"Sam, you look like the ingenue in a musical."

I had to go out to break up the Great Mom Conspiracy, so I put on a big smile and pulled my braids in front before exiting the changing room.


"What do you think?" I asked, almost but not quite twirling. The skirt was long enough that it sort of swished around my legs.


Mrs. D smiled approvingly, and Mom smirked at me.


"You look lovely, dear," Mrs. D enthused. "Those dramatic colors make you look like a starlet."


"Uh—?" I blushed. I glanced at the big mirror but pulled my eyes away before Mom could comment on my vanity.


She had a different zinger ready. "Sam, you look like you're ready to sing a song, like the ingenue in a musical."


The what now?


"Do you let her wear makeup?" Mrs. D asked. "Not that she needs any, but you mentioned performing, and I think she would be a natural on stage."


"She's certainly the chief source of drama around our house," Mom agreed with a glint in her eye that someone else might have described as a twinkle. But I knew Mom—she was hatching a plot. "She hasn't had much interest in makeup until just recently."


Oh! A bald-faced lie! I was not and never had been interested in makeup.


"Maybe just a touch of mascara and some lip color," Mrs. D suggested.


I retreated to the changing room again.


"How many more outfits do you have to try, dear?" Mom called after me.


I looked: the last top-and-skirt combo, yellow-print blouse with white daisies and soft green short skirt, plus the purple dress. "Two," I said.


"Okay, honey," she said. "Don't dawdle, and we can go get some lunch afterward."


"Uh—." I sensed a trap. I wasn't even hungry, and Mrs. D had already suggested she would meet her husband and Del in the food court. "Can we go to the Cheesecake Factory?" I asked, trying to sound innocent. CF was at the far end of the parking lot, well away from the mall lunch stalls.


Mom snorted but did not reply, but I heard her and Mrs. D hatching some plot.


The green skirt was way short, but the white and yellow flowers in the top looked terrific, even with my hair still in braids. I stepped out to let the ladies get a look, and the cashier clapped her hands together. "Oh!" she said. "Those legs! Do you ride a bike all the time?"


"Uh, no," I said. I looked in the mirror. Okay, face it, I did have very nice legs.


Mrs. D commented, "You need heels with that skirt, young Sam. Make those games look even longer and more slender." Then she cackled. "If Del were to see you now..."


"Isn't he meeting you for lunch?" Mom asked.


"Yes," Mrs. D replied. "He and Umbert will meet me there. I want Chinese, Umbert wants a steak sandwich, and Del will probably get one of those monster burgers with the onion rings inside."


"I want to go to Cheesecake Factory," I tried again. "We never get to the one that's closer."


"Del likes the place too," Mrs. D commented. "Perhaps you and he could go there?"


That stopped me. "Del and me?" I squeaked. "Go together?"


Mrs. D nodded, looking pleased. Mom seemed about ready to bust a gut, so I glared at her on general principles. "Del doesn't like me. He pulled my hair!" I protested.


"Well, he did apologize, didn't he? He told me he did."


"Um, yeah," I admitted. He apologized several times while he was crouching on the floor, and Mr. Kant made me apologize for punching him. 


"Everything fits, doesn't it, dear?" Mom asked.


"Sure," I said, startled. I looked down to see what I was wearing. "Oh, I haven't tried the purple dress," I remembered.


"It's a wrap style. I'm sure it will fit. Go put that on, and you can wear it out. Just pass me all the tags, and I'll pay."


"All of them?" I tried not to cringe.


"Mmm, hmm," said Mom. "That's the agreement. We buy you new clothes, and you wear them."


I sighed, heading for the changing room again. Two skirts, two tops, a dress and a gym set: I would be well supplied with girl's clothes of my own and not have to borrow from Hannah. Oh, joy.


I quickly got out of the green skirt and the top, wondering vaguely if I would ever wear them again. The skirt was awfully short, "And besides," I told myself quietly, "I'm a guy."


Mom poked her head in while I was standing there in my girly underwear to collect all the tags. "Jeez, Mom," I complained.


"Oh, hush," she said. "Put the dress on, and we'll go get some lunch." 


"Cheesecake Factory?" I said hopefully. 


"Maybe," she lied, and we both knew it, then she withdrew with the tags.


"Huff," I said, staring at the dress on the hangar. But I had to wear something.


The wrap-around styling baffled me for a bit. You put it on kind of like a shirt, tied a little string to a hidden loop inside at the waist, then wrapped the rest of the dress right-to-left across and tied it off with a big cloth belt. It had lots of ruffles at the shoulders, neckline, waist and hem, part of what confused me.


The color was more lavender than purple, and the price tag said $78. I hoped that paying that much would make Mom and Dad wince. The only suit I owned hadn't cost that, and it was more than half as much as the other three sets of things put together.


At least it almost reached my knees, but the way it folded in the front gave a glimpse of my inner thighs. I stared at myself in the mirror. This was a sophisticated party dress, and it made me look older than fourteen! And sexy. No other word for it. Holy crap!


"Mom!" I called out, almost panicking. "Mom! Come here, please!" I went to the curtain and stuck my head out, but Mom was using her credit card at the counter.


Mrs. D beamed at me and started to say something, but just then her phone rang. While she dealt with that, I called to Mom again. "Mom, please. I'm not leaving this booth until you come see."


"What? The dress?" she peered over her shoulder at me. "Just come out far enough to show me."


I heard Mrs. D say to someone, "Yes, we're in LaRue, looking at dresses."


I stepped out where Mom could see me. Her eyebrows went up. "Which of us picked that out?"


"You did," I accused. The real problem was at the hem, but the neckline almost showed the lace of my bra! I didn't know what to do with my hands.


"Oh, my, Sam," Mrs. D said. "That's stunning." She held her phone up, pointed at me. "Can you see this?" she asked someone.


I didn't like that, but Mom had said nothing else, so I prompted her. "Mom, please? Do you want me to wear this?"


She blinked, then smiled. "You're going to need shoes...."