and she was hinting at it not having been so great... well, I supposed I could make an exception, maybe just an hour or so. She'd been over on the weekend and I'd still managed to get everything done, after all. “Okay, but I won't be home until after six, and an hour at the max because I'll still have a lot of work.”

“did u buy me that present yet??? :) :) :)”

I groaned. Did she think I just sat around looking for stuff to do? “I haven't had time to, and if you want to come over tonight I won't have had time to, either.”

“Must be a pretty interesting conversation,” a woman's voice said from behind me. She sounded like she was smiling. “'Morning, Min.”

The suddenness of it got my adrenaline pumping; I hadn't noticed anyone come in. It was just Sarah. “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me!” For a moment I was relieved, and then I remembered I'd run out on her and Rob on Friday.

She slung her handbag off her shoulder into her drawer, looking kind of smug. “Why, what were you afraid I'd see you doing?” she said, grinning at me. “Something naughty? You look guilty enough.”

I blushed, which was stupid, because I wasn't doing anything naughty. “Yeah, nothing naughtier than making birthday plans with friends,” I said. “God, and you interrupted us just as she was about to describe her cake to me!”

Sarah had a big smile on her face as she rummaged around in her bag for her purse. “Hah! I'm guessing you're feeling better, then? You didn't look great when you got up from the table on Friday.”

That. The memory of it didn’t make me feel that great, either. I hoped I looked as apologetic as I felt. “Yeah, I'm sorry I disappeared on everyone like that,” I said. “I was feeling pretty crap.”

She shrugged. “Rob wasn't great either, actually. If anyone's sorry it should be me for choosing a place that made everyone sick!” I felt bad about letting her believe that, but there weren't many other options. “You can choose somewhere next time,” she said, finding her purse and then standing up. “And by the way, Rob loves you. He was bothering me all weekend before he flew out to invite you over for games and I had to explain to him that some of us have work to do.”

I laughed at that. “We can do that next time he's in town, I guess. He's great.”

She immediately dissolved into a mushy smile. “Isn't he just? I don't think I've ever met a nicer man. I get that he's not Einstein, but it doesn't matter. He's everything else.” She remembered something and cringed. “Also, by the way, sorry for basically making out in front of you. I keep forgetting how bad I am on alcohol.”

I was still snickering at the Einstein comment. “It's okay. I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure it was just the food that made me sick.”

“I did wonder,” she said, grinning again. “But I didn't think we were that disgusting! He wasn't groping me or anything.”

At the mention of groping my eyes darted downward on her. I wished they hadn't, because her curves were all deliberately on display and looking at them made me self-conscious. She was clearly so comfortable with who she was and that was in stark fucking contrast to how I felt. Fuck, she was so lucky. She probably didn't even know how lucky she was. I liked her, though, so I couldn't really resent her for it.

Unfortunately, she caught me looking and craned her neck downward. “Don't tell me I've put this top on inside out again.”

I think I might have gone a bit red. “No, I was just looking at what you're wearing.”

Her eyes went straight to my body, and she seemed to think she understood. “Oh, because you're wearing pants for once? Yeah,” she looked down at her own pants. “I can't be bothered with stockings most of the time. I like how sexy they make me feel but I always seem to catch them on stuff and rip them.”

Sexy was something I'd never felt in stockings, not a single day in the five years I'd been wearing them. I'd never felt even slightly sexy in these clothes. The thought of needing to wear them every day until I retired was exhausting. 35 more years of feeling unsexy and weird. The eternity of that number was so depressing.

She had her hands on her hips and was watching me a little too closely. When I realised, it made me nervous. “Min, is something up? I didn’t really want to say anything, but you've been kind of off-colour since I came in.”

I had no intention of telling her; she was the only person I actually liked at Frost aside from Henry. Oh, and speaking of him, I'd actually been on my way downstairs before I'd gotten Bree's message and Sarah had rocked up.

“Just stressed out, I think,” I said dismissively, and reached into my bottom drawer to grab my purse. “I'm just going downstairs to buy something sweet for Henry. You want a coffee?”

She didn't press me for an answer, which I appreciated. “Okay,” she said, still giving me a bit of a sceptical look. “I was just going to get an energy drink, but I'll come for the walk.”

I ended up buying Henry a custard Danish, and when I went to visit him in HR, Sean Frost was sitting on the edge of Henry's desk playing with a gun-shaped stress ball I'd bought Henry a couple of years ago. Henry was trying his best to look calm and professional, but I didn't miss the pinch at the corners of his mouth. When he spotted me in the office, he looked markedly relieved. “Min!”

Sean looked up at me, too, and flashed me a friendly smile. I nodded politely at him. “I hope I haven't interrupted anything. The door was open.”

Sean shook his head. “No, you're fine. I'm about to head off anyway.”

Henry seemed just about ready to push Sean out of the door himself. “Pants,” he commented as I walked around the table to him, leaning back in his chair for a moment to inspect them. “You look lovely, they really suit you. Change is as good as a holiday, right?”

Those compliments made me uneasy. I didn't feel like they suited me, I didn't want to look 'lovely', and if he only knew the type of changes I wanted to make... He was just being nice, though. Like he always was. Sarah wasn't the only one with a great boyfriend. On that note, I handed him the paper bag with the Danish in it. “I bought you some breakfast,” I said. “I know it's not low-fat muesli, but it's better than nothing, right?”

He chuckled. “Thank you,” he said, accepting it and peeking inside. “Ooh! Now that's definitely more interesting than muesli. Thanks for thinking of me, Min.” He smiled up at me and patted my hand. That smile... fuck, he was wonderful. He was so wonderful. I could never tell him about me, never, because watching that smile be replaced by something else entirely would just kill me.

I let my hand linger on his, wanting to tell him just how great he was, but Sean was still sitting across from us and it would probably be inappropriate. I just smiled back at Henry for a moment instead, and then nodded politely at Sean again when I went to leave.

Just as I was going, Sean said, “Actually, I need to duck upstairs for a couple of minutes,” and hopped off the desk. He threw the stressball at Henry, who caught it automatically and then set it carefully back down where it belonged on his desk. Sean was already walking towards me. “Want some company?”

I didn't mind—and he was the co-CEO of Frost International, for Christ’s sake—but over behind Sean I could see Henry looking like he was going to leap across the room and throttle him. I smiled tightly at Sean anyway and let him lead me out, throwing an apologetic glance over my shoulder at Henry.

Sean moved briskly as we went towards the lifts, but because my legs were longer it wasn't a problem for me to match his pace. “So how's that project coming along?” he asked me, just to make conversation. “I hope my sister isn't riding you too hard.”

“We're on track,” I said, feeling relieved about being able to say that. “So the hard work is worth it.”

He looked sideways at me as he pressed the button. The doors from the lift I'd used a couple of minutes ago opened. “I suddenly understand why she put you on the team,” he said, I think commenting on my work ethic. “When do you pitch?”

I shook my head as we stepped inside. “No dates yet.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Even with the state election coming up in a couple of weeks? That's strange.”

I wasn't sure what he wanted me to say, he knew the project was confidential. “Well, you know what it's like setting up meetings with people in cabinet.”

He tilted his head. “You're probably right. I mainly get other people to set that sort of thing up, so I'm not likely to know what I'm talking about.” I must have been looking a little too hard at my reflection, because the next thing he said was, “New pants?”

That surprised me. Had I been that obvious? “Not new, exactly. I just haven't worn them before.”

He nodded. “And you don't like them?” I pressed my lips together and he laughed. “I hear you. Try being a CEO and having to spend 24/7 in a suit,” he said. “And my wife gets so upset when I crease them, too. I can't have any fun. I can't imagine how uncomfortable it must be to have to do all of that but also in heels.”

Jesus, he was so right, so right that I just had to laugh. When I stopped, he was smiling at me in the mirrors. It wasn't flirtatious, I don't think. My best guess was that he could see how nervous I was in his presence and he was trying to make me relax. It was working. Why the fuck did Henry hate him so much? And Diane, too? He was nice.

As the doors slid open on 36, they opened to two people, Jason and Sarah.

They had been discussing something in front of the vending machine, but stopped when they saw us. Sarah looked pleased to see me, but Jason's eyes couldn't have been narrower. He abandoned whatever conversation he'd been having with Sarah to walk over to us as we got out of the lift. “What are you doing with this tool, Min?” he asked, grinning at Sean. “Didn't Diane tell you he's bad news?”

Sean didn't look offended in the slightest. “Not doing a great job of selling me to your employees, Jase,” he fired right back. “What is it you do again?”

“Shitloads of paperwork, mate,” Jason said, freely swearing in front of the CEO. “Paperwork forever. Want a smoke before the meeting?”

Sean patted his chest and hip pockets. They were empty. “I hope you've got some.”

As they left, Sean turned around and nodded a goodbye to me. It felt really good to be acknowledged, especially by someone who wasn't a total prick like Jason.

They swaggered off together like old high school buddies. I might actually have thought that's what explained their familiarity with each other except I was pretty sure Jason was quite a lot younger than Sean.

I walked up to Sarah, and she handed me one of the Red Bulls she'd been holding. “What was that about?” she asked me, and I shook my head as we followed them away from the lifts.

Out across the floor on the way back to Oslo, we could see them walk out onto the alcove balcony. They were deep in conversation, laughing and joking around with each other as they lit their cigarettes. At one point Sean flexed—he actually was kind of built—and Jason made some comment we couldn't hear through the glass. With their muscular, broad shoulders and flat abs, they were both in pretty great shape and the very epitome of 'men'.

That's what I wanted to be? That? I frowned at them. I did recall reading on the forums that a lot of trans men wanted to bulk up, but I was ambivalent. Did that mean I really didn’t want to be one? Because I didn't want to be hairy and I didn’t care about muscles? Then again, Henry wasn't muscular or particularly hairy, there was nothing unmanly about him. I briefly asked myself if maybe I just wanted to wear men's clothes and that was all, but as much as I really wished with all my heart for that to be the case, I knew it wasn't. Women didn't normally want to make their breasts disappear. Just wearing a suit wouldn't be enough for me.

“What do you think's going on with those two?” Sarah asked me thoughtfully, distracting me from my identity crisis. We'd stopped to lean on the wall outside Oslo, which was still empty. It was nearly nine, so I didn't know where the hell my team was. I'd need to speak to them about that.

I didn't really understand Sarah's question, though. Was she asking about how Sean and Jason knew each other? “What do you mean?”

She snorted. “Well, if you believe the rumours about what they do together...” she said, making a circular motion towards them with her drink and grinning.

I made a face and shook my head. “Nah, Sean's married,” I said, thinking of that smile he'd had on his face when he'd talked about his 'beautiful' wife.

Sarah just turned her head to stare at me, and then laughed like she did when I'd said something really funny. “Okay,” she said as she recovered. “Wow, you're serious. Okay. You want to know something?” I narrowed my eyes at her as she kept going. “I actually kind of thought when I caught you texting this morning that you might be cheating on Henry, and that the Danish was maybe a guilt-apology thing even though he didn't know.”

It took me a second to really process what she'd said to even gape at her. “What? No!”

She laughed tensely. “I know, I know. It's just kind of obvious something is up with you so I thought maybe that's what it was. But your whole, 'no, Sean couldn't possibly be sleeping with Jason, he's married' blew that theory out of the water.” She paused, looking mildly disgusted with herself. “I did not just use 'blew' in the same sentence as that other stuff.”

I was still so spun out by her suggestion I'd cheat on Henry, I couldn't even think about Sean and Jason. “Henry and I are fine,” I said, and it was true as long as he never found out about the me-wanting-to-be-a-man thing. And cheating on Henry with Bree? What a suggestion. “The friend I was texting is a girl,” I told her, as if that would obviously put Sarah's insane theory to rest.

I wasn't sure it did, though. She just laughed at me, clapped me on the back and clinked her Red Bull against mine. “Okay, Min,” she said, and then started to walk into Oslo, saying over her shoulder. “But I'd be willing to put a grand on those two guys sleeping together. More, even.”

I looked back at them on the balcony. Jason leant forward to give Sean a light, and perhaps it might have been a little close. Then again, all I knew for sure was that Jason was gay and Sean was married. And even if Jason was into Sean, it didn't necessarily mean they were sleeping together. I had been getting comfortable with my own assessment, and then I saw Sean make a couple of smoke rings. Jason blew a big puff of smoke through one of them and they both smirked at each other. That was... kind of sexual.

Fuck, I think Sarah's right, I thought. I worried about that as I followed her into Oslo.

“See?” she asked me knowingly when I closed the door behind me.

I nodded at her, scrunching up my face. “I'm not cheating on Henry, though,” I said. “You're wrong about that. I'd never do that to him. The person I was texting is actually just a friend.”

She nodded. “I got that far by myself.” She then spent a couple of seconds watching me, obviously wanting to say something else.

I didn't let her. I was uncomfortable enough about the conversation as it was. “So, speaking of Jason, I had a word with him about the framework this morning,” I said, sitting down at my desk and feeling around in my handbag for the USB. “He thinks Russia was a good choice and is forwarding me some potential leads...”

I watched her roll her eyes at me, but she let me change the subject.

My team trickled in between nine and nine-thirty, and while I was aware they'd been working all weekend, I couldn't have them think that was a good reason to slack off during the week. Ian, the older guy, actually showed up a full half an hour late and really should have known better. I called a brief meeting under the pretence of going over the framework, and then said at the end, “And, guys, I understand that you've been working all weekend, but this project is only running for a few more weeks. I'm sure I can negotiate some time off for you after contracts are signed, but I really need your full commitment until then so we can make this project successful.” I wasn't sure they'd really got my point, so I added, “That means showing at up on time at nine o'clock. Or earlier, if possible.”

I could see them collectively nodding, but their eyes were a little glazed and that made me feel like a school teacher. It was awful telling grown men what to do and I wished they wouldn't make me. And, while they were all clearly taking me seriously, I really felt very female right then in comparison to them and that made me self-conscious. I wondered what they really thought of a chick telling them off, and whether Jason or Sean got different responses from people than I did. And then I wondered if I was being paranoid.

“I took my wife to the doctor this morning.” Ian was more explaining himself than giving me attitude, but I was annoyed anyway because he hadn't even bothered to call in about it. “She wasn't feeling well and I was busy with the requirements framework all weekend.”

“Yeah, my partner's really sick at the moment, too, there's something going around,” Sarah said easily, knowing full well everyone had seen that she was here on time.

I exhaled, shooting Sarah an appreciative look. She gave me a little smile.

“Also,” I said, remembering Jason's comment to me and not wanting to single anyone out, “please make sure you always send any info to do with the pitch using the encryption software. That's very important.”

“I just wish we knew why,” Ian commented as I closed the meeting. “Frost International sells diamonds. This is a diamond pitch. I don't get it.” I tended to agree with him, but I didn't think it would be appropriate for me to say anything more.

After they were sitting at computers working again, Sarah came up to me and put a hand on my arm. “Good job,” she whispered. “That went okay.”

I sighed audibly. “You want to be lead? I'm done.”

She laughed and rubbed my arm. “No, thanks,” she said quickly, and then got straight to business. “Can I borrow your USB for a second? I just want to grab that spreadsheet.”

I was so glad she was on my team, she was a great support. The whole project would have been hell without her, and she kept doing little things like bringing me lunch and offering to run stuff past Jason for me. I hardly needed to get up out of my desk for the entire day, which allowed me to really get some serious work done.

I still had a lot more to do in the evening, but at about quarter to six I figured I'd better leave so I wouldn't be late for Bree. Deciding I could just work from home later, I packed up and went to grab some bandaids out of the first-aid kit near the lift for my poor feet.

I pulled the box down off the wall and flipped it open on the floor, searching around in it. I'd found them and was grabbing a handful when I caught sight of some packaging with diagrams on it in one of the bigger compartments. I never would normally have paid any attention to it, but the diagram was of how to treat a chest wound and it had a picture of a guy's chest and elastic bandages all around it.

I stopped what I was doing and picked up the package. It had three elastic bandages and some other stuff in it and I just kept looking at those diagrams on the front. 'Wrap tightly and press down for adequate compression', it read. I could use adequate chest compression, I thought, and there's no way anyone working at Frost is ever going to end up with a gaping chest wound.

I looked up. No one was watching so I took it out, closed the kit, and mounted it back on the wall. I tucked the package in my bag, not really understanding why I was feeling so goddamn guilty about it. We were allowed to take items out of the first aid kit, OH&S was very clear about that during orientation. We were just supposed to fill out a whole lot of paperwork when we did. The thing was, there was no way I was ever going to leave any evidence that I'd taken chest compression bandages. How did you explain that? ‘Oh, I just had a small chest wound on the way home and needed to use these?’

While I was waiting for the lift, I opened my bag a little and examined the bandages, squeezing them through the packaging. They felt really firm. I wondered if I'd be able to breathe with them wrapped around me.

“You're off, too?” Sarah's voice startled me again. I hurriedly closed my handbag, drawing a sharp breath. From her expression I didn't think she'd seen what I was looking at, but her timing was a bit suspect. It seemed like she was following me out but, then again, spending too much time with Bree was probably just making me overly suspicious. She came and stood beside me at the lifts. “This is early for you.”

I nodded. “Seeing that friend,” I said as we caught one downstairs together.

She didn't say anything for half the lift ride, and when she spoke, it was after visibly gathering the courage to. “Look, Min, I didn't mean to be too nosy this morning,” she said as I touched up my lipstick in the mirrors. “I shouldn't feel entitled to know anything about your private life. I'm sorry about that.”

I put my lipstick away, thinking carefully about how to answer her. Sarah had never shown any sign of being judgemental, and aside from Henry and Bree she was the closest thing I had to a good friend in Sydney. It was just that I couldn't bring this thing I had about myself to work. I didn't want to lose her support on the team because it would be hell without her. It was bad enough that she'd nearly seen me with those fucking bandages.

“It's okay,” I said, anyway. I think I wanted to tell her, but then when I imagined the words actually coming out of my mouth I knew I'd choke on them. I couldn't pretend it was nothing, though. I wanted to stay friends with her. “You were right about what you said,” I told her. “There is something 'up with me'. It's just personal and I just really can't talk about it. I'm sorry.”

She nodded slowly, and I could see her brain ticking over. “Okay,” she said as we stepped out of the lift and walked through the lobby. “You don't have to tell me. Maybe we can both go and get drunk together instead.”

Unexpectedly, that made me laugh. “That actually sounds fantastic,” I told her, meaning it. “I've always found there's nothing more therapeutic than drinking myself into a coma.”

She grinned. “You'll love it: I'm a cheap drunk, too,” she said. “Rob always tells me how much money he's saving by dating me instead of his last girlfriend.”

“Oh, I'm taking you out, am I?” I asked her as we walked through the revolving door. “Doesn't the inviter normally pay?”

She grinned. “Yes, but you're my boss now,” she pointed out. “That's generally how it goes.”

I was about to joke about that, but as we walked out onto the street, I heard a familiar voice shout, “Min!”

Bree.

Despite having promised me she wouldn't, she was waiting for me outside work again. She came rushing toward me in her school uniform. Unfortunately, she got halfway to us and realised she'd left her schoolbag on the corner. She stopped, made a face, and then ran back to get it.

I was torn between being pleased to see her and angry at her for breaking her promise again. And, fuck, Sarah was with me!

Rather than disapproving of Bree, Sarah could not have looked more amused. “That's who you were texting, isn't it?” I nodded.

The look she gave me made me cringe. “She's actually very nice.”

Sarah looked back at Bree dragging her full schoolbag toward us and snorted. “Yeah, I bet she's a lot of things.”

Bree caught up to me and looked like she wanted to hug me around the middle. She didn't, though. “I'm not sure if I can hug you in those clothes,” she explained, gesturing distastefully at them. “I'd probably ruin them. Although that wouldn't be such a bad thing. You look weird.”

I took a sharp breath. Sarah was standing right next to me, and that was far more than I ever wanted her to hear. I looked at Sarah a little panicked, but I don't think it was until she'd seen my expression that she thought twice about what Bree was saying. After she'd seen it she began listening very closely.

I wanted to yell at Bree for being so indiscreet, but that would have been even more obvious. So rather than replying to her, I indicated Sarah with a wave of my hand. “Bree, this is Sarah, a friend from work. Sarah, this is Bree...” a friend from hell, I thought, and winced as I remembered her 'you look weird' line and Sarah's expression.

Bree looked up at Sarah. “Hi,” she said, offering her hand to shake. “You're Min's friend, too? You're really pretty. I like your hair.”

Sarah looked from Bree to me and then burst out laughing. “Thank you!” she said, shaking Bree's hand. “Cloverfield Ladies' College, right? I hear that's a great school, I have a couple of friends who went there.” She paused, looking sideways at me with that same amusement. “A really, really long time ago.” I half glared at her. “Anyway, I'd better head off. I'll leave you two to it. See you tomorrow, Min.” She shot me another puzzled glance, and then turned and walked towards the train station, still chuckling to herself.

We watched her go. Shit, I thought, I hope she didn't figure anything out. God fucking damnit. “Jesus, Bree,” I said to her when Sarah was out of earshot, watching who was walking past us to make sure no one else was listening, either. “I swear to god if you say anything about what you know about me in front of anyone again, I will fucking kill you. This stuff is really private. And you showed up here after saying you wouldn't, again.”

She pouted. “I didn't say anything about you wanting to be a guy,” she said, at least making the effort to speak quietly. “And you do look weird.”

“Don't you think I fucking know that?” I said to her. “But just don't, okay?”

Bree did at least finally start to look a bit remorseful. “Okay, I get it. I'm sorry I showed up here again,” she said. “I just thought we could go shopping together so you didn't feel, like, pressured to do it later when you had work to do. And then I just wanted to hug you, and then I realised I couldn't. It just all came out.” She was giving me those big soulful eyes again.

I sighed at her. “You're unbelievable.”

“I know,” she said. “But I don't think your friend knows. She just thinks I'm weird, and I don't mind what she thinks about me.” She paused. “Also she has really nice hair kind of like Courtney's. I always wanted hair like that.”

“I like your hair the way it is,” I told her, pulling one of her curls and releasing it. “But if you show up here again and ever fucking talk about what I told you in front of anyone, I swear to god, Bree...”

“Okay, okay,” she said, looking chastised. “I'm hopeless, I get it. Can we just go and eat the cake now? It's really heavy.”

The cake actually turned out to be almost the whole cake, with only a couple of slices cut out already. She'd been carrying the whole cake inside a Tupperware cake container in her schoolbag. It was clearly homemade, and someone had actually put a lot of effort into delicately icing and decorating it. There were even little marzipan flowers all over the top of it.

“Are you sure your mum is okay with you taking this?” I asked, gently touching one of the pretty little flowers.

“It's my birthday cake. I'll eat it with whoever I want,” she said with surprising conviction, but didn't elaborate. We dropped it off at my place so I could put it in the fridge, sitting down at the table and sharing a slice before we went out again. It was actually a really great cake, but I wasn't sure how much I could really say about it because Bree was shovelling at it like she hated it.

She'd perked up again by the time we left the house, though. “You're not going to put on your other clothes?” she asked as I slipped my heels back on. I gave her a look and she scrunched up her nose. “Now that I know what you really look like, I'm never going to get used to you wearing all of this other stuff.”

I ruffled her hair as I passed her. Just very occasionally, she did actually say the right thing. “You and me both,” I said as I grabbed my handbag.

We went to a shopping centre off George Street. Bree was one of those people who always wanted to walk arm-in-arm, and that, coupled with the fact my blisters were killing me and I hadn't put the bandaids on them, made the walk there rather uncomfortable.

“You shouldn't have worn heels,” Bree told me when I mentioned it. “I never wear heels.”

“Maybe when you're a big girl mummy will buy you some,” I said, and she shoved me. I laughed. “It's not the heels that are the problem, I'm used to them. In the last few weeks I've just been walking a lot further than I usually do.”

As we passed a skate store, Bree stopped suddenly by the window. She had my arm, too, so I nearly fell over. “Look,” she said as I glanced around to see if anyone had noticed me being so ungraceful. “Those look more comfortable than heels.”

She was pointing at a pair of men's high-top sneakers. The tongue hanging out of them was so puffy it looked like it might need a shot of antibiotics to get the swelling down. “Yes, I'm sure they'd go particularly well with these tailored suit pants,” I said dryly, but Bree had already released my arm and rushed inside.

To my horror, I heard her call out, “Hi!” to the clerk as he looked up at her. “Do you have those men's ones,” she pointed at the high-tops, “in her size?” she pointed at me like what she was asking was perfectly normal. I couldn't believe it. Way to fucking out me, Bree, I thought, feeling all the colour drain from my face. If I wasn’t so fucking embarrassed I may actually have killed her on the spot.

Fortunately, the clerk clearly wasn't making assumptions about me at all. In fact, the expression he gave me was much the same one Sarah had. He was assuming Bree was the head case. “Do you know what her size is?” he asked Bree as I walked up to them. “I'll have a look.”

“Eleven in women's,” I told him, and he nodded and went out the back of the store. I looked down at Bree, who was trying her best to give me a really sweet smile. “Bree. Are you actually trying to get me to brutally murder you? Because it's working.”

She bounced up and down in front of me and grabbed a handful of the fabric at the front of my blouse. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm sorry! They're just really cool and they'd look great on you! Anyway, no one's going to know everything just because you're buying men's sneakers. They'll just think you have really big feet and can't find your size in women's.”

I ended up walking out of that store with a pair of men's sneakers and a very sheepish little schoolgirl who was about ten times more excited about them than I was. When she pulled me into another men's clothes shop, I stopped her. “Aren't we supposed to be buying you a birthday present?”

She shrugged. “I'm having fun!” she said, and then loaded me up with more button-up shirts than I'd ever seen in my life and pushed me into a change room. I would have been embarrassed about that, too, except the clerks were all giving me secret smiles like they thought I was just patiently putting up with a crazy teenager. Bree saw and didn't seem to care. “Tell me when I can come in!” she called over the change room door as she pushed it closed.

I stared at myself in the mirror of the door. Well, well, well, I thought at my reflection, we meet again. I tried to ignore it while I tried on the clothes.

I did actually quite like the style of the shirts. That was, until I'd put them on. Bree had insisted I try a medium size instead of the XLs I usually preferred, and they buttoned up perfectly all the way to my chest where they pulled tight across my breasts. Despite the fact my breasts were quite small, they still managed to very effectively ruin the way the shirt looked. I looked ridiculous, and I just had this wave of self-hatred, like who the fuck was I kidding trying to look like a guy? I was a fucking girl.

“Can I see?” Bree called when she heard me stop making changing noises.

“No,” I said, and went to take the top off.

“Why not?” she asked through the door. “Is the medium too small?”

She ended up convincing me to let her in, and I showed her, expecting her to immediately see my dilemma. She shrugged. “If you, like, hunch they'll probably just look like pecs?”

The top was short-sleeved and I held out my arms. “With these scrawny things?” I asked, and then groaned. They didn't look at all like Jason or Sean's arms at all. “I'm too skinny for people to think I have pecs.”

“You know you can get surgery to remove your boobs, right?” Bree asked, looking at my breasts in the reflection. I wondered how she knew about that. “Maybe you could get that, and then use those chicken-fillet-like things you can put in your bra to pretend you have them at work.”

I laughed once. “Yeah, Henry wouldn't notice at all.” I reached for the door to let her out. “Okay, I'm taking the shirt off.”

She didn't go anywhere. “You've seen me in a bra,” she reminded me.

I took her by the shoulders, turned her around, and pushed her out the door. “You actually like how yours look, though.”

She giggled. “Well, they're DDs,” she said as I closed the door and locked it. “What's not to like? They're great.”

I could only see her feet under the change room door, and right then she jumped experimentally up and down. I laughed to myself while I took the shirt off, knowing what she was looking at. I hoped her bra was more supportive than the one she was wearing on the weekend, because I could just imagine how she'd have looked if she'd jumped up and down in that and wow I really shouldn't have been imagining that. Bree did have a great body and she clearly enjoyed showing most of it to people, but there was just this sweet sort of naivety about her which stopped her looking like she was inviting people to touch it. I wondered if anyone had touched it, and then mentally hand-smacked myself. That was none of my business.

I'd gone to put that shirt neatly on the floor to try a bigger one, when I noticed my handbag in the corner and I had a thought. Those compression bandages. I wondered if they'd make the shirt fit. I took the package out of my bag and looked at it again. Well, there was no harm in trying, right?

I slipped off my bra and undid the wrapping.

“What's that noise?” Bree asked through the door.

“I'm hungry,” I said flatly. “I felt like a packet of chips.” She giggled.

The bandages were actually really good; they were made out of some strange fabric that stuck to itself so I only needed to press them down and they were secure. I had to try a couple of times, though, because the first time I did it I wrapped my chest too tightly and it hurt.

When I was done, I looked at myself in the mirror. I wasn't sure how I felt about myself from the front because of my hips, but from the side, I was completely flat. Completely. There was no sign at all that I had breasts. Just to check I wasn't imagining things, I put on the shirt that hadn't quite fit before.

It worked, they were completely gone. That made me smile, so I opened the door to Bree and let her squeeze in. “What do you think?” I said, and presented myself.

Her eyebrows went up. “Wow,” she said, and reached out to touch my newly flat chest, curious about it. Fortunately, she realised at the last minute that it probably wasn’t appropriate and didn’t actually put her hand there. “How did you do that?”

I bent down and handed her the empty bandage wrapper. She took it from me, but didn't really understand until she saw the diagram. “Oh, that's a good idea,” she said. “And probably a whole lot easier than just getting a surgeon to hack them off.”

I winced at her choice of wording. “What do you think of the shirt?” I asked. “Should I get it?”

She looked back up at me. Even though I had my breasts taped flat, it was actually really uncomfortable having Bree so openly staring at my chest. I'd have to get over that if I was going to pass as a guy, though, because guys didn't care about their chests. I caught myself thinking that and made a face. Pass as a guy to who, Min? Who else are you planning on showing this to?

“Yeah, get the shirt,” Bree said as an afterthought. She was looking down at her own breasts and tried to push them against her ribcage with her hands. The result was just a hell of a lot more cleavage around her collarbones. “I could never get mine that flat,” she said, releasing them again, which I was grateful for. Watching her so freely holding them in front of me was a bit awkward. “You're lucky you don't want to be a guy and have huge boobs. That would suck. You'd have to get them cut off.”

“Small mercies, I guess,” I said, and then kicked her out so I could change back again.

When I'd put my work clothes back on and opened the door, Bree was all the way up against the mirror at the far end of the fitting room, pulling at her hair. “How do you think I'd look with straight hair like Courtney and Sarah?” she asked me.

“Just as terrifying as you look now,” I said. “But straighter.”

She snorted. “Straighter?” She started to giggle.

That hadn't come out the way I'd intended it to. I pushed gently as I passed her. “You know what I mean.”

She did, but she found it hilarious anyway, and spent the whole time I was putting the clothes back trailing after me and giggling incessantly. She continued into another clothes shop, and came rushing over to me with a women's t-shirt which she held up across her front. It read, 'Looking 4 Prince Charming'. She was laughing too much to say whatever she'd wanted to say about it.

I rolled my eyes at her. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, very funny.”

The last set of shops in the centre were several jewellery stores and a supermarket. We passed by the window of one of them and there were a whole lot of engagement rings.

“Hey,” Bree said, on her tiptoes peering at the rings. “Doesn't your company sell diamonds? Are there any Frost diamonds here?”

I leant back to read the shop signage. “Nope.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “You didn't even look at them,” she accused.

I came up to the display window beside her. “I don't need to. Frost does prestige diamonds, and this isn't a prestige store.”

She groaned. “Well, sor-ry,” she said, clearly still playing with me, but there was an element of something else in her voice. “Not all of us live in super awesome expensive apartments and can just buy awesome prestige diamonds whenever we feel like it.” She walked into the store. “Some of us regular people like regular things.”

I walked in after her while she looked around at all the stuff on display. “Actually, Frost diamonds are probably a bit out of my price range, too,” I corrected her. “The cheapest ones retail for about $20,000, but our most popular selection is in the $100-to-$150,000 price range.”

Not only did Bree gape at me, but the clerk behind the counter who'd overheard us did, too.

“That's enough for a house,” Bree said, sounding actually kind of distressed about it. “Like, a small house, but a house. You can't live in a diamond.”

The clerk's expression was quite funny as well. “Well,” she told us in her professional voice. “We have a lovely selection of jewellery in the 100-to-150 dollar range.” Both Bree and I laughed.

Bree turned her nose up at me. “Okay, you can show me that stuff,” she said to the clerk, and then they chatted about some of the items on display while I stood back and watched, holding my shopping bags.

It was odd talking about the price of Frost merchandise like it was worth actual money, I thought, reflecting on how we normally talked about contracts and units and profit. Discussing it with Bree reminded me that, actually, Frost was raking in enormous amounts of money just from the comparatively small diamond division. Money ‘regular’ people didn't usually have, and money Bree definitely didn't have.

I watched her talk animatedly with the clerk as she leant over the counter. The clerk was even older than me and she was enjoying chatting with Bree, too. Henry was right, the age difference wasn't actually a problem, but Bree did have a point about money. She wasn’t old enough to have a job that paid anything like mine did. And I didn't just have a ‘regular’ job, I worked for Frost International. And what was the fucking point of working for someone like Frost and having all this money if all I did was either buy cosmetics or send it back to Mum?

I looked at Bree cooing over a gold bracelet with the clerk. Well, it was her 18th birthday yesterday, wasn't it?

I made a gesture to get the clerks attention, and then indicated the bracelet. The clerk smiled ear to ear like she was absolutely delighted and nodded at me.

When the clerk started to take the bracelet away from Bree, Bree stood up straight and looked really confused. “Why are you—?” The clerk glanced at me and Bree turned back towards me. I was just smiling, and Bree's jaw dropped. “Are you...?” I nodded. She just stared at me for a second. “But it's real gold,” she said. I pretended to be very impressed and she pointed her finger at me. “Stop that,” she ordered. “This is serious. You're buying real gold for me?”

“Would you prefer fake gold?”

The clerk snickered as she finished polishing the bracelet. “Would you like it gift-wrapped?” she asked us.

I looked at Bree. She just looked stunned. “I don't know,” she said.

The clerk seemed to be finding Bree's whole surprise very sweet. “Would you like to wear it now, instead?”

Bree looked back at her and just stared for a second. “Okay,” she said, and presented her wrist.

The clerk helped her put it on, and then I handed my card over while Bree just stared mutely at her new bracelet.

When we were done and had made it out of the store, Bree kind of just stopped beside the wall. “Did that just happen?” she asked me with no trace of humour in her voice.

I smiled and ruffled her curls. “Happy Birthday.”

She was still looking at her wrist. “When I told you to buy me something, I just thought you'd just get me something cheap and silly,” she said, and there was something about her voice. “I never thought you'd actually buy something really awesome for me.”

When she looked up at me, I realised why she sounded so strange. Her eyes were swimming in tears.

Fuck, had I done something wrong? “Bree...?”

Without waiting another second, she threw her arms around my middle. There were people everywhere and I felt a bit uncomfortable about it, but given the circumstances I couldn't push her away. I put a hand on the back of her head, not really sure what to do. That certainly hadn't been the reaction I was expecting, and I worried about it.

“Are you okay?” I asked her quietly after a minute or two. She was still hugging me just as tightly. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled, warming my stomach. “I'm sorry about crying, it's really dumb,” she began. “It's just, like... I thought you might really like a coffee before work so I got up really early so I could get into the city on time to get you one. And then I thought you might like some flowers because I upset you that night and I wanted to say sorry, and flowers are a nice way to say that, right? And I thought maybe you'd like to have some of my birthday cake because it's really pretty, so I had to wait until Mum went to take the rubbish out so I could sneak it into my bag and show you.” She took a short breath. “It's just that, you know, I always try to do all these nice things for people...” She looked up at me with those big eyes of hers. “I always try and do nice things for people. But you did something nice back.”

I stroked her hair. So that's what it was about. “Happy Birthday,” I said again, quietly.

After a minute or so she released me, standing back and gently touching the bracelet. “I'm going to help you,” she announced eventually, after spending some time deep in thought. When it was clear I didn't know what she meant, she looked around us to make sure no one could hear, and then elaborated. “Like, you want to be a guy? Well, I'll help.”

I winced. I still wasn't comfortable hearing her say that, and especially not suddenly with no warning. “I'm not actually sure what I want, and you help already,” I said. “You don't need to do anything. Just be your crazy self.”

She didn't look convinced. “But I'm sure I can do more than that,” she said. “There must be something else.”

I laughed bleakly as we started walking again. “If you could spontaneously develop some magical powers, that would be great.”

It was getting to that time of night: the lights around us in some of the stores were beginning to switch off, and here and there roller-doors were being shut.

“I guess you have to go do work,” Bree said in that desolate tone of hers she reserved for when she needed to leave. “And I have to go home.”

“You're not going to Courtney's tonight?”

She shook her head as we walked out of the entrance. “My brother's there. It's too weird.” She didn't say anything else. It was dark outside already, and there was a bit of a chill in the air as we headed back home.

When we got upstairs, Bree looked hesitantly at her schoolbag by the door, and then up at me. “Can I just stay for a bit longer? I'll be really quiet. I have homework to do, anyway.”

I had been ready to refuse, but there was a note of something in her voice. It made me wonder. “Bree, do your parents know where you are?”

She shrugged. “I'll seriously be really quiet.”

I watched her for a second. There was obviously a reason she didn't want to answer, and I didn't want to push her, so I left it. She was 18 now anyway, and all the evidence pointed to her having had a crap birthday. She enjoyed herself when she was here. “Okay,” I said. “But literally, you will need to be dead quiet. I'll need to be able to concentrate.”

She brightened. “Really? I can stay?”

I took the bags into my bedroom and went in there to change. “Really. I'm using the table, though. Or I will after I have a quick shower.”

I had my shower and threw on the hoodie and the jeans, and by the time I came out of the bathroom, the doona was missing from my bed. I followed the trail of discarded bedding and found it draped over the spine of my couch and hanging over the front of it. I lifted the end of the make-shift doona-tent near the arm. Bree was lying on her stomach inside it reading something on her phone.

She looked up at me when I peeked in.

“Okay...” I said slowly.

“If I can't see you I'll be less tempted to talk to you,” she said very matter-of-factly, and then went back to reading whatever she had been. “Also, it's really warm in here.”

I had to laugh. “If you suffocate, I'm feeding you to the flowers,” I told her, and then set myself up at the table to do some research on the leads Jason had sent me.

Most of them were just contacts in large mining or construction companies in Russia. I couldn't find any connections to more consumer-oriented products at all. Leads were leads, though, so I wrote somewhat cryptic emails to a few of them and then stopped short of actually sending them. If I was going to send communication that had anything to do with Pink externally, I'd probably have to clear it with Jason first, and, fuck, that young guy John had sent me a link to a webpage about Argyle Diamonds unencrypted again. I put my face in my hands; I wasn't sure how much clearer I could have made the message about the importance of information security. Well, I couldn't do anything now, but I'd need to jump right on it tomorrow. Fuck. Why couldn't people follow simple instructions? I saved the emails onto the USB, shut my laptop and then leant back in my chair and stretched. That was probably enough for today; it was bedtime.

That reminded me that Bree was still here. I flopped my arms back down and looked over at the couch; she'd been dead quiet. I decided I should probably thank her for that because it was a bit of a feat of self-discipline for her, so I wandered over and lifted the edge of the doona.

I had opened my mouth to say something, but I stopped when I saw that she'd face-planted on her phone. It was half-buried between her cheek and the cushion and she was fast asleep. I laughed soundlessly; that explained why she'd been so quiet. I should have known 'self-discipline' and 'Bree' weren't two words that belonged in the same sentence.

Carefully excavating her phone, I rolled the doona back to her shoulders so she didn't actually suffocate, and then I stood back up.

Well, I couldn't kick her out now, could I? I looked at the clock 11:30. It was probably better if she did stay over rather than going home at this hour. I wondered about her family, though. How the fuck did they not worry about where she was all the time? Unless she was lying to them, that is. Still, my mum would never have let me out so much in my last year of school, regardless of what I'd told her. I knew Aussie parents were a little less hardcore, but I didn't think they were this lax about where their teenage daughters were.

Kind of hating myself for it, I unlocked her phone to just check she hadn't received a hundred phone calls from scared family wondering where their daughter was. She hadn't, there wasn't a single one. And in fact, the last thing she'd been reading wasn't actually even homework, it was a blog that called itself The Queer (A)Gender. I sighed at that, and then put the phone down on the coffee table and just looked down at her.

What's the deal with you, Bree? I thought, bending down so I could tuck her in a little better. That delicate little bracelet was still on her tiny wrist, and it reminded me how small she was, which made me worry even more. I hadn't seen bruises or anything on her torso when she'd had her top off, and I didn't think it would be something like that, but I still worried. I worried about what was going on for her. Fuck, it was just so easy to worry about this girl.

Still, I had several more pressing issues also competing for brain-space, like not being sure if I definitely wanted to be a guy or not and the fact that when I gave my team instructions it all seemed to go in one ear and out the other. I sighed, turning off the living room light and heading into my bedroom. All of this could wait until tomorrow.

 

ELEVEN

 

I woke up to the sound of someone opening and closing the cupboards in my kitchen. Yawning, I felt around my bedside table for my phone and held it in front of my face, half-blinding myself. 6:02 am. Bree was very awake for this time of the morning. Weren't teenagers supposed to be impossible to wake up before midday?

Just as I was trying to decide if it was too early to get out of bed, my bedroom door swung open and a silhouette with very fluffy hair appeared. “You have no food,” she announced, not telling me anything I didn't know. “I had this really nice idea where I was going to make you breakfast and have it ready for you when you woke up but the only thing you have in your pantry is this one single pickle and the most plastic-looking two minute noodles in the world. The cake is the only thing in your fridge. You don't even have milk anywhere, just, like, four hundred thousand bottles of red wine.”

“Good morning, Bree,” I said pointedly in my croaky morning voice. “How did you sleep?”

“Okay,” she said, still lecturing me, “and you sound like a guy, now, too. I've discovered the reason you look like some skinny teenage guy when you don't try to do the feminine thing is because you hardly ever eat. If you didn't have your hair, like, down around your face like that then no one would think you weren't a dude.” She paused, touching her own messy hair. “Also, can I have a shower? I look like a pom-pom.”

It was too early to deal with her, so I washed my face quickly and then got dressed while she was having a shower. Since I couldn't wear my tailored pants two days in a row, I ended up needing to brave a skirt with stockings. 34 years, 364 days to retirement, I thought, sighing heavily. I toyed with the idea of pulling my hair back–especially after what Bree had said–but 'guy' really wasn't the impression I was trying to give people at work. 

When Bree finally emerged from the bathroom, she'd done a pretty good job of fixing her hair and smoothing her uniform and it wasn't at all obvious she'd crashed on someone's couch overnight. “Can I just leave my undies in your washing?” she asked. “It's a bit weird to carry them around.”

Was she serious? Her skirt barely made it halfway down her thighs. “Bree, you can't go out like that without any!”

She looked at me for a second and then laughed. “I have spares,” she said. “But oh my god!”

She continued to laugh about that while she was watching me do my makeup, and then all the way downstairs. I had automatically started walking to work when I realised I couldn't send Bree to school without having fed her. It was really too late to sit down anywhere, though.

“Would a muffin and a coffee be okay for breakfast?” I asked her, as we passed a café.

“Sure!” she said, and ended up talking the barista into making her a ham-and-cheese toastie, instead. She ate it with an expression of total contentment as I walked her to Circular Quay to catch her train. We'd just missed one, so we sat and watched the ferries dump hordes of business people in suits onto the quay.

“You should wear a suit to work,” Bree said, offering a wedge of her sandwich to me. “That would be so awesome.”

Yeah, in my dreams. “Hah,” I said as I had a small bite and gave it back to her. “World peace would be awesome, too.” I half-heard an announcement over the speaker system. “Hey, isn't that your train?”

She nodded, dusting her hands as she stood up. “Thanks.”

Her hair was a bit damp, and if I ruffled it I'd probably make it frizzy for the rest of the day, so I didn't. “You're welcome,” I said. “Come on, you've only got a couple of minutes, you'd better go.”

I walked her up to the barriers and she just stood there, glancing up at me and looking uneasy.

“You've got to go to school,” I told her. When she didn't say anything to that, something occurred to me as I watched people hold their Opal cards next to the readers. “You do have enough money on your card, right?”

She didn't say anything, so the answer was obviously no. And she wasn't going to tell me, I thought, looking around us at all the ticket inspectors making sure everyone was tapping on. How the hell was she planning on getting to school?