“You do need something to wear to church tomorrow,” she insisted.

We entered Nordstroms by the wide doors on the aisle between the Women’s section and the Misses’. Wide counters for perfumes, cosmetics and jewelry filled the center of the aisle. It was nothing less than a shopping Mecca of femininity.

I must have groaned because Mom told me, “No sound effects.” I settled for making a face and Donna laughed.

“What do you need most, honey?” Mom asked, looking around.

“A smoke grenade?” I suggested, but she ignored that.

“You do need something to wear to church tomorrow,” she insisted.

“I’ve got an idea,” Donna put in, trying to steer me into the Misses section by tugging on my arm.

“Not a dress,” I objected.

“Okay,” she agreed, making me instantly suspicious. “I saw something over here that might be more to your liking.”

“Huh?” I was distracted by the colors and sheer feminine vibes of all the clothes. “What’s the difference between Misses’ and Women’s?” I asked.

Mom had followed us and spoke up. “Women’s are sized differently, more room for hips, and the styles are different.”

“Yeah,” Donna agreed. “Misses are intended for younger, more fashionable women.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mom mused. “But there are also, Juniors, Petites, and Plus sizes.”

“And Girl’s sizes and Half sizes. But none of those are appropriate for you, Joni.”

“Then why make my head hurt telling me about them! You’re saying there are, like, eight different kinds of sizes for w-women?” I frowned. “Help!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Donna assured me. “We’ll help you find something that fits.”

“I’m afraid…” I began, but they both ignored me. Donna made a beeline toward her destination, towing me behind her while Mom made a move on something that had caught her eye on another aisle. A glance in that direction looked alarmingly frilly.

But Donna had arrived. “Here you go; you’re lucky they have it in blue,” she said pushing a garment hanger into my hands. “A jumper skort in a dressy but casual style.”

I handled it like I would a snake of unknown origin. “A what?” I asked.

Donna explained. “A jumper is an all-in-one that includes a top and a bottom in one piece, and a skort is a pair of shorts that are loose enough to resemble a skirt.”

“You’re just making up words now,” I accused.

“No, I’m…” She held the disputed piece of clothing up to her own body. “See? The top is styled like a shirt, and the bottom reaches almost to the knees but is two separate legs.”

“It looks like a skirt,” I complained.

“But it isn’t; it’s a skort. A jumper skort since it includes a top.” She pushed one of the short sleeves into my hand. “Feel,” she commanded. “It’s made of really soft cotton that’s just a little bit stretchy.” She nodded forcefully. “For your top bits. And since it has a shirt front, you can decide for yourself how many buttons to leave undone!”

“H-how?” I began. “I can’t see how you would even get it on!”

“Oh, that’s easy,” said Donna. “I’ll show you in the dressing room.” She began tugging on my arm again.

At that moment, Mom showed up holding what was quite obviously a dress with lace at top and bottom. “Oh, Joni! You just have to try this on. It would look so darling on you!”

At least it wasn’t pink. Maybe choosing to go with red hair had some unexpected benefits, since even I knew that redheads don’t wear pink!

But now they were both pushing me toward the dressing room. I looked around for a shop clerk to appeal to for help, but there was no salesperson in sight. “I’m doomed,” I whispered.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic!” Mom snorted. “It’s not going to kill you to try on clothes.”

“It will if I stop breathing from fright!”

*

I didn’t expect to have to fight to keep them out of the changing room, but they both insisted on going in with me! “No!” I told them.

“But we want to see you in the clothes and make sure you actually try them on. And you might need help!” said Donna.

“If I need help, I’ll holler,” I told her. “But you guys have to back off a little, or I will just melt into a puddle of hysterics.”

“Uh,” said Mom. “I think she means that.” She was looking me right in the eye. “Sorry, hon. C’mon Donna, give Joni some breathing room.” Then to me again. “We’ll wait out here.”

“But you have to come out and show us how each thing looks! Promise?”

“Okay, okay. But just because you guys think something looks good, don’t expect me to wear it outside the store!” I sort of won that one and closed the door to the changing stall behind them. There was a little knob to lock the door from the inside, but the outer knob had a slot so anything stiff could work as a key. Still, it was something.

I decided to tackle the thing they called a jumper skort first. Who comes up with the names for these things? It was supposed to be some sort of pants, but it did look like a skirt with a sort of overall upper part attached. How did you even put it on? I decided to undo the zipper down the front of the upper part and got started.

I lay the unzipped jumper on the bench, took off the capris I had been wearing and folded them over a hangar, then tried to step into the jumper thing, pulling it up to where I could slip my arms into the sleeves, then zip it up. No go; this was not going to fit over the prominent parts of my new shape. The lower half fit fine, but when I tried to zip it up, it stopped underneath my...shelf. “Crap,” I muttered. Also, I had it on over my polo which had bunched up around the sleeves. Did I need some other sort of undershirt?

I pulled the jumper back off and looked for a size tag and found it: size 0-2, Extra-small. Was Donna trying to be funny?

“This won’t fit!” I call out, knowing Mom and Donna are just outside the door.

“Which one?” Mom asked.

“The jumper thing, it won’t zip up. It’s too small!” I called back. “And do I need, I dunno, an undershirt with this stuff?”

“Just your bra,” Mom answered. “You do still have your bra on, don’t you?”

“Yes!” I answered. I threw the jumper over the door, which didn’t go all the way to the top or bottom of the doorway. “I think I need, uh, maybe two sizes bigger?”

“Two sizes bigger!” Donna commented while pulling the skort over out of sight. “How did it fit in the waist and hips?”

“I dunno,” I said, maybe grumpily. “All right, I guess, kinda loose?”

I heard Donna move away, muttering, “I can’t imagine she’s going to need a Large!”

“Have you tried on the dress I picked out yet, honey?” Mom asked through the door.

“Do I have to?” I whined.

“Yes,” Mom sounded firm. “You will need something for church tomorrow, and I think it’ll look lovely on you.”

Urk. Lovely? I looked at the garment again. It was blue, a lighter shade on the green end, and it was trimmed with lace or something at the neck, sleeves and along the bottom. The lace was sort of ruffled, so it stood out.

It was the damnedest, girliest, frou-frou thing! I’d never seen Mom or Donna in anything half as silly! “Mom!” I protested! How had I not looked at this before taking it into the changing room?

“It won’t kill you to try it on for me, honey,” Mom insisted.

“How can you be so sure?” I said, hearing my voice squeak and hating that, too. It suddenly occurred to me that my voice was never going to deepen so that I sounded like my dad, like a man. I realized that I no longer believed that the doctors would find a solution to my problem.

It felt like I was going to be trapped wearing dresses like this for the rest of my life.

*

I stood there trying to swallow my panic.

I wasn’t going to be able to get out of this. I might as well be a girl if I were going to look like one and have to dress like one. I looked down at myself again. No one was going to believe I was a boy, anyway.

I didn’t start crying, though it was a near thing. I knew if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop until I had cried myself out.

“Joni?” Mom’s voice came from outside the changing booth. “Are you okay, honey?”

I sighed. “I guess so,” I said. I sounded exhausted, even to myself.

“Honey?” Mom sounded unsure. “I guess we really don’t have to do this? I mean, not right now?”

I blinked. Mom didn’t usually back down from something like this. I blinked again, my eyes burning. Was I going to cry now?

Donna’s voice came through from the other side of the door. “Oh, Joni, I didn’t realize I had given you an extra-small! It was the only one they had in blue. But I brought you a small, now and a medium, both in green!”

“Oh!” So she hadn’t been trying to be funny! “Uh?”

“I’ll hang them over the door,” Donna offered. “That okay?”

“Sure,” I managed. “I guess?”

Donna put two of the jumper skorts over the door with their hangers holding them there. “Thanks….” Why did I say that?

“Have you tried Mom’s pick out yet?” Donna wanted to know.

“No,” I admitted.

“Well, I’d like to see you in it, too,” she said. “I think you’d look really good. I mean….” She trailed off. “You know, pretty? You’d look beautiful in something that suited you, like I think that dress would. Huh, Mom?”

Mom agreed. “That’s why I picked that one,” she said. “You would make a lot of other girls jealous, I’m sure.”

I looked at the dress being discussed again. I frowned. “Is that the right attitude to go to church with?” I pointed out.

They both giggled.