Note to readers. Don't read if you don't like poor grammar, this is rough.
This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
Copyright… are you kidding?

Edited by Amanda Lynn.

For everything that happened, I have to blame my dad. He insisted on naming his son (that’s me) Solomon. Guess what young parents call their cute little son Solomon? Yes, you’re right – Sally. Couldn’t it be like Roger or Jeff? Add to this dad’s genes that he transmitted to me. Like five feet six inches at sixteen. While my four years younger sis Dea was sprouting to five-ten at twelve.

The summer vacation’s nearing its end, there’re some events planned in the town like a Back-to-school dance party.

Dea is like, “Oh, I want!”

And dad is like, “Why not. Go, girl!”

She’s twelve. She just looks like seventeen.

“Dea’s too young!” mom says. But, it’s too late because Dea has dad’s ok.

“She’s too young,” I scream and Dea mocks, “Sally envies me,” while dad says, “Don’t be a smarty pants, Sally.”

I’m not! But she’s too young anyway. One hasn’t to be Solomon to know she has nothing to wear.

So, our whole family has to go to the mall. Why the whole family you would ask? Because it seems it’s back to school time and I need clothes too.

Dad goes because mom says so. Maybe he’ll keep his mouth shut next time.

We finally get to the mall, mom and Dea go to some girls’ shop.

Dad keeps me company. In twenty minutes I have everything I need and it’s all loaded in the car. We end up at the same girls’ store where mom and Dea are now.

“Looking for something special, sir?” a young girl the same age I am approaches us. Her handwritten name tag says “Laura”, I think I have algebra and history classes with her, I’m not popular or rather I’m invisible in school so she doesn’t recognize me.

“My daughter needs a dress for a dance party,” dad says.

Laura looks at me and measures me with her eyes.

“Cute hair and those highlights…” she says staring at my hair.

I had a buzz cut something like six months ago, because my Grandmother said my hair was beautiful. Now my hair is almost two inches – too short to brush and too long to spike. So it’s just like a mop. I was repainting Dea’s room and some lavender paint got on my head. When I washed out my hair the paint had dyed some lavender streaks in it.

“This way,” Laura ushers us to one of the numerous racks with dresses.

“Those will fit your age, what are you, twelve,?” she adds.

I puff out my chest and reply “I’m sixteen,” and then add, “It’s for my sis.” I motion to the far lingerie section where I see mom and Dea rummaging through bras.

“Maybe you’ll find something for yourself too?” Laura offers. Why don’t we look?

“Why not?” dad says and Laura leaves.

“She thinks I’m a girl,” I say, “and I have classes with her.”

“If she doesn’t recognize you here, she won’t recognize you at school,” dad answers.

“Look through these,” dad offers. “Maybe you’ll find something suitable for Dea. Otherwise, we’ll spend hours and hours here.”

I start reluctantly browsing through dresses. I know mom and dad will never buy what Dea likes. Because she likes everything mini micro barely covering her underwear.

I notice then dad’s not here. I see him at checkpoint talking to some people with cameras. One guy then is taking pictures of Dea with mom. A lady approaches me.

“Do what are you doing and don’t pay attention to me,” she says.

Dad comes back also and I say, “Those will not work for Dea. She towers four inches over me.”

“Look for style.” dad says.

“It could be a simple sundress,” I offer, “like this one.”

The dress is white with a flowery print. It has some under layers so it isn’t see-through despite the material being light. The skirt part has several layers that make the waist look narrower and the hips wider.

I pull the dress up in front of me for dad to look at it.

“That is definitely your color,” I hear Laura say from behind me.

“Try it on” she motions to changing room.

“It’s not for me,” I say.

“Please,” she begs and I see tears glisten in her eyes.

“Why?” I ask.

“The boss says I’m useless,” she says. “Please!”

“Just try it,” dad says.

I go to the changing room and change. It has a zipper in the back so I use the lace from my trainers to zip the dress up. I step outside for dad to look.

“She’s right,” dad says, “it’s definitely your color.”

“It’s on sale,” Laura offers, “only fourteen ninety nine today!”

“Someone looks gorgeous,” I hear mom say. I turn around and see mom and Dea here.

“We’ll take it,” dad says.

“Sally’s got a dress,” Dea states the obvious. “I’m first in the line to borrow it.”

“You’ll get another one,” mom says. I hope she’s addressing Dea.

I go and change back into my shorts and tee.

Laura takes MY dress to the checkpoint.

Dad and I watch mom and Dea rummaging through dresses.

“There are some cute tees and blouses on sale,” Laura nods for dad and I to follow her.

“C’mon,” dad says. “It won’t hurt, will it?”

Well, it won’t, physically.

“We’ll just make this girl happy,” he says.

“They accept returns,” he adds.

I find the tee. It’s dark lavender. It has no sleeves, the neck opening is wider than usual, its front is kind of loose and the material is in some folds. Those folds hide what is or isn’t present here on the chest. This thing is on sale too. And sure enough, dad takes it.

Mom and Dea are still busy. Dad and I are now looking for a skirt to go with the new tee, Laura calls it a blouse, I find one. It’s black and it has a modest mid-thigh length. It’s elastic-like with Lycra or something and it makes my butt look round. I tuck my thingy down and back and the overall view isn’t bad.

“That awful, you have VPL!” Laura exclaims.

“What’s that VPL?” dad asks.

“Visible panty line,” Laura explains.

I’m really kinda embarrassed and my face is red.

“Come with me,” she offers. We go to the lingerie section and she offers me three-pack of briefs without a bottom. They have a narrow string in the back.

“Change your panties into the thong,” she ushers me to changing room. I wear briefs and not panties but I don’t say it. I change and there is no VPL anymore.

We come back to dad. Laura offers to take tags to checkout and for me to stay in the skirt and blouse.

Dad’s no help here. He’s just squinting at me with his head cocked. I try to find a reason to change back.

“I have no pockets here to put my wallet in,” I complain.

“There’re some cute purses on sale,” Laura offers and dad just nods his head yes.

A couple of minutes later I have my wallet in my new purse and put the purse over my shoulder. All the tags are cut and ring up at the cashier and my shorts and tee are put in a bag. This purse is black. It goes with the skirt. I’ve got white one too, that goes with the dress.

The next step is shoes. Nothing fancy just some flats with a miniature bow. I get two pairs of them – white and black.

Mom and Dea are still busy and dad has nothing to do so Laura uses the moment to offer some jewelry. Nothing fancy. Plain silver. On sale. Necklace with my zodiac sign pendant. Some dangly bracelets. Some rings.

“Still something’s missing,” dad thinks aloud. “Do you have a bra under this wrinkled thing?”

“DAAAD!!! I have nothing to put in the bra,” I complain.

“Don’t make your daddy angry when he’s in the spending mood,” Laura puts her two cents in.

She ushered me back to the lingerie section. I’m changing into this mysterious thing as Laura pokes in and gives me two blob-like things.

“Put those in,” she says.

Now I have a bra on and it’s no longer empty. The blouse looks much better with boobs. We go back to dad and he approves my new look.

Dea finally has a dress and we are ready to go.

Dad takes all bags to the car while mom leads Dea and I to the food court.

Those people with cameras follow us and take shots here and there.

Dad is back with us. He and mom have coffee while Dea and I get smoothies.

“What’s this taking pictures thing?” asks Dea.

“They say for some kind of teen magazine,” dad says.

I start to panic, “With me as a girl?”

“It’s too late I guess,” mom says, “and you look good.”

“Very good,” dad confirms.

“Grandma says Sally’s too pretty to be a boy,” Dea chirps in.

No one asks my opinion. In three days it’s time for the dance party and Dea gets ready. I have to chaperone her. She says she wants her new sis instead of her bro.

Mom is like, “no obligations, just give it a try.”

And Dea is like, “yes, yes, yes, pleeeease…”

I think why not. ‘Cause with all adults around maybe, I’ll be safe. Then I can’t say I don’t like my new look. I go in my new skirt and blouse.

We get to the party and kids are chaperoned by their moms mostly but there’re some teenagers too. Moms sit in a bunch and chat. I sit near that bunch. I’m bored five minutes into the party already.

“Hi,” a boy is standing here. I know him. We have biology and Spanish classes together. His name… His name is Oscar.

“Hi,” I reply, “Oscar if I’m not mistaken.”

“Oh… Yeah, I remember you too,” he says. “Sally? We have some classes together. You try to look like a boy at school.”

I don’t try to look like one, but I don’t say this to Oscar. I like the time I spend with him. I’m not bored anymore. The party is for kids and it ends at nine. The last dance is announced and Oscar is like, “will you go with me to the junior dance party next Friday.”

It makes something stir inside me and I’m like, “Oh, yeah,” and I feel my cheeks blush.

Then the dance is over, we exchange phone numbers and then mom comes to pick us up.

“Sally’s got a date, Sally’s got a date,” Dea is chanting in the car and mom turns to me, “so, do I know HIM?”

We get home and I can’t wait for Friday to come. Mom brushes my hair. That is she brushes what hair I have. It’s now two inches long and mom makes a kind of organized mess that is called a Pixie cut. Then she plucks my eyebrows, polishes my nails, then she puts on eyeliner and Mascara.

Mom says I look pretty. I’m presented to dad.

“Do I have a say here?” dad asks.

“NO!” mom shouts, “you had your say already and now we have a her instead of a him. If you say another word, she’ll be pregnant in a heartbeat.”

“You’re right,” dad says, “Sally’s too young to be pregnant.”