She shook her head and grinned at me. “Do you get hate mail?” she asked looking serious.

I was still testing out the new name I had chosen. Joni. It gave me a little insulation against what had happened to me. Jonny would not have to deal with getting measured for a bra, Joni could do that.

Speaking of which, Sandra was showing me how to measure myself by using her beige tape measure on herself. “See,” she was saying, “I’ve got a 32 inch band size, and my bust measures 34 so that’s a B-cup.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, taking the tape when she passed it to me. “Mom did these measurements at home” I told her.

“What did she get?” Sandra asked.

“Let’s see if we get the same,” I suggested.

Sandra nodded, smiling.

I wrapped the tape around me, right under my armpits. Sandra helped me keep it straight. “Twenty seven,” I read.

“Can that be right?” Sandra asked. “I know you’re small but that’s tiny. The smallest band size we have in most styles is 28. And we don’t have odd-number sizes anyway, no one does.”

I started to shrug but stopped myself. “I’m just small,” I muttered. Then blushed, remembering that I wasn’t small everywhere.

We measured under my breasts next and got the same number again. Sandra rolled her eyes. “I have to starve myself for a week to get my waist down to 27.”

“My waist is 22,” I said before I thought about it.

She shook her head and grinned at me. “Do you get hate mail?” she asked looking serious.

“Huh?” I goggled.

“Just kidding,” she said. “Let’s get the money number, your bust.”

She put a thumb on my backbone to help me keep the tape level. “Thirty-three,” she read.

“What!” I almost yelped. “That’s more than it was this morning.”

“Maybe the tape had slipped up or down?”

“No, no,” I shook my head. “Measure it again. You do it this time.”

She did and got the same number. “Thirty-three…that’s pretty big…. Uh, you’d be a size 28DD. Wow.”

“They’re still growing,” I said and I felt tears fill my eyes.

“Don’t cry, honey,” Sandra urged. “Lots of girls are, uh, extra-busty.”

“You don’t understand,” I whimpered. “On Thursday, I would have barely filled a B-cup.”

Her turn to boggle, if that’s what you call it when a person’s eyes get real big and their head wobbles up and down.

“It was just like they exploded Friday night.” I didn’t realize it but I was whispering. “This morning I woke up with these,” I waggled my shoulders.

She blinked. “You’re kidding me? You grew three bra sizes over night?”

“I guess so,” I said, feeling tears leak onto my cheeks and fill my nose from the inside. “That’s—that’s why I need new bras.” I almost choked, saying that.

“Did it hurt?” Sandra paused. “It had to hurt, right? No, you are kidding me, aren’t you?”

“Huh-uh. You could ask my Mom out there. And it did hurt some, it ached, then burned, like my skin was stretching.” I hiccoughed.

Sandra was staring then she began to giggle. “You’ve got to be kidding me! I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

“It’s true,” I said. Maybe I sounded really upset because Sandra stopped laughing and patted me on the arm. “Look it’s okay. Do you know how many girls come in here wanting me to pad them out a bit? Some of them would kill for your figure.”

She stepped back and looked at me. “You’ve got hips, too. Heck, You’re a regular half-pint Venus!”

I burst into tears, trying to be quiet.

Sndra looked stricken. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I mean, you’re small…” Her eyes landed on my breasts. “Uh—most places. I didn’t mean you were short.”

“I am short!” I insisted. “I know that. My little sister is four inches taller than me.”

Sandra tried a smile. “My little brother is like a foot taller than me.”

“And that’s the worst part,” I said hiccoughing again.

“What—what is?” she asked.

“I’m a boy!” I told her.

She busted up laughing. “I knew it, I knew it!” She handed me a tissue and I blew my nose.

“You knew I was a boy?” I asked, trying not to keep blubbering.

“No, you goof! I knew you were spinning a story.” She grinned. “But you went too far. No one is going to believe you’re a boy with these!” And she poked me in a tit! “C’mon!”

I tried to laugh, but it came out as more blubbering.

“Joni?” Sandra said. “Uh—should I get your Mom?”

I nodded.

She went through the curtain while I shredded soggy tissue and wished I had a fresh one to blow my nose. “‘Snot fair,” I whimpered. “I told her the truth and she doesn’t believe me.”

Then Mom was there holding me while I cried. “Honey, honey. It’s okay, I’m here.”

“I told her I was a boy and she laughed at me,” I said as quietly as I could.

Sandra looked stricken. “I didn’t mean to laugh, b-but,” she looked this way then that. “I—I thought you were joking.”

“I’m a joke,” I muttered.

“No, you’re not, honey,” Mom said reassuringly.

“Yes, I am,” I said, whining. I felt very sorry for myself.

“Baby, you’re okay.” Mom insisted.

Sandra handed me more tissue. “Thag you,” I said. I looked directly at her. After blowing my nose and throwing the tissue in a box Sandra held out, I took another wad she handed me. “Thank you,” I said again.

“Um,” said Sandra looking distressed.

Mom pushed me far enough away she could look me in the face. “Better?” she asked.

I shook my head. Mom pushed some hair out of my eyes. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

I looked at Sandra again. “I’’m a boy with tits,” I said. “Big ones, so big I’m gonna have to wear a bra.” My lip trembled. Mom took tissues Sandra was holding out and wiped my eyes.

“Do—do you want me to get a manager?” Sandra asked.

“Why? So he can see me too?” I whimpered.

“Hush,” said Mom, pulling me in close again. Then to Sandra, “Don’t call a manager, she’ll be all right. She just needs a good cry. Joni? You’re okay, everything is fine. Okay?”

“‘M Jonny,” I said but she held me close enough to muffle that. Mom wiped my eyes and had me blow my nose again. “You gonna be okay now?” she asked.

I nodded, feeling absolutely ridiculous, still being held around the shoulders by Mom. “Sorry,” I said to Sandra.

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking as if she were about to be attacked by rabid dogs.

Just then, Donna arrived, crowding into the tiny room. “Hey, sis,” she said cheerfully. “They’re having a sale down in Teen Fashion! Some great stuff! I found you some blue stretch denim Capris, and this cute jumper skort with a bib!”

I pouted at Donna and Mom put an arm around my shoulders. “Joni’s a bit upset,” she said warningly to Donna.

“Ah,” said Donna. “Don’t be that way, sis. Hey, Mom how much can we spend? Should we get Joni a buncha cute T’s? they got them in all kinds of colors and styles.” She looked directly at me. “You gonna impress the heck out of the guys if you go with a boat neck,” she said.

I didn’t even know what half the stuff she was talking about meant. Capris? Jumper skort? Boat neck? I turned toward Mom and tried to hide my face in her shoulder.

“I’m confused,” said Sandra.

“We all are,” agreed Mom.

Donna laughed, nodding. I so wanted to punch her. My sister was the only person I ever had a fist fight with and she blacked my eye when we were nine, so punching her wasn’t the best idea I ever had.

Sandra looked at Donna. “Um—. Joni told me she’s a boy?”

Donna shrugged. “She’s been claiming that since we were like, four.”

Sandra frowned. “Are you two, like, twins?”

Donna laughed again. “Like twins, yes, but not twins. Joni’s my big sister. She’s ten months older.” Amazing that Donna admitted that. Usually, she tried to amplify any confusion.

I sniffled, turning back around and feeling that the jiggling and bouncing had gotten worse. “Can we go home,” I whined. I was really beginning to hate hearing myself.

“Whoa,” said Donna looking at my bust. “You still need, uh, you really need some bras, good strong ones.”

“Shut up,” I said.

For once, she actually listened to me.

“Do we know your size yet?” Mom asked me.

I looked at Sandra who blinked several times as if she had no idea what we were on about. Then suddenly, “Oh!” she said. “Um, 28DD, was what we came up with. Uh, let me see what we have in that size.” She glanced around at the walls of the small fitting room and apparently decided she needed to check stock elsewhere.

“I’ll be right back,” she promised as she scooted out the curtained doorway.

“I should start calling you ‘DeeDee’,” Donna commented.

“Mo-om,” I protested.

Mom scowled, first at me! I guess she was getting tired of my whining. But she turned her gaze on Donna and snapped. “You agreed to keep the teasing down, so I guess you don’t want any money to spend on yourself?”

“Uh,” Donna looked embarrassed. “I’ll be good, but how she’s supposed to know we’re related if I don’t tease her?”

“Enough!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I stepped away from Mom and reached out a hand to Donna. “You’ve got something on your nose,” I said.

She slapped my hand away, and we both giggled. She hadn’t fell for that one since pre-school but it was kind of a ritual between us. We might fuss and tease and complain about each other, but we could forgive, too. Donna knew I wasn’t mad at her.

Mom rolled her eyes. “Now I remember why I waited ten years before I had another kid,” she sighed.

I wiped my eyes and blew my nose again. “Sorry for the waterworks,” I said.

Mom nodded. “I understand, honey. But you know, I think you scared that sales girl into the next county. She’s disappeared.”

“Sandra,” I mentioned, as Mom moved toward the door to see if she could spot the girl coming back.

“I really did find some nice stuff I think you’ll like,” Donna said to me. “Not too girly, but you don’t want to look like you’re trying to be a tomboy, either.”

“Why not?” I asked.

She did the eye roll thing. “At our age, everyone thinks tomboys are just trying to get attention. They’re all boy crazy.”

“Oh,” I said, cringing a bit. Did boy crazy mean what I thought it meant?

“Here she comes,” Mom said from the doorway.

To me the boxes for bras seemed very small, then again, I don’t think I even knew that they came in boxes. Mostly, you just see them hanging from racks, but apparently those are the cheap bras. The good ones come in boxes.

Sandra had six or eight boxes in her hands as she came up to me. “Oh, Joni!” she said. “I’m sorry I laughed at the wrong time. B-but it was a joke, wasn’t it?”

“I’m sorry I was grumpy,” I said. “But I really did have some kind of growth spurt almost over night. I—it’s,” —Oh, no, was I going to cry again?—“it’s been kind of terrifying.”

“Well—well, maybe we can fix things, sort of,” she looked around. “It’s kind of crowded in here for trying things on.”

Mom took the hint. “We’ll be right outside,” she said, grabbing Donna by the upper arm and steering her out the curtained door.

“Mom, Mom.” Donna was saying. “Mom, you gotta come look at the sale they’re having downstairs….”

Sandra hooked the door so it would stay closed, I hadn’t known it had a hook. “Just so no one barges in,” she said.

She moved to the little pile of boxes on the dressing table, and I looked past her to my reflection in the mirror. I saw a very busty young woman wearing a white t-shirt and denim jeans, a girl who looked a lot like my sister in the face but with a rounder chin and higher forehead.

“What I’ve got here is three sizes in two different styles. We actually don’t have much stock in unusual sizes.”

“I shooden wunda,” I said, echoing something she had said earlier and imitating her eastern accent.

She giggled and grinned. “You did that well,” she said. “I’ve been out here since I was ten and I still sound like a Mainer, sometimes.”

“A Mainer? Like someone from Maine? Is that where you’re from?” I asked.

“Uh, huh,” she agreed. “So I’ve got 28D, 28DD, and 30D bras in both front and back closure styles. They all have wired cups, I’m afraid. Most small band sizes with large cups do.”

“No clue what that means, ‘wired’? They have tiny microphones?”

Sandra snorted. “You’ll find out,” she said ominously. “You don’t know anything about bras, do you? How is that?”

I pointed at myself. “I spent the last ten years pretending to be a boy.” More or less. “And I didn’t wear a bra ‘cause I didn’t need one—until last night.”

She was taking a bra out of the packaging. “You grew all that over night? That’s hard to believe.”

I looked down at myself. “It’s no easier to believe from this side,” I said.

She held up a bra. “You want to take your shirt off to try this on?”

“Uh, no,” I said.

“Well,” she offered “you can put it on over your t-shirt for a first try.”

“Okay,” I said. “What do I do?”

“That’s a front closure model. Just put it on like you were putting on a blouse. Slip your arms through the straps, then pull the clasp together so you can close it.”

I glared at the item, but did as she suggested. Except, she had to show me how the two plastic pieces of the closure fit together.

Things felt lumpy and awkward. “It doesn’t fit!” I complained.

“Reach your hand into each cup, lift up your breast and let it fall. It will find a fit,” she instructed.

Well, I’d been avoiding touching them, and of course the t-shirt was in the way, but I managed. They were part of me, after all. I was touching them already because I was inside them

“Mmm,” said Sandra. “You’re going to have to take the t-shirt off to be sure of the fit, but it looks good.”

I looked in the mirror. I’d gotten through all of this without realizing that the bra was a very pale pink color. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. A pink bra. What would the guys in gym who had given me such a hard time about my tiny nubbins say about me wearing a pink bra over a pair of gazongas like these?

Did it matter? I was going to do my best that they never saw Jonny again.

I undid the clasp, took the bra off and pulled the shirt off over my head. Joni looked back at me from the mirror, naked from the waist up.