"It would mean you wouldn't mind your body so much." Her mother looked hopeful. "In fact, you'd welcome its growth."
Faye tried to work out what her parents were getting at. "What kind of operation?" she repeated.
"It has something to do with the way the brain's wired up," said her father.
"Brain surgery?" spluttered Faye, shocked that her parents could suggest such a thing.
"You'd still be you," assured her mother.
"For the most part, anyway," corrected her father.
"Oh, stop scaring her!" scathed her mother. Facing Faye again, she added, "You'd still be the same person. You'd just be... well... a boy."
Before Faye knew what had happened, she'd dashed out of the room. She ran up the stairs, their outline a blurry mess behind her tears, and slammed her bedroom door shut before flopping onto her bed, her eyes buried in her arm.
When she finally let herself sob uncontrollably, it was a relief in a way. She just let go, letting the pain wash over her. The pile of soft toys by her side offered no comfort, their presence suddenly seeming childish. As much as her parents kept on saying how much they loved her, she got the feeling all her mother really cared about was having grandchildren.
"So what did you think of him?" asked Rebecca as she sat on her bed, her back against the wall.