"Hi, my daughter needs to be fitted for a new bra."

Dad and Fooler came home about ten-thirty. Linda had been left to play with Mrs. Pattinson's daughter next door. "She'll get lunch and a nap there," Dad said. "One of us can go fetch her back about two."

I was sitting on the couch next to Donna and had Mom's beige blouse wrapped around me, and Donna and I had arms around each other's waist.

Dad smiled when he looked at us. "You two look adorable," he said, which made me squirm and protest. "Dad!"

Donna protested too. "Daddy!" She made that face where she turns up the corners of her mouth but isn't smiling. Dad laughed at her.

"How are you doing, Jonny?" he asked me.

I shrugged and regretted it when I felt my breasts move.

"Jon," he said. "Do you feel you're being pushed into doing things you don't want to do?"

"Well, yeah," I said. "But it isn't like I feel picked on or anything. I mean, it isn't fair to have to deal with this, but…. Things happen." I could feel that I was about to cry.

Donna gave me a squeeze, and I squeezed her back. I looked down at myself and sighed. "It's embarrassing."

Dad nodded. "I'm going to work the phone this afternoon and see if I can get you some medical specialists who might know what is happening. It's Saturday, but we have excellent insurance, so I've got access to buttons and levers."

"Thanks, Daddy," I said without thinking about it.

He flashed a grin at me, then stood and hugged Mom, who had been standing beside him. They kissed, and Donna and I exchanged glances and smirks.

"Going shopping?" Dad asked, nodding at Mom's purse.

"Jonny needs things," Mom said simply.

"Use the cards," said Dad, "that's what they're for." Uh, oh.

I felt numb. We really were going to do this. Go shopping for some clothes that would fit me, which meant girl's clothes. Why did I have to go along? Mom and Donna had my measurements, they didn't need me there.

I glanced down at my chest. People would see me.

"Jonny?" Mom and Donna were at the door. How long had I just been sitting there?

"I'm not going," I said. I knew I sounded desperate.

"Yes, you are," Mom said firmly.

I got up and moved slowly toward the door. I didn't like it, I didn't want to do it, but I was doing it. "People will see me," I protested.

"You look fine," Mom insisted. "The blouse is loose enough…." She shrugged. "You're just my other teenage daughter, honey."

I winced and covered my face with my arm.

"I thought you were going to be all right with this," Mom complained.

"I am. I will be," I said. "Just give me a minute or two."

Donna fetched me some tissue from the dispenser box, and I used it to wipe my eyes. Then we stood there for a bit, Mom by the door, though she had closed it again, Donna and I near the steps that led into the rest of the house.

Donna handed me two more tissues, and I put the wad of paper into a pocket and sighed. "Okay, let's go."

—

A few moments later, we trooped out to the car. I let Donna have the front seat, something we often contested, and I sat behind her with the child seat behind Mom. Linda was not going with us, so it would likely be much quieter and less stressful for Mom.

For me, I wasn't so sure.

"We should consider what we are going to go looking for," Mom commented. "That way, we can decide where to go, to begin with."

"Fashion Valley," said Donna quickly. "Five large department stores and 30 shops."

Mom and I nodded, deferring to the expert shopper in our midst. Donna didn't drive yet, but buses ran to Fashion Valley frequently. As the largest indoor mall in San Diego, it was an obvious place to go and had several restaurants and eating places, too.

"That's 'where' sorted," Mom noted. "Now, what do we need."

"Well, obviously, Jonny needs a couple of sturdy bras," said Donna. I cringed in the back seat, but this was already a given and no use arguing against it.

Donna went on. "Some tops, she can't wear most of mine. Or would stretch them out of shape." I made a noise.

Mom glanced at me in the back seat to see if I was objecting to the pronoun.

I pouted, but there wasn't much to say or do about it—except—"I took a deep breath. "We're going to get funny looks and more of them if you refer to me as 'he' in the mall," I said. This was the point that had brought me close to panic before we left the house. I had to deal with it.

Donna looked at me approvingly. "She's right."

Argh. "Just don't overdo it, okay, sis?" I whined. "Until my medical problems are sorted out, I look more like a girl than a boy. Doesn't mean I have to like it." My throat got tight, and I ended my acquiescence, muttering.

"Overdo it how?" Donna asked.

"No teasing me about wearing dresses, or getting my ears pierced, or nails painted. Or stuff like that…."

"Oh," Donna turned around to look at me, I guess assessing my mood. "It was the furthest thing from my mind," she said innocently.

"Yeah, right," I snorted.

She grinned and turned back to strategizing our assault on the local shopping mecca. "Nordstroms'," she announced. "We can probably get everything Jonny needs in one stop if we forego chasing bargains." Nordstroms' was a quality store, and their sales were often good, but they weren't J.C. Penney's or even Macy's.

Mom decided. "Okay, Nordstroms' it is." She glanced over the seat at me and confirmed my decision. "So you're my oldest daughter for the day? That's okay with you, honey?"

I shrugged, causing things to bounce which went a long way to explaining my attitude. Nothing I could do would make me look like a boy, not with my new equipment.

"Jon?" Mom prompted since I hadn't said anything.

"It's okay, Mom. Not right, and this is just for today, but we can be less noticeable, I guess."

We pulled into the big parking structure behind the mall, and my stomach started growling. Donna noticed, of course. "How ladylike," she smirked.

"Shut up," I said as I got out of the car. "Mom, can we get a snack?"

"I suppose, but we just finished breakfast two hours ago. I thought we might go shopping first and have lunch at The Catch. Are you hungry?" The Catch was a large seafood restaurant.

"She's either hungry or smuggling puppies inside her blouse," suggested Donna, looking at me sideways. "Come to think of it…."

"Hush, Donna!" Mom snapped. "No teasing, remember?"

"I didn't think smuggling puppies was on the list," Donna began but noticing the looks Mom and I gave her, she subsided. "Okay, okay," she raised a hand.

"The Catch does sound good…." The seafood place was not usually one of our planned stops. We mostly just ate in the food court, but a three-way shrimp plate would be great, and my stomach agreed. "Okay, lunch later, but right now?"

Surprisingly, Donna chimed in, "How about a pretzel from the little stand in the courtyard?"

"Sounds… sounds good," I said. I was too hungry to object that people could see me if we went into the mall.

"We can split a couple of pretzels then and go to The Catch after shopping," Mom decided, so we walked thru the doors beside Nordstrom's into the center court. I was terrified of such a public place, but I did it, and nobody seemed to notice.

The place wasn't that crowded yet. I tried to stay close to Mom and Donna and not look at anyone else. By the time we got our snack, I was feeling a bit light-headed.

"I don't know why I'm so hungry," I complained when we sat in front of the big windows with pretzels and little cups of sauces. "I ate three pancakes and one of Dad's sausages." Which was a lot for me.

"I can think of two reasons you might be a little hungry," said Donna.

I ignored her and continued eating. I don't think I've ever had plastic cheese sauce that tasted as good. I finally scraped up the last of the cheese with the last bit of pretzel. A sip of lemonade and I did feel better, though not exactly ready for what we were about to do.

Which, of course, was Mom's next question after directing Donna to dispose of our trash. "Everybody ready?"

—

One thing about Nordstroms' I hadn't counted on—nobody walks into the store without some salesperson offering help almost immediately. We weren't fifteen feet from the entrance, me mostly trying to hide behind Mom again, when a saleswoman approached.

"Can I help you ladies find something?" she asked.

"Teen Fashion," said Donna, "but I know where it is." She pointed, and the lady smiled at her. My sister headed for that corner of the ground floor where it sometimes seemed she and her friends from school lived.

"We need the lingerie aisle," Mom said. I looked closely at an exciting display of kitchen canisters.

"Up the escalator, turn left. It's along the back wall," the saleslady directed us with hand gestures.

"Thank you," Mom murmured.

I followed Mom, but the saleswoman was looking at me and smiling at my chest. Maybe she works on commission, I thought sourly. Then I had to hurry a bit to catch up to Mom, which encouraged bouncing and swaying.

"Mom, Mom," I whispered. "We're not in a hurry to collect bruises, are we?"

She turned a bit to look at me. "Huh?"

I folded my arms but had the same problem I'd had before; the only place to put them was on top of my chest. And I had seen how that looked in a mirror.

"Oh," said Mom and walked a bit slower.

"The sales lady was watching me bounce," I complained.

Mom gave me a look. "Well, that's why we're here," she said.

"So people can watch me?" I whined.

"Jonny," she warned me. Dad is the patient parent. Mom has less tolerance for what she calls acting out. But she linked her hand with mine and gave me a squeeze that made me feel less likely to throw up pretzels and cheese sauce.

"Oh, no," I said, spotting another employee lurking near a cash register. But there was nowhere to hide. We had reached the lingerie section, and bras and panties hung on racks all around me, along with items of clothing I didn't even know the names or purposes of.

And Mom walked right up to the woman (girl, really, she was probably just out of high school)! "Hi, my daughter needs to be fitted for a new bra," she said.

Meaning me! I looked away, but there was nowhere to look.

"Well, come back here," the girl said. "We've got a little fitting room for some privacy." She came around the counter and stuck out her hand. "I'm Sandra," she said.

Mom let go of my hand, and somehow I ended up with Sandra holding my two middle fingers, pulling me along! "I'm—I'm?" Did I know who I was?

If there was anyone in the world I didn't want to be right then, it was me.

"What's that?" Sandra asked, gently tugging me toward a curtained doorway.

"Um," I hummed. I knew the tune, but I couldn't think of the words. "I'm Joni, like the singer," I finally managed.

"Joni Mitchell?" Sandra asked.

"Uh, huh," I murmured. Where did that come from? "But it's Edwards, not Mitchell. Joni Edwards." I swallowed something and almost choked on it.

Sandra pushed a leathery curtain aside and stepped into a small dressing room, tugging on my fingers that I should follow. "That's cute," she said. "Do you spell it the same way?"

Oh, she meant my name. "Yeah," I said. "It's only four letters instead of six." I had no idea why I said that.

But it struck Sandra as really funny, and she laughed, causing me to make a noise that sounded like a giggle.

I glanced back at the curtain, calling out, "Mom?"

"I'll just be right out here, honey," I heard her reply. The room was tiny, but three people could fit, and I felt the need of reinforcements.

"We don't need her," Sandra assured me. "Just us girls back here." She produced a measuring tape much like Mom's, except it was narrower and beige instead of yellow. "You're not wearing a bra right now," she observed.

"Uh, no," I admitted.

"What size do you usually wear?"

What had been the size Mom had got for me on Friday? "A 30C," I said. I remembered that? Oh, crap! "But it doesn't fit."

"Uh, huh," said Sandra. "I shooden wunda." I hadn't noticed until then, but she had some kind of East Coast accent. I surprised myself by giggling again. Well, it sounded funny.

"You ticklish?" she asked.

"Oh, God," I said.

Sandra laughed again. "Okay, you've got a t-shirt under your blouse, so take the blouse off, and I'll show you how to do the measurements yourself. That way, I won't accidentally tickle you, Joni."

"Joni," I repeated.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" She sounded confused.

I laughed, nodding. I'm Joni. No boy named Jonny here to get embarrassed about having breasts like a girl.

"I'm Joni," I repeated again.

"You said that," Sandra noted, handing me the tape measure.