Sister (TG)

Are you sure you want to do it like this?

Yes. I tell part of the story from my end, then you tell your parts in the story.

And just how do you think they'll be able to tell when we switch?

We'll just have to use something to mark our narration lines separate. Maybe we could use {curly brackets?}

What about [regular brackets?]

{Fine. I'll use the curly braces, you use brackets.}

[Well... Okay. Works for me.]

{So, who gets to start?}

[I thought you said you'd go first.]

{Yeah, but you were the first one to wake up.}

[Alright then. I'll go first.]

----------------

[] It was a dark and partly-cloudy October morning. Nothing special, really. I'd fallen asleep in the living room. I had to watch the computer download some pictures from an SD card to the hard drive, and it was taking forever. Seriously, five hours for just a hundred individual pictures? Ridiculous. I've copied over 200 songs at once in just a few minutes! A few years ago, with older tech! Jeez.

Anyway, I awoke to my younger brother shaking my side. He too had fallen asleep out here (but that was his personal decision), but apparently he'd woken up first. "Jeff, wake up," he said.

I opened my eyes. I had the strangest dream. The only thing I can remember was some vague thing about a blimp. I'm not sure. Maybe it had to do with that Girl Genius webcomic I read? Or the Avatar series? Or the Hindenburg? Up? All of the above? Who cares. It was a dream.

"Jeff, get up!" he said again. He was a bit urgent this time. I slowly pushed my torso onto my elbows, holding myself up with my arms. I glared at him.

"Shut up, Chris." Only it wasn't me who said that. It came from behind me and to my left, and slightly above me too (I was on the floor). And it was a girl's voice. And not Mom's or Nana's either. I paused for a second, then turned my head to look at the voice. I couldn't see that well, so I shifted my torso, propping myself up on my right arm. There was a figure in the recliner chair.

The girl was wearing the same black shirt and dark-blue boxer-briefs as I was (in the exact same size as mine, as I'd later find out). She had light brown hair that, as far as I could tell, reached the middle of her back. From that angle, I couldn't make out too many details about her other than that. She raised her right arm to rub her eyes.

I picked up my glasses and shifted to a kneeling position. She had a somewhat rounded face and a narrow chin. Her nose was small and, admittedly, kinda cute...

{Hey!}

[Well that's what I thought at the time. I didn't know who you were yet.]

{Oh, alright.}

[] Anyway, her legs and arms were slim and smooth, her shoulders narrow, and... I couldn't help but guess at her breast size. Maybe a B-cup? C? They weren't big, or at least I couldn't tell if they were. I'm no expert on breasts, not even close. But at the very least, I could tell she wasn't wearing a bra.

{Ahem.}

[Well you weren't! It was cold!] Her feet were narrow, and I noticed her nails were short and unpainted. Not a hint of makeup anywhere either.

But what caught my attention was a strange skin disfigurement on her right ankle.

It matched the one on mine.

By this time, she'd cleared her eyes and was looking at me. First, she was quiet, staring at me as if she was simply looking around the room and was put on pause.

{} Then, I said, "Um, why am I looking... in a... mirror..." I was confused at what I'd just heard. "What's wrong with my voice?" I said. I pressed a hand to my throat, which now lacked the noticeable bulge of an Adam's Apple, and looked down a bit. Bringing the pair of lumps under my shirt into view. I was still for a moment, then sprang up into a sitting position. "What the heck?!" I pushed my hand to my chest, patting one of the strange lumps as if swatting a mosquito, but slowly. A surge of tingly sensations...well, surged through me when I made contact, and I immediately pulled away. These lumps were a part of my skin. And they were sensitive. And where they were... They had to be breasts. I was a girl? Or did I just have breasts? Well, combined with my voice... was I turning into a girl? Or was I completely a girl? My voice trembled with surprise and fear and shock as I said, "Wh- What's going on?"

"Who are you?" said Chris.

I was too busy noticing the hand I'd just moved to pay attention to him. It was way too slender compared to what I remembered. I picked up my other hand. Matching size. Slim fingers. I turned them over. No sign of hair on the backs. But... A certain mark was still there. A faded scar on my left wrist. I brushed it with my right finger. My skin was softer than I remembered, but then the texture of my own skin wasn't a particularly memorable trait for...well, anybody. And I was still reeling from seeing and feeling breasts on me to really try to remember what my skin used to feel like.

I followed my gaze down my arms and noticed they were slimmer than I remembered. And like my hands, there was no body hair to be found. I rubbed my left hand on my right arm this time. It was very smooth, like my hand. After a moment of hesitation, I reached my hand behind my head. I felt something fiber-y and pulled it forward. I was shocked at the feeling. It was attached to my scalp, but I didn't feel the tug of hair-pulling-scalp until the clump in my hand was well in front of my face. "What is going on here?" I said with far more urgency.

[] I was turning things over in my mind. I'd read this kind of story before. She was exhibiting all the signs of a victim of involuntary transformation, and panicking about it. But more than that, she had the same scar on her ankle that I did. On the same ankle, for that matter. And the same clothes I was wearing. The possibilities were turning in my mind, and I came to a conclusion. Well, a theory.

I stood higher and grabbed her right hand. "Hey, what are you-" she started to say, but stopped. I stretched her arm out and looked at the inside of her elbow. There was an odd rash-like mark right there. I rubbed my finger against it. It was just slightly rough compared to the surrounding smooth skin. I dropped that arm and picked up her left hand. There was a slight scar on the back, tracing from the middle to the left side of the wrist.

Both these marks were identical to marks on my body, in the same places.

"Jeff, what are you doing?" said Chris.

"Shush," we both said. I looked down at her, and she looked up at me. Our simultaneous response told me everything I needed to know.

I dropped her hand and slumped back down to the floor. "Okay, this is weird," I said. "Same clothes, same scars... responded to the same name..."

She sat up and leaned forward in her seat, holding her head in her hands. "This can't be real. This is impossible." She sat up just a bit more and said, "That's it. This isn't real. It's a dream or something. That's what it is. I'm dreaming that I'm a girl. Yeah. And that I'm also right there too. I'm dreaming that I'm two people, and one of me is a girl. And..." She seemed to brighten up just a bit. "And hey, since this is a dream, I can do whatever I want." She started concentrating on something.

Whatever she was trying to do, it wasn't working. I didn't seem to notice. I pinched myself, wondering if I was dreaming. I remembered my vague blimp dream, which made me think of Inception for some reason. Nonetheless, I didn't wake up. I pinched harder this time, gripping my inner thigh in a four-finger "horse bite" pinch. It hurt more, but nothing.

I noticed her snap her fingers. Repeatedly, and dramatically. She seemed a bit frustrated that she couldn't do whatever it was. The snap action seemed familiar, and I remembered Colonel Mustang from Fullmetal Alchemist. She must've been trying to make fire the same way. I remembered Mustang needed special gloves, which she didn't have, then remembered dream logic could do away with those.

"What the heck are you doing?" said Chris, who had taken a seat on the chair opposite the room from the recliner.

"Ugh! Why isn't it working?" she said. She clapped her hands together, then snapped, hoping the added motion would work. Nothing happened.

I tried something similar, punching my fist out in front of me in an attempt to Firebend. It didn't work either. I tried again, but nothing. "Nope. Not working," I said. "So, we've established that I'm not dreaming." I turned to the girl. "What about you?"

"Nothing. It's not working." She clapped again and pressed her hands to the chair, but nothing worked. She tried again with the clap-snap fire method, but it again failed.

"T- Try pinching yourself," I suggested.

She quickly pinched her arm, to no avail. The world didn't change. I was still there. I shuddered to think of what would happen to me if I really was a product of a dream. I looked at Chris. He was staring at us like we were crazy. We probably were crazy, or at least looked like it. No, we're crazy. Everyone is. Everyone. We just happened to look the part right now.

"Nothing," she said. She was disappointed. "I'm not dreaming. Unless all this is just too real to wake me up that easily."

"Could still be Chris's dream," I said. I stared right at him.

"Uh, Jeff?" Chris said.

"Why would he be dreaming about a girl version of me? Er, you? Whatever," she said, putting her hand on the side of her head.

"How should I know?" I said. "Only one way to know for sure. Oh, Chris, if you wake up, wake me up and tell me about this."

"Hey, what?" he said.

I stood up and walked towards him. He stood and backed into the breakfast room and down the hall.

Only to bump into Grandpa Dave. "Keep it down," he ordered. He was a skinny guy, brought about by old age and his... less than healthy habit of not eating. And probably his smoking habits too. Blech.

He pushed past Chris and into the living room. "Quiet down," he said, apparently not noticing the mysterious girl from nowhere. Until he did. "Who's this?" he said.

"Who's who?" said Mom, approaching from behind Grandpa Dave. Apparently we'd woke her up too.

"Who's she," he said. Yes, it was a statement. Or it sounded like one to me.

"She who?" she said. She looked into the living room and saw the girl sitting on the chair.

I can only imagine the million possibilities that went through her mind at the sight of me and the mysterious girl in the living room together. Ew.

{} "Who are you?" Mom asked me.

"Um... You wouldn't happen to be dreaming, by any chance. Would you?" I said. I wanted this to be somebody's dream.

"Nnnnooo?" said Mom uncertainly.

Jeff said, "I hope not. That'd be weird if she was dreaming things that she wasn't even present to observe." The rational part of my mind couldn't help but agree with him. Why would dreams need background events? Let alone events taking place unseen from the dreamer, like behind solid walls? It wouldn't make sense for Mom to be the dreamer. Or anyone else, other than me, Jeff, and Chris.

It was a second or two before Jeff said more: "All things considered, I'm guessing this isn't a dream at all. Which makes even less sense."

I couldn't make fire from nothing. I couldn't wake up by pinching. Jeff couldn't do either. And as far as I could tell, there wasn't anything different going on here other than me having a clone. Or was I the clone? Either way, my mind started to rationalize that this wasn't a dream. That this was real. "But this has to be a dream," I said. My voice was shaky. "I'm not supposed to be like this. I'm not a girl. This has to be a dream. And you... You're there, and I'm not you, and... This..."

[] I kneeled down next to her. "Hey, you okay?" This was, to be honest, the boldest I'd ever been around a girl. But, considering what I'd theorized about her, the situation was way different than "talk to a girl".

"Wait, hold on. Who are you again?" said Mom.

"Doesn't matter," said Grandpa Dave. "She needs to call home and go home."

{} "What?!" I was shocked. Grandpa Dave wanted to kick me out? My. Grandfather. Wanted to kick me out. "You can't kick me out!" I protested. "Mom, he can't kick me out! He-"
     "Did you just call me Mom?" said Mom.

"Mom?" said Chris, before starting to laugh. Oh yeah; he was still here. In the breakfast room, behind Mom.

"Yes, I did. This is a dream. I'm Jeff, dreaming I'm a girl and have a twin for some reason. That has to be it." I lowered and softened my voice. "This isn't real. It can't be real."

[] She was really holding hard to that last hope. I felt sorry for her.

"Look," I said. "I know it's hard to believe, but I think all this isn't... I mean, I don't think anyone's dreaming this right now."

"But... It can't be real. This isn't supposed to happen. Not in real life. It's... I'm not supposed to be..."

"Like it or not, as far as we know, this is real. So you're gonna have to just...go with it."

"I... I..." She was quiet for a second, then planted her face in her hands again.

Leave it to Grandpa Dave to kill the moment: "Young lady, you need to go home."

I sighed. "Really? Really? Were you not listening to what she said earlier?"

"She doesn't live here. She needs to call her folks and go home."

"Look, Dad, would you just listen for a second?" said Mom. "She's obviously upset. She thinks she's Jeff but dreaming, so she thinks she lives here."

{Okay, just a quick insert note here: Grandpa Dave is Mom's step-dad. Nana and Frank got divorced when I...Jeff was four or five or something. Or was it earlier?}

[Way to ruin the emotional pacing there.]

{Well where else were you gonna say it?}

[Can we get back to this? Grandpa Dave's line is next.]

{Alright, fine.} "It doesn't matter who she thinks she is. She doesn't live here, she broke in, so she needs to leave before I call the police."

[] Obviously he wasn't buying the whole "she's me but separate" story, so I had to come up with something fast. "Hey!" I said. "She didn't break in. All the doors were locked, all the windows were closed. So she- The only way she could've gotten in is if someone let her in. Me. She's... going through a rough time right now, so she came here to get away from everything." After a moment of pause, I added softly, "She's a friend. From school. She's okay. You can trust her."

I knew that this story blatantly contradicted most of what had been said so far. I knew Grandpa Dave was so stubborn in his way of thinking.

And yet, he dropped the issue and went back to bed. He never called the cops either. Surprising.

When he was down the hall, the girl said, "Thanks."

"No problem," I said.

Mom walked into the room. "So, what? Who is she? Really?"

"Mom," she said, standing up, "I... I've already said who I am. I just... I don't want it to be true."

"So you really think you're Jeff?" said Mom.

"Not think. I know I am. Or, was."

"So... You... You remember everything I do," I said. "Right?" Quickly, I decided to give a brief quiz about my life. "What was the joke I wanted to come up with at Philmont the second time?"

"Joke? Um... Ah. 'It takes how much quartz to fill a gallon.' "

"Right. Um... Favorite movie when you were six?"

"Lion King," she said.

"Earliest memory?"

"Uh... Crutch-walking at Nana's house."

"Big plot twist."

"Team Magma."

"Alright. I'm convinced. You're me as a girl, no question."

Chris said, "Wait, what was that last one?"

"Nothing," we both said in unison.

I paused for a moment, then said "Jinx" just a half second before she did.

"Aw," she said.

"So how did this happen?" said Mom.

"How should I know?" I said. "I just woke up and there she was."

"Okay, easy on this 'she' stuff. Alright?" she said.

"Well... It's accurate, at least."

"But I don't want to be... Oh, never mind." She slumped back down into the chair in defeat. "What's the point? I can't change it. I may as well just give in."

"Hey," I said. "Don't just quit. I mean, sure, you can't really go back to being a boy, but you don't have to give up either."

"Jeff," said Mom. She was talking to the girl, though. "Are you okay? Oh, honey. You must be so scared." She bent down to hug her.

"Yeah, Mom. I'll be fine. I just don't..." She let her sentence trail off. She'd already said it before.

"It's okay. It's alright. You're with family. We're here for you."

I put my hand on her shoulder. "Hey, don't worry. We'll help you get through this. Alright?"

She almost started crying. She sure looked like she was going to. She didn't, but still, she may as well have. I was surprised she didn't. Sometimes I'd cry just a bit for humming some good music or remembering an emotional scene of from some game or show or something. She was dealing with something huge and life-changing. Maybe it was the lingering shock keeping her from crying?

I bent down to her level. I took her hand in mine and said, "Don't worry. Alright? It'll be fine. Okay?" I hesitated for a sec, then added, "Sis?"

She looked up at me. Something in her eyes told me she knew I was trying to help. A couple of tears formed in her eyes, and she said, "Okay...bro." She pulled me closer into the hug.

"Jeff, is that your girlfriend?" said Alex, my other brother, who'd just come into the room.

The girl and me immediately pulled away from each other. "Ew! Not even close! What's the matter with you? Ugh!" I said. She said similar things.

Chris, still in the breakfast room, fell of his chair in laughter.

"Alex," I said, regaining my composure. "This is... This is th- m- my twin sister we never told you about."

"You don't have a sister," said Alex.

"What part of 'never told you about me' don't you understand?" said girl-me, playing along.

"Alex, go away," I said. "Go play the Wii or something."

Alex was stubborn as usual. So Chris used his impatience and said, "Alex, go play the Wii!" Alex was again stubborn, doing nothing, so Chris stood up and walked towards him. Alex backed away into the living room. "Alex!" said Chris.

"Chris, stop," said girl-me...

{Hey, you think you could drop my name in here any time soon?"}

[I'm getting there. Hold your horses.] I stood and walked over to Alex. "Listen, she's going through a rough time, so she came here. She's gonna stay here for a while. She is your sister, so you're gonna have to get used to calling her that." It occurred to me that we'd have to get a DNA test to prove she really is my sister in the biological sense. ...Which meant Dad would have to become involved. I pushed aside that thought for now.

"But for now," I resumed, "we need to talk a few things out in private. So you need to go somewhere else. Go play Smash Bros. or something. Chris, you too."

They didn't listen. Figures. Their primary source of entertainment was the computer in the breakfast room. Plus, it was early morning. They'd have to eat breakfast sooner or later. I changed tactics. "Here. You guys play whatever, and we'll go into your room and talk. Alone. Alright?"

"Jeff, are you and her gonna get married?" That was Alex again.

I grimaced and pressed my hand to my forehead. I said, and heard the girl say at the same time, in the same tone, "You don't. Marry. Family members." I added, solo this time, "It's just gross, and- wrongsick. It's... ew."

"Alex," said girl-me, "why do you have to always bring up my... Jeff's social life?"

"Yeah," I said. "It's none of your business. Plus, you're eight. Eight-year-olds don't pry into other people's business. Adults don't even do that."

"Yeah, Alex," said Chris.

"Chris, shut up," said me and girl-me simultaneously.

We looked at each other again, and she said, "We have got to stop doing that."

I sat down and said, "Alright, they're obviously not going anywhere, so let's just talk. Plus I have a funny suspicion they'd listen in on us anyway. So, what? What all do we need to talk about?"

"How about," said girl-me, "we put off talking until they're gone for church? I'm not-"

"Good idea," I said. "Mom drops them off and comes back. But it's only..." I looked towards the clock in the breakfast room. "...Five thirty? Wow. That early? Crud."

"Let's at least figure out a name," said Mom.

"Yeah," I said. "We can't just call you J- ...Sister, all the time. It's too awkward."

"We can't call you Jeff either," said Chris. Idiot. "There's already a Jeff."

"Your name's Jeff?" said Alex. The explicit reason Chris was an idiot. This time.

"No, it's not," I said. "Her name's... Uh..." I had to fake not knowing it, though really I was trying to pick something.

"All this conversation and I haven't said my name yet?" she said, playing along nicely.

"Nope," I said.

"Oh," she said. "Well... My- My name's... uh..." Her eyes brightened a bit. She faked a yawn to cover her hesitation, which turned into a real yawn (I know because I started yawning a few seconds later), then said, "I'm L- Leslie."

My mind had one of those 'great minds think alike' moments. I was thinking the exact same thing. It's what I would've been named if I was born a girl. Then I mentally slapped my forehead. Of course she'd think the same thing. Current situation or not, she still had my mind.

Mom must've been thinking the same thing. "I thought you looked like a Leslie," she said.

Putting on a fake face of welcome for Alex's sake, I extended my hand. "Alright, then. Welcome to the family, Leslie," I said.

She took my hand and shook it. "Same here."

----------------

{} It took about an hour for everything to get going. Mostly because Mom had to get dressed and eat breakfast, and she had to find some sort of solution to my...newfound...chest problem. Jeff figured some roller bandages would work as a temporary solution. I would've preferred it to be a permanent solution, but Mom wouldn't have that.

As a matter of fact, Mom wanted to make sure of a few things first. She took me into her room and had a fabric tape measure. She said she wanted to check my sizes and make sure there weren't any visible problems or anything.

Naturally, I was against it. I mean, come on. Boy or girl, I wasn't about to let Mom look at my nether regions. Still, she insisted, and it would be only her, and she's my mom. Besides, she reminded me she'd seen my...or, Jeff's..."area" a few times while I was growing up. 'Course, it'd been well over a decade since then, because modesty kicked in. But still.

Jeff said he would stand on the other side of the door and make sure no one came in. I tried to focus on something else while Mom took a quick look at my...I can't say it. I had the TV turned on and switched over to Cartoon Network. It was the anime block, on the timeshifted channel so I was watching what aired three hours ago. It was an episode of Ghost in the Shell. I had to explain the premise to Mom. Lucky for me it was the origami episode. Mom probably would've objected to any other episode of that show. And no, that's not an exaggeration.

Mom finished quickly and pulled my underwear back up. She told me she didn't see any problems. I told her that was more embarrassing than anything I could remember. She again reminded me she's my Mom and that she was supposed to know these sort of things. And that she's seen the same thing on herself, so...yeah, I'm so not finishing this paragraph. At least she kept her hands off. Silver lining.

She measured my waist, hips, the lengths of my legs and feet, arms, around my skull...just about every measurement she could think of. Hair.... She had me take off my shirt to check there for any problems too. It was easier to remove my shirt since I'd wandered the house shirtless before. But it was only once my shirt was off that I remembered those times before, I was a guy, and thus there was no problem with having no shirt. I blushed in embarrassment again as I realized how easily I'd just stripped.

I kept my eyes shut and tried to focus on the episode. That focus kinda failed for two reasons. One, it went to commercial. Adult Swim has the weirdest commercials. Two, Mom had the bright idea to lightly squeeze my...well, the left side...of my...chest... yeah. It felt a bit more painful than I would've expected, but that's probably the surprise. It wasn't as bad when she did the same to my right side. She pulled away and told me to put my shirt down, then asked me what I felt. I told her it hurt a little, but not too uncomfortably.

She told me everything seemed alright, that I was healthy as far as an amateur could tell. Except I remembered Mom had some small amount of medical training. Or did she? I wasn't quite sure at the time. Even so, Mom was still confident there was nothing wrong with me, or at least nothing she could tell. She wanted to schedule a doctor's appointment just to be safe.

Something clicked in my head. "Wait," I said. "Don't I need... I don't know, insurance or something? Or medical papers? Something like... ID? W- What if they try to look up my previous records, and... and find I don't have any? I... I don't even...exist...not- not legally, anyway."

Jeff obviously heard me through the door and said, "Hey, we'll get to that part. Alright? One thing at a time." I agreed with him and tried to push it out of my mind, but it was still there.

Anyway, after that, Mom helped me wrap the bandages around my chest. Then, she told me to get dressed. Well, more dressed. I was still wearing the exact copy of Jeff's shirt and underwear (the originals of which he was also wearing). So, on top of that, I had to find some pants that fit. Any kind of pants. I had to look for a bit, but I found a pair of sweat pants in my room. They fit... Sorry. Jeff's room. Not mine. The sweats fit. I could also slip into his socks and shoes, but the shoes were a bit wide.

One more thing, he let me borrow his debit card, his glasses, and his coat. I was a bit glad for the glasses part--I was used to wearing them and things looked a bit fuzzy without them anyway, which is why I...Jeff needed them in the first place--but I wasn't too sure about the money. He said not to worry about it. Besides, I knew the PIN number, and it was...technically my card still. And the coat, well, I took it because...well, it was Sunday. He wasn't gonna need it. And I didn't really want to see my chest, so I zipped up tight. Even though it was a bit warm for coats.

Anyways, once I was ready, I got in the car. Jeff would stay home and keep an eye on Chris and Alex, Grandpa Dave had gone back to sleep, and Nana was just starting to get up. Which left me and Mom to go get me some "proper clothes". Mom's words, not mine.

We pulled out of the driveway and headed for Walmart. Mom said, "Don't worry, honey. We'll find something you like."

"I'm not so sure," I said. I was still recovering from the embarrassment of being measured.

"Hey, cheer up," she said. "It'll be alright."

"Kinda hard to cheer up, Mom," I said. "I wake up to find my whole sense of identity thrown in the incinerator. Let alone gender identity. And legal identity. And that was just an hour ago."

"Honey, it'll be alright. You'll see." We were quiet for a minute, but then Mom said, "Hey, after this, you wanna go get some ice cream?" I wasn't paying total attention, but since there wasn't anything else to distract me, I heard her. I didn't answer, though. "Honey?" she said. I was trying to distract myself by playing music in my head. Mom got the hint that I wasn't talking, and we remained quiet until we got to the store.

Of course, even then I was still. Quiet and still. I didn't move from the passenger seat.

"Come on," said Mom. Politely, of course.

"Nnn," I said. I reluctantly unbuckled and opened the door.

We'd gotten a spot pretty far from the door, about halfway to the other end of the lot, actually. It felt like it took ten minutes to get to the front door (though really it just took about one and a half). It wasn't that different temperature-wise between outside and in. Which was a good thing, really, I guess.

Our first stop was dead center in the clothing department. Where else? But Mom thought to make a few mini-stops along the way, mostly to look at some piece of clothing that she thought might look good on me. Each time, I said, "Mom, can we just hurry up and get this over with?" Or something along those lines, anyway.

So, we made it to the center. The dressing rooms. Naturally, there was a person in front of them. And Mom decided to open up to speak. "Hi," she said. Yeah, not much to say, but that's what she said to the lady.

"Hello there," said the lady. "Need any help with anything?"

I kept the coat's hood over my face. And some of my hair was in my face too. I uttered a quick breath, shooing the hair away, but it just fell back down.

"Yes," said Mom. "My daughter needs some new underwear." I blushed. Could you be a little more straightforward, huh Mom?

The lady pointed and said, "Right over there."

"Well, the thing is," said Mom, coming up with something, "she... she's never been fitted before, so we don't really know what size she wears. I took her measurements, if it helps." She had all the numbers from earlier marked on a piece of paper.

"Ma'am, I don't know how to fit someone. You're just gonna have to try on different sizes to see what fits," said the lady.

I sighed a bit. I didn't exactly know how the "getting fitted for bras" process worked, but I'm pretty sure it involved more topless measuring, and in front of a total stranger. I was being spared of that.

But then I realized. This meant I'd probably have to sort through more bras to get the right size. Which meant I'd be here even longer than planned. I just wanted to come in, get something to wear, and get out. But nope.

Mom took me over to the shelves of bras. I was embarrassed. I mean, I'd passed this section before in previous visits to the store. And at those times, I was a boy. While I was far more chivalrous than the stereotypical young adult male, I still occasionally fell into the cliché of looking at women's underwear. Never on a real person, mind you, but still.

But now, I was a girl, and I was standing in front of them, looking at them, with the intended result being that I would wear one within the hour, and continue to wear them or others like them for the rest of my life.

I tried to wander around. There were a few rows of lingerie, but this was Walmart. The fancy or frilly kind wasn't the only type of underwear here. I knew from previous glances. I walked around to the last aisle of this section. There were packages of extremely modest bras, more like sports bras in shape. No details, no color, no cleavage (at least according to the model on the package, who was probably "bigger" than I was so it'd fit me fine). Just plain.

Of all the bras in the entire section, this was the one I had the least objections to wearing. In that the only objections were that it's a bra and that I needed one in the first place.

I wandered back to Mom and said, "Mom, come here."

"What?" she said.

"I found some I'd be able to put up with. I think." I led her to the modest bras I'd found.

She looked for a bit, then said, "Why those? Why not the others over there?"

"Other than being a bra," I said, "and the reasons for why I need one, I have no complaints for this. Those others...no. Too girly."

She was at least respectful of my choice, though I couldn't help but think she thought the picture on the package had something to do with it. I hoped not.

Okay, so I'd found bras I'd at least tolerate wearing. Good. Except I wasn't nearly done with that. "Come on," said Mom. "We'll get these when we know what size you are." She took me back towards the other bras, the fancy lingerie type.

"But what about those?" I said.

"We can't really take them out of every package for you to try on," she said. Dang. Solid reasoning. I frowned.

Mom picked out a few bras in different widths and cup sizes, then took me over to the dressing room. I almost instinctively headed towards the men's dressing room. But Mom nudged me in the other direction before it became obvious to anyone else. I grudgingly took the bras and retreated to the most hidden of all the doors there. Mom stood right outside the door.

I looked in the mirror and sighed. From my appearances, I looked like a hobo. Sure my shoes were clean, but the coat was torn in a couple of places, and I was wearing sweat pants. I looked like a hobo on laundry day. All I was missing was the tattered hat and the beard dirt. Well, time to get this over with.

I unzipped the coat and took off the hood, revealing my face and breasts. Under the shirt, of course, and still bandaged up. But what caught me was my face. I puffed some hair out of my face and leaned forward to get a better look. Causing hair to fall back down again, so I held it aside with my hand.

My face was so different than the face I'd seen in the mirror all those years before. The short beard and mustache were gone, of course, as were all the blemishes and remains of pimples. Yeah, I wasn't the most hygienic person as Jeff. Anyway, my nose looked a bit smaller than I remembered, but that was a detail I didn't really care about before. My chin seemed a bit more narrow than I remembered (then again the beard kinda got in the way of that). My eyebrows were thin now, which was definitely a noticeable difference (dark eyebrows kinda stood out against light skin). Speaking of color contrast, my hair was lighter. I don't know how, but it was a lighter shade of brown than it used to be.

Heh. Listen to me talking like Jeff and I were still one person.

Anyway, there was one more big difference there. I could see it more easily since the glasses magnified the view. My eyes. Jeff's were some kind of dark teal color. Mine were brown. Are brown. I noticed my eyelashes were a bit longer too, but still. My eyes are a different color now? Kind of a dark brown color. Just like Mom. So I had Mom's eye color now, like Chris and Alex, instead of Dad's, like Jeff? Come to think of it, what other traits did I now share with Mom?

I pushed that aside. I couldn't just stand there staring at my face. Although, to be honest, it wasn't a bad face to look at. Still, I had something to get over. I had to try on these bras to figure out what size I was. I couldn't stay still. I'd be here all day. I had to get this hard part over with.

I pulled off my shirt. Now the only thing keeping me covered was those roller bandages. This was probably going to be the last time I'd wear them. Today, at least. I looked at my reflection further. I had avoided looking in the mirror in Mom's room, but now it was kinda hard to avoid. My body was completely hairless (as far as I knew; there were a few places that I didn't want to check). My waist was a bit slimmer than my hips, but not by much. My stomach was flat, as opposed to the slab of fat I...Jeff had there. My body widened a bit towards the top of my torso, but again, it was barely noticeable. I doubted anyone would even notice. With the bandages, my chest was pretty flat.

I closed my eyes and turned my back to the mirror. I reached my arm around to where the bandages were attached. I pulled the velcro part off and unwrapped myself. The pressure on my chest eased as the bandages loosened. The first bandage started to pull off the second (there were two bound together into one long ribbon). I closed my eyes as the bandages fell to the floor.

I picked up one of the bras and fumbled around blindly to try and find out which way it was supposed to go. I felt the seams of fabric and used that as a guide. I slid my arms through the straps and pulled the bra up close to my chest. I was covered at least, so I opened my eyes. And groaned at my blind choice. It was the red one with lace on the top. I was about to remove it for something else but then remembered I was just using this one for size test purposes. I wouldn't be keeping it, let alone wearing it at any time in the future. That eased my mind a bit, and I grabbed the straps on the sides and pulled them back. It took a bit of effort, but I managed to hook the bra together. It felt off, though. I checked with my fingers, and the hooks and loops didn't match, like buttoning a shirt from the wrong button. I blindly redid the hooks again, trying to make sure they were correct this time. If I needed to check if this size fit, it had to fit correctly.

The fabric felt soft. Like a soft towel. Or one of ...Jeff's T-shirts. The blue one with Java code on it. I knew from earlier that my chest was sensitive, but this felt...comforting. It was strange.

With the loops on right, I said, "Okay. I got the first one on."

On the other side of the door, Mom said, "That took a while. Need any help with the next one?"

"No no. I'm fine. I don't need... Never mind. If it'll make this go faster..."

Besides, I had no idea how to gauge bra sizes. I needed someone who did to see if this fit right. I made to unlock the door.

My reflection caught my eye, though. I turned to look once more. I could clearly see the little space between my breasts through the gap in the bra. And some skin was pushing out the sides just a bit. On top of that, I could see my face getting redder and redder. I turned away after a couple of seconds and opened the door, hiding behind it.

It was a good thing there was enough room in there for two people. Or maybe five, if we were all willing to cram together. Still, there was space to move around in.

Mom took one look at the bra I was wearing and said, "No. Too small."

I was a bit perplexed. It fit. "Where?" I said.

"Here. The cups are too small." She indicated the skin spilling out of the bra. "We'll try the next size up."

She stood so that I was between her and the mirror. Since she was busy unfastening my bra, that meant I was facing my reflection. She picked up another one. I tried to keep covered as best I could, and I kept my eyes shut once I had the bra off.

The next bra felt different. The fabric was a bit more rough, but not so much as to be uncomfortable. Still, it didn't feel like cotton like the last one. I pulled the straps over my shoulders and opened my eyes. It was the same shape as the last one, just a bit bigger. And it was blue. It seemed to fit much better, when it comes to...filling the cups, I guess is the right term. I realized the straps were no different than the last one. They both fit on me, width wise. Just a bit snug, not tight enough to be uncomfortable, not loose enough to fall off or shift around. She must've used my measures from before to pick these out. But if that was the case, why couldn't she just pick one instead of several? Then the whole cup size thing came back to me, how the blue one fit better than the red one. That must be it.

"Much better," said Mom. "I think that one fits."

"Dare I ask?" I said. My face was red again as I looked in the mirror.

"34-B," was all she would say.

"What does that even mean?" I asked.

"It means you have B-cup breasts and a 34-inch...underbust."

"Okay, so... Now we have the right size. Are we done with this part?"

"Not just yet. How does it feel? Compared to the other one, I mean?"

I groaned a bit. I just wanted to get this over with. Still, I complied. "Well, this one fits better...I guess...and it's not as frilly, which is a plus...but the other was...softer?"

"Alright. We'll try some of that kind then."

"Wha-? But I thought we were getting those white ones I picked out."

"We'll see."

I frowned. Mom was basically tricking me into getting more feminine clothing. Whether she was doing it on purpose or not, I couldn't tell.

So, Mom left me in the stall while she went to get some of that first bra but I tried but in the size that fit me. Meanwhile, I had to get dressed again. I locked the door and turned away from the mirror, then dropped the bra I was wearing and picked up the roller bandage. I frowned a bit, since I had to re-roll it before I could put it on.

My eye caught a glimpse of my reflection as I shifted a bit to take my feet off the bandage. I looked away, and my face felt warm. I focused single-mindedly on wrapping up the bandage. Finally, it was rolled up. I immediately shifted it around to cover my breasts, at the very least to the point where I wouldn't be considered indecent to the public eye. I wrapped the bandage around myself a few times, pulling tight just a bit. I felt a tingly sensation as I pulled tighter and secured the bandage. I glanced back in the mirror. This time I'd left a few gaps, so I could see a small space in between my breasts, down on the underside. I blushed again and turned away.

And just as I picked up my shirt to put it on, Mom knocked on the door. "You still there?" she asked.

"Yeah, Mom," I said.

She slid some of the bras under the door. There were a few, one each in red, white, black, tan, blue, and green. Way to cover all the bases, Mom. The cups on some of them were a bit different, but they were all monocolored and didn't have any sort of frills or lace or whatever.

"Alright. Hand me the other ones. Think you can put one of these on by yourself?"

I sighed. She wasn't giving me a lot of options. Guess I had no choice. "No, Mom. I got it." I picked up the tan bra. At the very least, people wouldn't be able to see it easily. I figured since the first time I tried this, it took a while, this time I'd try something different. I fastened the hooks without putting it on, then slid it on like a shirt. Before sliding it on all the way down, I undid the bandages, keeping my eyes closed as I got to the last wrap. I let the bandages hit the floor and slid the bra down the rest of the way. The elastic pushed against my skin until it was on properly.

I turned to the mirror again. No real difference between this and the blue one other than the color and material. It felt soft. And a bit snug. I'd felt a bit of jiggling with every step since I woke up, but with this, I didn't move at all. My chest, I mean. And between my sensitive skin and the fabric, it was sort-of...comforting. Weird, I know. But that's how it felt.

I slid my shirt back on and slid the bras under the door. When I opened the door, I was rolling up the bandages. I gave them to Mom when she asked, and she simply wadded them up and stuffed them in her purse. She was holding the other five bras she'd picked in her arm, and the small pile of ones we used to test size were on the shelf across from the room.

"So, how's it feel?" asked Mom.

I paused for a bit before answering. "A... A bit...soft, really." I wasn't about to admit that it actually felt nice. I allowed myself this secret comfort. It was only the second good thing on a list of things that was going on since I woke up. The first was Jeff and Mom trying to help. Everything else was negative, but I tried to not focus on that. It didn't quite work.

"Alright," said Mom. She reached under my shirt and found the tag, then pulled it off. I was going to wear this out, apparently, so she needed the price tag. That, at least, was a reasonable move. And now, with the tag broken, she'd have to buy it. "So now what? Pants or shirts?"

I thought for a moment. Should I try on pants first? I was only wearing sweats in that regard. Or should I go for a shirt? I couldn't come up with a reason why I needed a new shirt right away, so I said, "Um... Pants."

Pants were just a short walk away. But there was a problem. I had no idea what size fit me. But I reasoned Mom would be able to figure that out from her measurements. That's probably why she took them in the first place. We picked out some plain pants--no sparkly pockets, no fancy logos, no pre-made holes in the legs (seriously, how is ripped pants a fashion?)--and checked them against my waist (by partly wrapping them around me). Mom gathered a small armful of pants of different waists and lengths and sent me back to the dressing room.

I sighed. Back in the mirror room. Except the far corner one was occupied now. I had to get the next one over. I locked myself in and looked at the mirror. I swear, these things were mocking me now. I didn't like mirrors. I took off my shoes and slid down my sweats. I noticed my legs for the first time. Like the rest of me, they had smooth skin and no body hair anywhere.

I was still wearing that copy of Jeff's boxer-briefs underneath. I hesitated for a second before realizing those too would be different by the time I left the store. I hoped they made women's underwear in boxer shapes. If they did, I hoped Walmart had them...specifically this Walmart.

{Well I know now that they do, but at the time, no. No I didn't.}

Pushing that issue aside, I stepped out of the sweats pooled at my feet and started to try on a pair of pants. I got them up to my thighs and immediately knew they were too small. I switched to a different pair, one with a wider waist. Better in that I got them up to my waist, but worse in that they were still too tight. I slid them down, carefully making sure to keep my underwear from being dragged along. I didn't see anything before, top or bottom, and I sure as heck wasn't ready to see now.

Third time's a charm. They fit comfortably around the waist. I figured the next size up and they'd start falling down. I zipped them up. Good fit. I sat down. They didn't restrict my movement. Good. I could live with that. Pants that fit.

The problem was that they fit a bit too well. The fabric hugged my sides and showed the shape of my legs and thighs. They seemed too showy, and these were just plain pants. I took them off and took note of the waist size.

On top of that, they were too short. A good four inches above my ankles short. I know shorts result in exposed ankles all the time, but this made me feel a bit...exposed. It was weird, at least. Jeff's pants were usually long enough to start pooling on top of his shoes.

I switched to different lengths. While these pants were too wide, they were at least long enough. I took note of the lengths and thought to find some pants that fit and weren't like denim Zero Suits.

Back in the sweats again, I opened the door and said, "Mom, none of these... where'd you go?" She wasn't there.

Well, if she wasn't here, I guess I had no choice but to do it myself. I put the stack of pants on the shelf (the bras from earlier were still there) and headed for the pants section. I found some pants that had the right sizes, and I checked different cuts and brands. I didn't know what fit me or what didn't, so I covered as many bases as I could.

With about seven pairs of pants in my arms, I headed back towards the fitting rooms. But then I stopped. There were skirts right next to me. I kept telling myself "no", but still I thought about it. I pushed ahead and changed into a pair of pants that fit. Down to past my ankles, pooling at my feet. Fit at the waist and didn't restrain my movements or outline my skin. Alright. I had only two out of the seven. I went back to the pants section and found some shorts that fit.

When I got back, Mom was waiting there. "Where were you?" I said.

"Looking around for shirts," she said.

I felt a hint of dread. " 'Shirts for you' he said hopefully?"

The pronoun I'd just used made the lady--still silently sitting in between the dressing rooms--look at me funny. I noticed, then realized my slip up. "Force of habit," I lied. "Two brothers, you understand." Then I realized I'd miscounted. I'd left out Jeff. Old habits die hard.

She had a handful of shirts in her cart. I immediately ignored most of them. Striped, pink, or with some sort of pattern. I looked through them... All of them were pretty much like that. And I didn't like any of the patterns. "Got anything else?" I said.

"What's wrong with these?" said Mom.

"Could you try for something a little more...plain?" Sure, I was probably sounding like I had the most boring wardrobe in the history of wardrobes. But still, it was better than anything girly in my book. I wasn't ready to be girly. I was barely ready to be outside.

"Come on, just try it," said Mom. I turned towards the dressing room before she added, "For size?"

I sighed. "If it'll help me find something I do like faster, then fine." I dug into the pile and pulled out a couple of shirts. They had high neck lines, which was good, but I didn't like the patterns. One was green and white horizontal stripes, with a pocket over the left breast. The other was plain white but had a pattern over the front that read "My eyes are up there" and had an arrow pointed up. I groaned internally at the message. No way I'd be associated with that shirt. The stripey one fit okay, but it looked...tacky. I don't know. I just couldn't see myself in stripes. Reluctantly, I tried the other one. It was way too loose in the front. I guess the words were meant to be more...noticeable. I'm glad they weren't. I pulled that shirt off as fast as possible. "Too loose," I said as I tossed it over the door.

At the same time I tried on the shorts. Some of them stopped just above the knee, some just below. I picked out one that was a bit loose in the legs, but fit at the waist. It was acceptable. Still, wearing that, I looked down at my legs. It...wasn't that bad, really. Jeff never had any problem wearing shorts. I didn't see any real reason why I would.

Still, my eyes fell lower and brought my feet to my attention. I'd been wearing shoes that were too wide on me all morning. My feet didn't show any signs of problems with that, but it still bugged me a bit.

When I walked out of the room, Mom had vanished again. I made a mental note of the shirt sizes and headed back to the shirts. Which was easy, since shirts was a large portion of the area. I walked past racks of shirts, immediately deciding against most of them.

"J- Leslie, over here," said Mom. I hadn't found any shirt I wasn't immediately against yet. I turned back around and headed to the dressing room, where Mom was waiting. "I picked out something I think you'll...almost like." She gestured to a pack of panties in the basket. I almost immediately turned away, until I noticed the shape. Definitely shorts-like.

I wondered if I had to try these on too to see if they fit, but then I noticed the sizes. The waist for the pants I'd picked out was within the size range for the underwear (because of their shape, I wasn't sure to call them panties or not).

On the other hand, there was another pack of panties the same size, but the traditional shape. I sighed. "Mom, can we just stick with this kind instead?" I said, indicating the shorts-shaped panties. She sighed and agreed to put the other kind back.

Still, I couldn't help but wonder if she wanted to put the shorts-style panties back instead.

We explored the shirts, with me turning down style after style for whatever reason. Pink. Stripes. Low neck line. Unfunny joke written on it. Way too short. Pockets.

Finally I managed to get a decent amount of clothes. Five T-shirts and three closer-fitting shirts. All one solid color and no design. The necklines on the non-T-shirts were a bit low, though. Mom insisted that if I wasn't getting any girly shirts, then at the very least, the whole layered undershirt look thing whatever it's called would be a semi-fair compromise.

{...Hang on. What is that called? Let me just look that up for a bit. ... ... ... ...! Camisole. It's a 'camisole'. Okay. Clears that up. Few months too late, but better late than never. Anyway, back to the story.}

Still, she was subtly pushing for me to at least try to appease my outer girl. Not that I wanted to. My outer girl was a tomboy.

Shoes were important, or at least that's what Mom said. She had me pick out two pairs of shoes. First, I had to try on a few pairs to get the right size (what a shocker). I found that I was size twelve and a half now, whereas as Jeff I was a twelve wide. But it's odd. My feet are smaller now, but the change from men's shoe sizes to women's means the number goes up in my case. Weird. I picked a couple pairs of black-and-white tennis shoes.

But then Mom wanted me to try one more thing. She gestured to some more fancy shoes. Flats, I think she called 'em.

"No," I said. "I'm not wearing those."

"Just try them," she said.

I didn't want to. This wasn't the kind of shoe I would wear. I said as much.

"Please?" she said.

Mom was really pushing for this. I sighed and slid the flats on. Plain black and made of soft leather or whatever it was on the inside. I don't know. It seemed to conform to my feet, but that wasn't right. It was rubbing the back of my heel. And all I'd done is slide just one of them on. I took it off. "Too uncomfortable," I said.

"Well what about these?" She had some similar shoes, except with a buckle and a maybe inch-tall heel.

"Tennis shoes are fine, Mom. I don't need anything else." I tried to sound annoyed. It worked.

She wandered for a bit, then said, "What about these?" She was holding flip-flops.

"Not even if they were the last shoes on earth."

"What's wrong with these?"

"First of all, just look at them. There's no way for me to comfortably hold them on my feet. I'd have to act like I was picking something up with my toes. Second, I can't run in those without them falling off. I'd have to concentrate on keeping them on. Third, they're pink."

"What's wrong with pink?"

"I don't do pink."

"But they're cute, right?"

"Not really. No."

We picked up a pack of ankle socks that fit my shoe size, then headed towards the checkout lanes. I kept walking, but then Mom turned to the right. "Mom?" I said.

"Just a few more things you need to get," she said.

"Like what?" I said. We started to pass the jewelry, and I worried just a bit.

"Well, you've been struggling with your hair all day, so we could get something to-"

"I'm not playing with my hair. I think I'd rather get it cut."

"But you have such beautiful hair." She picked up my hair from the back, then pulled away and added, "...that needs to be cleaned. We'll get some shampoo."

"Mom, if I get it cut, does the shampoo really matter? I can just use my shampoo...I mean Jeff's. Ugh. So confusing."

"Come on. Why don't you leave your hair out?"

"For one, it's getting in my eyes. Two, I'm already used to short hair. And three, I'm not interested in all that fancy hair care and style stuff."

"Well okay, but if you want short hair, I'll buy some skirts and make you wear them."

"You can't force me into anything."

"I could take all your pants and leave you with just the skirts. Maybe something pink..."

"So long hair or girly skirts? ...You're not giving up, are you?"

Mom smiled smugly.

"You really want a daughter that bad, huh?" I said. My shoulders lowered as I sighed and said, "Fine. I'll keep the hair."

Mom smiled. I tried to ignore everything else as we headed to the hair care department. Mom started to look at some of those horseshoe headbands.

Then I thought of something. "Uh, don't we already have some of those at home?" Of course we did. Mom was wearing one right now.

That logic got me out of those. And it worked for the elastic hair ties and metal hair pins too. So Mom stuck to shampoo and conditioner. I wasn't in the mood to pay much attention to that, since it was taking longer than I wanted. We'd already been here too long. Nonetheless, we got the hair soap and headed for the registers.

As the items were scanned (including the broken-off tag for the bra I was wearing), I noticed one particular item. The panties. The traditional briefs-shaped panties. Mom had put the shorts-like ones back. I picked up the packet of panties and glared at Mom incredulously. "Seriously, Mom?"

In response, she put another shirt on the conveyor, revealing the shorts-ish panties still present and accounted for. "Oh," I said. "Well okay then."

We paid for the stuff and headed to the car. I had what I needed for basics. Anything else we could get later. We drove off.

"I know it's not your thing," said Mom, "but I know you'll look good in those."

I sighed. "Do I have to care about my appearance?"

"Yeah, you kinda do."

"Fine," I said.

We drove past the Chick-Fil-A. Mom said, "You want to stop and get something to eat?"

"I can eat at home," I said.

"Don't you want anything?"

"I'm fine, Mom."

Mom was quiet again until we got home.

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[I'm back. ...Woah. You wrote all that while I was gone?]

{When else? You were at school, you left your laptop, so I figured why not? You're not really in that part anyway.}

[...Yeah, that's true.]

{So, you want the next part to yourself? I'll keep quiet.}

[Sure thing. ...(she's not gonna keep quiet)]

{I can read, you know.}

[Curses. My evil plan is foiled.]

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{Wait, you're editing something in the middle of this? Come on. This is right in the middle of the flow of everything.}

[Well submitting it isn't working. Maybe it's the character limit. So I'm gonna cut this off here, get that scene below that I was stuck on for months off the file, see if it'll let me post it then. If not, then we're screwed.]

{Alright. If you think it'll work. So much for all our dialogue and narration being chronological.}