Maya sat on the edge of her bed in the quiet of her bedroom. The only light in the room came from the soft glow of a small lamp on the bedside table, its warm yellow circle dancing gently across the walls. Her legs were bare in comfy blue shorts, and her pink top felt too bright against the dimness around her. She held the football jersey delicately in her hands, her fingers tracing the embroidered letters of MASON across the back.

An ordinary scene, the casual observer may think, played out by love-sick young girls throughout America. An observation which would perhaps have been accurate but for a few telltale, crucial differences, the tears that streamed from Maya's eyes, the lost in thought far away desperate stare in her eyes, red from tears, and the simple fact that this was jersey, worn by her only that afternoon in a game that she had won with the last touchdown of the match. You see, the girl's ‘real name' was Mason, and for almost everyone in her life, Mason was the reality, and Maya was not even a figment of imagination. But for the girl who sat there in more mournful silence, the opposite was true, Mason was a mask and a figment, and Maya was the hidden reality.

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"Bro, that catch was insane!''
And Maya lived again the moment when, in gleeful celebration, Tyler had pulled her into his arms. It was bittersweet, as for him, Maya knew it meant nothing, but for her, it meant everything. The muscles beneath his jersey that were plastered to his body by perspiration, the sent scent of his minty breath, the strength of his arms about her, that confident, security, for one fleeting moment, for Maya, it had felt like home. Then it had all been over, Tyler had ruffled her helmet like a big brother declared he was proud of Mason and had let her go, and the moment had burst like a soap bubble.

Afterwards, Maya had gone out, as a team thing, but not as Maya. Mason had gone, the quiet guy cajoled by his peers. The man of the moment, Maya, had tried her best to mask herself then, she laughed at the jokes, however bad or offensive, spoke when spoken to and tried to keep her speech short, sharp and laddish. The coach even stopped by for a minute to offer Mason some manly praise and acknowledgement.

The guys shoved Mason into the booth as if he were royalty. Ever shy, it must have appeared to them like the praise was rolling off him and that the adulation and attention were embarrassing him, but Maya knew better than that. She wasn’t embarrassed or that shy, just extremely guarded. Aware of his every word or action, although there were some aspects of this male communication that, especially in a social setting, Maya would be the first to admit that she did not understand.

Maya tried to make it less than apparent that she had hardly touched any of the enormous pile of greasy goodness the guys had ordered for them all, tried to make it appear that she would rather have ordered something lighter and less greasy than that pile of wings. Maya need not have been as concerned to however, like most men, they were more concerned with their own bellies than with how much she had eaten. Then there was the tall waitress, far and away the closest Maya had come in a while to accidentally outing herself. A blonde bombshell by the name of Sasha. She had caught Maya’s eye first for her undeniable beauty, but almost just as quickly for the cute headband she wore. Maya caught herself just before she uttered a girlish question and compliment over it.

Maya was captivated by her beauty all the same, and since it would hardly give her away to the boys around her, she still flirted back with her. Finally, at the end of her shift, Sasha came and slid in between Maya and one of the guys from the football team, draping herself over Maya to the cheers and jeers from her teammates. Maya found her heart beating almost as fast as when Tyler had held her earlier, and the fragrant smell of the woman’s flowery perfume was intoxicating.
At one point, while looking into Maya’s eyes, Sasha told her dreamily. “If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought you were built in heaven, so dreamy!”
Maya took a sip of her Coke and tried to skirt the fine line between being herself and still retaining her facade as a man.

Even while flirting with Sasha, Maya had to take so much care, perhaps especially so because she was flirting with a girl. She couldn’t say the things she longed to say. She couldn’t concentrate entirely on Sasha because she had to make sure that no girly gestures or inflexions were creeping in. Even her voice had to be focused on, a lot of human behaviour is copied with every word Maya had to make sure that she wasn't letting talking to a girl bring out any of her female inflexions or tone. The very timbre of her voice had to be checked with every word. Maya's natural timbre was, like most girls, much higher and more melodious, and music than the drab male voice Mason used.

The night wore on, and as it did so, Maya's vigilance and patience wore thin. When someone suggested Karaoke, Maya's laughter was a little too loud, a little too fake. Maya immediately noticed and silently cursed herself, worse she had to immediately force herself not to compound the situation with her next reactions. Forcing herself not to cover her mouth with a hand in a girlish instinct, and biting back the girlish giggles, both of which threatened to out her. Instead, Maya, with great feigned confidence, squarely stood there and waited stoically for the comments and jeers as a man might.
Tyler noticed, because of course he did, and looked over at Maya, his soft eyes filled with genuine concern. "You good?"
"Just tired, you know it has been a long day and all. I don't know, maybe all this hero worship has tired me out more than I thought. I guess I should call it a night." Maya tried to recover, not an easy feat with Tyler's eyes boring into her very soul.
Tyler chuckled, bursting the intense air that had been building between them.
"Well, get used to it, after today you're basically a legend, Mason. But really, you should scoot, you look beat, man.”
Maya was glad to leave, it was not entirely that she was exhausted in the traditional sense, but pretending to be someone you are not for any length of time is beyond tiring, and Maya felt that she was as tired as anyone can be of prelude pretending.

Maya wasn’t surprised to come home to a dark, deserted house, though the emptiness still sent a small pang of sadness shivering through her chest. The silence felt different from the quiet of a regular evening, heavier somehow, like the house itself was holding its breath. She shut the door softly behind her, listening to the click of the lock echo in the noiseless air. She flicked on the light in the kitchen, and that’s when she saw it. A single sheet of paper lay on the dining room table, held in place by a mug she recognised as her mother’s. Maya didn’t rush over. She already knew what it would say, or at least she could guess at the gist of it. Notes had become a habit lately, her mother had been distant and quite often spent very little time in the house now. The note was short and sparse, her mother’s handwriting slightly slanted, as if written while half-thinking about something else. It explained that she’d gone to Aunt Mary’s for the night, maybe for the whole weekend.

It didn’t surprise Maya. Not really. She folded the paper once, then again, carefully, before setting it back where she’d found it. Three months had passed since her father died suddenly, cruelly, from an aneurysm that no one had seen coming. Since then, the house had learned new routines: fewer lights on in the evenings, meals eaten at odd hours, doors opening and closing without comment. Her mother drifted in and out, trying to find places to be that weren’t at home, Maya suspected that being alone in this place brought home the reality to her mother and was obviously quite often too much for her to handle. Maya understood that. She told herself she did, at any rate.

Maya had only been known to her dad as Mason and didn't think he would have approved of her choices, but they had not been close, sharing little in common, but she still missed her dad terribly. Maya's mother, who also did not know of Maya’s existence, had been struggling with her husband's death a lot more than her daughter, and multiple people, including Maya, had been getting increasingly worried. Maya had been aware that her aunt had been intending to visit and check on her sister, Maya’s mother. Privately, Maya was glad her mother had someone to talk to. Maya struggled to provide that for her mother, partly because of her secret and partly because of the strained relationship she had always had with her dad. Maya was upset at his passing. He had been a good man, but one who had had little time for his girly and feminine son.

Once her father had thoroughly embraced them both, trying to make a man out of her, her dad had mostly given up on her. He was, though, one of only two reasons that Maya was on the football team, the other was Tyler. Her faithful best friend, and sometimes in Maya’s dreams more, Tyler had taken the feminine boy under his wing almost as soon as they met, which was now many years ago. No one dared talk badly of Mason with Tyler present, and from then on, wherever Tyler had gone, so had Mason, it was an odd but easy friendship. Maya wasn’t even really a fan of football, but she was athletic and good enough, so with her dad’s insistence and Tyler’s almost pleading gaze, Maya had agreed to be on the team. Still her strained relationship made it even more difficult for Maya to be there for her grief-stricken mother, while her mother mourned loss of her husband, the man she had hoped to grow old with, Maya struggled to find anywhere near the same level of sadness within herself, so Maya was glad that her mom had her aunt to lean on and to help her. As gloomy and as sad as having the house to herself was, it did give Maya an opportunity. An opportunity to be herself.

Under her bed, Maya had an old shoebox, well, truthfully, it had started as a single shoebox but over the last couple of years had now grown to multiple shoeboxes. All marked as Civics notes, as an attempt to disguise their true content. Lace, lipsticks, and a wig from before Maya had decided or even dared to grow her own blonde locks out into a style that was easily altered into a girl’s style. Panties folded so neatly you would think that Maya was prepping for a retail display, tops, trousers and shorts folded in the same way. Here was Maya's life, the real Maya, packed away all neat and tidy and yet raring to be let out.
Maya let out a deep breath and began to deconstruct Mason. Despite the years of sport Maya had been blessed with a slight physique, without the male layers, there was little that screamed man. Her shoulders may be muscular and broad, but so were a lot of girls, and they were not nearly as broad as most of the boys she played with. Her muscular abs, thighs and calves, she knew guys and girls would equally kill to have. Only her genitalia and flat chest really gave Maya dysphoria and discomfort.

A bralette, pale lavender, soft cotton, it did little to help Maya’s flat chest, but it did begin to make Maya feel more secure in herself and more normal. Maya adjusted the bralette till it fit just right. The effect was not to flatten anything, nor to add to anything, but rather, to make Maya feel right. It was strange, but with it on, Maya felt more real in herself. Next, white panties with little pastel bows on the waistband, and with these on and her male genitalia tucked away, Maya felt more herself and so much lighter as if all the weight on her soul had been suddenly lifted. There was an inner peace that no amount of football wins and fake smiles had ever been able to buy her.

Maya moved over to the makeup. This was something she had never been able to truly master. She had been able to purchase some of the kit that was true, but it was harder for her to buy than clothes and much harder to learn. It wasn't easy, especially as Maya had never had anyone who could tell her how to do this, watching YouTube tutorials online just wasn't in any way the same. But with what she did have, Maya did the best she could and finally achieved a result that, while it was far from perfect, was far from clown face paint and was something that Maya considered to look pretty, even cute.

Maya pulled her hair loose from the dour boyish style she was forced to keep it in, teasing it out, playing with it. Carefully, she brushed it, getting the volume and bounce back into it before tying it back up in a high ponytail that bounced and bobbed with every tilt or movement of her head.

Ready, Maya walked over to her mirror as she had so many times before and stared. Just as it had the first time, the sight of herself stunned Maya breathless and silent.
"Hey," She whispered weakly. "Are you me?"
The girl that was Maya didn't answer, but she looked confident and assured, her head higher and freer than the downcast, confused, and ashamed Mason. Maya was worlds away from the dour, drab, and unremarkable football player, and she knew it.

The words were a sort of ritual Maya had gotten used to every time she was allowed to be fully herself like this. An echo of the first time she had done this and realised that she was, in fact, real, at least real enough, when she felt she could be herself. Maya laughed, not one of the fake manly laughs she had been putting on all day, but a girlish giggling laugh, her first real laugh of the day. No team, no football, no expectations, just Maya laughing and twirling in front of a mirror like a ballerina in a dream that no one but her knew about. This, Maya reflected with relief, was the real victory, not the team or the applause. Maya was the true reality, even if the rest of the world wasn't ready to see that yet.

Maya pulled out her phone and took a couple of posy pictures to load to her social media page. Whenever she dressed as herself, Maya had taken to doing this, her Maya page hadn't really got that many followers or anything, but it did make her feel more real and more like all the rest of the girls. Importantly, her Maya account was kept entirely separate from her Mason account. Choosing a short, simple caption, Maya posted the pictures and sat down on her bed to begin the rest of her night.