It wasn't just that she had me trying clothes on. She insisted that Miranda and I change at the same time, so we could open the curtains together. Miranda's face spoke volumes. I knew she felt pretty much the way I did. She was embarrassed by her mother's manner, but happy she wasn't suffering alone. Neither of us spoke, but it was a bonding experience. Like being in the Army together.
 

---

 

4. The Donut Tree
 

"Hi," a familiar voice said. "I'm Miranda."

Before I could answer her, Mrs. Jameson was all over me, oohing about the outfit and how it suited me. I was too shocked to react much, although it bugged me more than a little that she was so free about touching my hair and feeling the garments.

"I love this outfit!" she cried. "It's beautiful! Are you going to wear it Saturday to the IMAX? You have to wear it. It's too nice; it'll be perfect. It's decided then."

She turned to Miranda and looked her up and down. "And I know just the outfit for you, too, Miranda. You girls will be on the same page." She tapped her chin and said to me, "Don't disappoint me: you have to wear that outfit!" Then she gave me a wink that Miranda couldn't see, and somehow *that* alarmed me more than anything.

When she turned away to talk with Mom, Miranda said apologetically, "She's always that way. You can't shut her off."

"Oh," I said breathlessly and a little stupidly. I took Miranda in at that moment. She was wearing embroidered jeans, black and silver Geoxx sneakers, and a blue sweater with DKNY up one arm. Her hair was short, medium brown, and she had green eyes. I have to say, she looked very good, and had a pretty, symmetrical smile of small white teeth. I liked her right away, and I wanted to be her friend.

I said, "Uh, I'm, uh, Juliette. Hi."

"You don't sound too sure," she joked.

"Oh," I said, waking a bit to the danger I was in, "I'm a little foggy in the head from being here with my mother. So far I've only tried on ten things, but I feel like I've been here for ten days."

Miranda frowned. "How could it take so long?"

"Mom wanted to see the same dresses and tops over and over. Even when she didn't *like* one, she still had to spend half hour to go over it with a magnify glass."

Miranda studied my face, and somehow I knew that she knew that the magnifying glass was strictly metaphorical. I went on, unburdening myself. After all, there was literally no one else on earth that I could tell this to.

"I don't understand," I went on. "If she KNOWS it's bad, why couldn't she let me take it off and go on to the next one?"

"Oh, I get that," Miranda replied. "Sometimes you can learn a lot from looking at something that's badly made. You see what they tried to do, or you see how they skimped or cheated, and next time you might spot that bad stuff sooner, without even taking it off the rack."

We lapsed into silence, then she complimented me on my glasses. "Are you nearsighted or farsighted?"

"Me? Uh," I tried to remember which was which. "The one where you can't see far away."

"Nearsighted," she supplied. "How could you not know that?" Then, recognition flashed on her face and she tilted her head at different angles. "Those aren't real glasses, are they?"

I was taken aback. "Uh, no," I said, caught at a loss.

"Why are you wearing them, then?"

"Oh!" I searched myself for a reason, and luckily hit on one. "I want to look smarter."

"You do?" she asked.

"Well, yeah," I said, going with the lie. It seemed appropriate, because so far I must have struck her as fairly dimwitted. "I'm not smart like you," I said, a little abjectly. Immediately I regretted it, not just because it made me sound like a kiss-up, but also because she made a expression of strong distaste.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

She sighed. "Sorry. I hate being the 'smart girl'."

"Why?"

"People tease me. Don't they tease the smart girl in your class?"

Immediately Rebekkah Pierson came to mind. "Oh, yeah," I said. "We had a teacher who kept calling her a genius, and no one's let her forget it."

Miranda nodded, then shrugged her annoyance off with a smile. "Do they tease you about anything?"

"Well, yeah," I said, as if it were obvious. "They tease me about being short."

Miranda looked at me and blinked three times. Her lips trembled. I thought she was about to sneeze. "They tease you about being short?" she repeated.

I nodded.

She giggled, then tittered, and then she laughed outright. Finally, it hit me. Her eyes were on the same level as mine. We were the same height. While I was short for a high-school freshman, I was exactly the right size for fifth grade. So when Miranda burst into hysterics, I understood, and soon I was laughing too. Could I be any more of an idiot?

"Oh, you are too funny!" she exclaimed, wiping her eyes, and then she burst into another fit of laughter.

I laughed too, but I was kicking myself at the same time.

Right about then, I looked over to where my mother had been, but she was gone.

"She's off with my mother, picking out clothes," Miranda explained. "Does your mother let you pick out your clothes?"

"Well, yeah," I said. "Doesn't yours?"

"No. If I do, we have a huge fight. I've even tried putting on what I want at the last minute, but my mother would rather have me late for school than let me wear something she didn't pick."

"Whoa," I commented.

"Tell me about it," she agreed.

Right on cue, Mrs. Jameson appeared with my mother and the salesgirl in tow, all laden with clothes. "Here we go!" sighed Miranda. Then she caught my eye and — remembering my "short" remark — the two of us burst into laughter.

"I'm glad you girls are getting along," Mrs. Jameson said. She glanced into the booth I'd been using and asked, "Juliette, are you in here?"

"Uh, I guess," I replied, so she took the opposite booth for Miranda, who entered, rolling her eyes at me.

My mother gave me an I am so sorry look, to which I shrugged in response. Mrs. Jameson was looking into the booth I'd vacated. "Are you keeping any of this?" she asked my mother.

"Just the princess dress. Actually, it's for Miranda, so she could give it a try right now, and then I'll take it home."

Mrs. Jameson moved the dress to Miranda's booth and pulled the curtain. She took over a third booth to hang the as-yet untried clothes. What didn't fit on the hooks she dropped on the bench. The salesgirl took away the tops Mom rejected, and Miranda emerged in the princess dress.

It fit her like a dream. She was really cute, so I smiled at her and gave a thumbs up. Mom looked her over, all around, and was very pleased.

Miranda went back in the booth and took the dress off. Her mother handed in another outfit. I sat down on the bench in my booth to relax and watch the show. The store was still empty, and it was doubtful I'd get back into my own clothes with the Jamesons there, so the dressing rooms seemed a safe place to be.

"Why are you sitting down, young lady?" Mrs. Jameson asked me. I looked at her, uncomprehending, and a little offended by her take-charge manner.

"Don't gawk at me. You can try these on as well. If they don't work for Miranda, that doesn't mean they won't work for you. Your colors are different."

I looked to my mother to defend me, but she just shrugged. If I was going to fight this, I'd have to do it on my own. I was about to tell Mrs. Jameson — in a nice way — to mind her own business. Before I had a chance, she handed me a green dress and pulled the curtain shut.

It wasn't just that she had me trying clothes on. She insisted that Miranda and I change at the same time, so we could open the curtains together. Miranda's face spoke volumes. I knew she felt pretty much the way I did. She was embarrassed by her mother's manner, but happy she wasn't suffering alone. Neither of us spoke, but it was a bonding experience. Like being in the Army together.

Some of the things I tried on really suited me, and Mrs. Jameson insisted that we take them. Mom had no reasonable way of resisting, and Miranda was happy to see I'd found some nice clothes, as well.

For me, the experience was fairly flat. I didn't care about the clothes. Some, I had to admit, looked good on me. Some of the material felt incredibly nice, but in the end I knew I wasn't going to be wearing any of them.

Or so I thought. Mrs. Jameson picked out two outfits, one for me and one for Miranda, that we would wear home.

After the salesgirl had snipped the tags off us, I thought we were through, but then came the shoes. There was less of a selection, so it didn't last as long.

At that point, the mothers let us go. Miranda led me to a part of store I hadn't seen, off to the right, in the middle.

"This is my favorite part of coming here," she said, as we entered a small room full of shelves. "I never ever bought anything here," she cautioned, just so I wouldn't misunderstand, "but it's fun to look at this old stuff, and sometimes I find things I used to play with when I was a kid."

The room, if you haven't figured it out yet, was full of toys. Used toys, so it was a little funky, but she was right: it was fun. There were board games like Chutes and Ladders and Candy Land. Miranda picked up a Chinese Checkers set. "I've never understood how you play that game," I said. "I don't think anyone does."

She looked at me, and after fighting with her face for a moment, burst into giggling laughter. "You're so funny!" she said. "You're kidding, right?"

"Uh, no," I replied, feeling like a prize ass.

"You just try to get your pieces to the other side."

"Oh," I said. "Well, it sounds easy when you say it like that."

This threw her in a new fit of laughter, and I laughed too. "I haven't laughed this much in a long time," she said, and I agreed. I knew I was coming off as a bit slow, but Miranda was nice and it gave us some laughs.

At one point, I looked into Miranda's eyes, and realized that one reason I felt so comfortable was that she was the same height as me. I thought for a moment that if I could drop back to fifth grade, I might feel right at home. Of course, the absurdity and stupidity of that idea was immediately apparent, even to me: if I was now in Miranda's fifth grade, next year she'd grow, but I probably wouldn't. By the time we were freshman (me for the second time), she'd be taller than me, just like all the girls in my class.

Still, for now it was nice, and I was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

The part about wearing a dress and pretending to be Juliette I could easily have done without, but right now I didn't care.

---

How quickly it all changed.

Miranda and I had very nearly finished working our way around the room when I heard a familiar female voice. Two familiar female voices. It was Kristie and Diana, two girls from my class.

Thank God I heard them before I saw them. At least I had time to prepare. Although inside I was in a panic, outside I tried to remain calm. I had to trust in my disguise, rely on my Clarkina Kent glasses, my ten-year-old's clothes, and my ten-year-old companion. I figured I had a good chance of passing, as long as I didn't run into them, didn't talk to them, and didn't stand next to my mother. For right now, my best chance was to stay in the toy room, because it wasn't likely that they'd come in here.

"... party, and only two weeks to come up with a costume!" Kristie was complaining.

"That's plenty of time," Diana replied. "My mother said we'd have a good chance of finding something here."

"Your mother," Kristie scoffed.

Kristie's manner surprised me. I'd always thought she was nice, but now she sounded like a spoiled brat.

The pair walked right into the toy room, standing in the doorway, blocking our only exit. Miranda was fiddling with a small metal puzzle, trying to make it go. I turned my back to the door and watched Miranda's fingers.

Kristie made a dismissive noise. "Why did you want to go in here? This room is full of old crappy toys! This whole store has nothing but junk! Why did your mother bring us here? And when's she coming back?"

Diana replied in a quiet voice, "We haven't looked around at all yet. We just got here! There are more rooms in the back. We could..."

Kristie interrupted. "The problem is, Diana, I don't even know what I want to be. Why did Lou wait until the last minute to throw his party?"

"I don't know," Diana responded. The two were silent for a moment, and I could hear them poking through the toys. "Hey," Diana suggested, "We could ask those girls what they're going to be. It might give us an idea."

Kristie scoffed. "They're little girls!" she said. "They just want to be princesses. What's the point?"

"Let's see," Diana said. "Girls? Hi. Do you mind telling me what you're going to be this Halloween?"

Miranda turned to them and said, "Supergirl."

In spite of herself, Kristie's eyebrows went up.

I turned and said, "Rainbow Brite."

Kristie frowned, so Diana explained, "She had a cartoon TV show."

During the questions, Miranda sized the two of them up. She looked at Kristie's big, bouncing breasts and long blonde hair and said, "You know, straight on through in the back there's a whole rack of cheerleader uniforms. They have the boots and pom-poms and everything."

Kristie nodded, smiling, but didn't bother to say thank you.

Diana's smile fell a little. She was not the cheerleader type. I suddenly knew what would work for her. "Right next to that, in the back on the left, there's a room full of wedding, uh, bridal gowns."

Diana's face lit up, and Kristie grabbed her sleeve. "Let's not hang around here any longer," she said. "We'll leave the babies to their toys."

Diana, as she was dragged off, mouthed a silent sorry and a thanks and gestured helplessly to her companion.

"Wow, that one girl was rude," was Miranda's only comment.

"Yeah," I said thoughtfully. I'd always thought that Kristie was nice, and I'd hardly noticed Diana at all. Now I could see I'd made a mistake.

After my close encounter with my two classmates, my heart was slamming away inside my chest, but it seemed that the worst that could happen was already over. With Kristie and Diana in the back of the store, *now* looked like a good time to get out the front.

"Miranda, do you mind if we go find our mothers? I need to get home soon."

"Oh, yeah: dinner time," she laughed, but before we left the room, Mom walked in. Mrs. Jameson stood outside the door, looking at us.

"Hi, girls," Mom said. "Juliette, can I have a word with you?" She took me to a corner of the toy room, and Mrs. Jameson gestured to Miranda to go out and give us some privacy.

"The store is filling up with kids from your class," she said.

I thought I had panicked before, but now my terror hit a whole new level.

"I'm sorry, honey. This is all my fault, and I wish I hadn't put you in this position."

I didn't say anything. I started shaking. Mom looked concerned.

"I think your best shot of getting out here unrecognized is for you to walk out with Miranda and Macy. We'll meet at the pizzeria parking lot and I'll take you home."

"I'm scared, Mom," I told her. "Really scared."

"I know," she said, "but I think there's only one way out of here. So go now. Okay? I'll stay here until you three are well gone."

I don't know what Mrs. Jameson told Miranda, but she was already outside when I left the toy room. Mrs. Jameson took my hand and led me through the store without a word.

Petrified, I could hardly believe I was able to walk. My knees refused to bend, and I didn't try. If they did bend, I might fall to the floor.

I understood what it was like to walk the plank off a pirate ship, to be the "dead man walking" on the way to the gas chamber, to be the guest of honor at a hanging.

My heart was beating so fast I was honestly afraid it would explode and I would die. Die, dressed as a little girl. I forced my self to keep breathing, slow and regular. I clung to Mrs. Jameson's hand as if it were my only hope of life.

I didn't look around, but I heard many voices I knew.

Mrs. Jameson whispered, "No one's even looking at you, hon."

It took forever to reach the street, and when we did, Miranda was standing proudly by the car. "I got it unlocked all by myself," she said. "I finally figured out these weird keys."

"That's good, honey," Mrs. Jameson said, dropping my hand and wiping my sweat off her palm. She smiled at me and opened the door so I could hop in the back seat. "Get in, Miranda," she said. "We're giving Juliette a ride to meet her mother."

"Why?" Miranda asked.

"So you two can be together a little longer," Mrs. Jameson replied.

Miranda liked that response.

I was so nervous and shaken that I couldn't manage the seat belt. I fumbled and struggled, but couldn't get it to click. Miranda watched me, smiling. I stopped, sighed, and tried some more.

Miranda took the clasp from my hand, turned it over, and said "Try it now."

It snapped shut.

"Thanks," I said, and heaved a huge sigh of relief.

"Shopping is a stressful experience for you, isn't it?" Miranda asked.

"Huh? Maybe. I guess. Yes," I replied.

I was still recovering from my great escape, and Miranda filled in by telling me about her classmates, her room at home, and I don't know what else. I wasn't completely silent. I did answer her, and contributed my share of the conversation. By the time we reached the pizzeria, I had calmed down and was almost back to normal.

Mrs. Jameson pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. "Now we just wait for your mother," she said.

Miranda and I played rock-paper-scissors for a bit, and ran out of things to say. At that point, Mrs. Jameson's stomach rumbled.

"Excuse me, girls!" she said and sighed. "I don't know where your mother is, Juliette, and I for one am getting hungry."

"Can't you call her?" Miranda asked.

"I keep getting her voice mail," Mrs. Jameson answered. She added, "I hope nothing happened to her."

"Could we go back to the store?" I asked.

"No," Mrs. Jameson replied. "If I go there and she comes here, we'll never find each other. There are six ways to get from there to here." She took a deep breath and said, "It's decided. We're having dinner here." She unlocked her door, and got out. "Come on, girls."

I sighed to myself. I was hungry, too, and a little worried about Mom. I looked at the pizzeria and realized I'd have to trust in my Clarkina glasses. I opened the door and got out, too.

We had to wait a few moments for a table, and in that time, Mrs. Jameson left a new message on Mom's voicemail. "Your mother will expect us to wait here," she told me.

As we walked to our table, I was happy to see that Mrs. Jameson had requested an out-of-the-way table, where we could see without being seen. There was no one I knew in the place, so I relaxed. The only table that could see us was empty, but it was quickly filled by a family of four, all of them fairly chubby, noisy, and a little obnoxious.

"Oh, sugar," Miranda muttered. "It's Robert."

The boy in question turned at his whispered name. He waved to Miranda and squinted at me. Then he turned back to order his food.

"He's in my class," she explained. "He's such a pain."

My mother came in soon after, and sat with her back to the room. She looked a bit flustered and apologized for being late, but explained that two of my classmates' mothers wanted to know how Uncle Mickey was doing.

"Does *everybody* know him?" I asked.

Her silent answer was a glare of you are in so much trouble. Out loud she said, "I told them that he was better, but still can't get out of bed."

"What's he got?" Mrs. Jameson asked.

"Nothing," Mom said, forgetting who I was for a moment. "It's some silly story that Victor and his father invented."

"Who's Victor?" Miranda asked.

"My big brother," I told her. "He's kind of an idiot."

Miranda let out some quick sniffing laughs, and Mom shot me a look. I shrugged, as if to say, I'm trying to say I'm sorry! I don't know whether she got it.

All went well until we were waiting for dessert. Mom announced that she had to go to the bathroom, and Mrs. Jameson decided to go with her. As soon as they were out of sight, Robert came over and introduced himself.

"It's my birthday today," he told us, "and my dad says that all the girls have to kiss me."

Miranda shook her head. "Your birthday is in MARCH, Robert. Forget it."

He wasn't fazed. "Okay. You wanna see a magic trick?"

He had me stand to face him, then put his hands on my upper arms. "I don't know if I like this trick," I said.

"No, no, it's great!" he told me. "Watch this!"

He softly let his breath out, right in my face. "Yuck!" I said, as my glasses fogged up. I couldn't see a thing, which was exactly what he wanted. Holding my arms tighter, he began kissing me. On the mouth, the cheeks, wherever his lips could land. His lips were puckered up tight and dry, thank God, but he wouldn't let up. I heard Miranda scolding him and felt that she was punching his arms to make him stop.

"Quit!" I said. "Get off! Yuck! Gross! Stop! Stop! Uck!" He didn't stop, until at last, in exasperation and anger, I shouted, "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, ROBERT! GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!"

The entire restaurant fell silent, and Robert, astonished, let go and backed away. I took off my glasses, and cleaned them with my napkin. As I did, I saw that my mother had arrived just in time to catch my outburst. Her expression was a mixture of shock, disappointment, embarrassment, and anger. "Whoo boy," I said softly. I was really in for it.

Robert's father came running over, and put his hands on his son's shoulders. "Wow!" he said, obviously impressed by my vocabulary. "Looks like you've got a little Tatum O'Neal here!"

About ten minutes later we were outside, heading for our respective cars.

"While I don't approve of your language, Juliette," Mom was saying, "I can't believe the father of that boy didn't apologize, or make the boy apologize. He was completely out of line."

"I know," Mrs. Jameson agreed. "You can see where the boy got his manners from — or his lack of manners. The donut didn't fall far from the tree."

© 2007, 2008 by Kaleigh Way