What would my mother say? My mother. What would she say? She wanted me to be happy, but like this? Would she be disappointed? Angry? Disgusted? I hard...y knew my mother thanks to the chronic illness that had robbed me of her. A tear broke the surface in my eye. I stifled it. "You okay?" asked Andy, my youngest flatmate, entering the kitchen. "Yeah, fine. Just thinking about my mum." I decided to leave the kitchen before any more debauchery happened. I tickled Andy briefly and he squealed his. Although he knew he looked about twenty-three, he still felt eighteen.Deciding that he didn't want to miss out on four years of his life, hewould call himself eighteen. So now he looked like a twenty-three yearold woman, felt like an eighteen year old girl and thought like aneighteen year old boy. What would his parents think of their son suddenlybecoming their daughter?He saw a neat little uniform sitting on the table in the centre of theroom, and decided to see if it would fit. His shirt. More

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