The first time I fall in love it is with a girl. She tells me ‘if you were a boy you would be my perfect person. You, as a boy.’ I smile and nod. I say, ‘I’ll keep a lookout for a boy like me, for you.’ I work early mornings at a café. On the bus home at 11.30am I think about this and lean my head against the white-lit windowpane and cry because I know she’s not wrong, but she’s not right either. I get breast cancer. They cut off my breast and immediately make moves to replace it.