Philippa pulls into a spot, shifting gears and putting her car into Park, turning the key and shutting off the engine. With a wide, wide grin, she turns to smile at me.

  “Alright, sis. What style do you want to go with?”

  I blink. “Style? Like… fashion style?”

  “Yeah, do you wanna be a goth, punk, pastel goth, skater, lumberjill, emo, cottagecore, cospy, cyberpunk, steampunk, or goblincore? Or do you have something in mind already?”

  I feel like I just got pranked. “Are… are half of those even real?”

  Philippa cackles, “Oh, they’re AAAALLLL real, baby sis!” she grins, her eyes sparkling.

  I try and figure out what any of those styles would be. Like, skater is self-expnatory, but the rest kinda make no sense. The look on my face must have been complete bewilderment, as Phili undoes the csp of her seatbelt. “Guess we’ll just have to try them all!”

  Philippa and I step out of her sporty little bck Toyota, and she engages the locks, her cropped, wildberry-red hair glinting. She’d recently had blonde hair, and before that, it’d been silver. My parents always joked that Phili had chameleon powers, since she always dyed her hair random and weird shades, seemingly whenever the fancy strikes her.

  I follow her as she heads purposefully over to the ticket machine and pays for our parking spot, darting back to the car to open the window and pop the slip of paper on the dashboard for any patrolling car-park attendants. When she rejoins me, she pokes my cheek. “Ready to make yourself look pretty, my darling little sister?”

  While I blush and splutter a little, Philippa grabs my wrist and pulls me along behind her. I can’t help but smile at her back. Over her shoulder, she says, “We really do look more like siblings, now, you know. You look more like us than you used to, and I think it suits you, Rika. “

  I go silent. I look MORE like her than I used to? That’s a good thing, at least to me. Now no-one will question if I’m even reted to my sisters… “Geez, Rick, are you sure? You don’t look much like them, d’you think maybe you might have been adopted!” and all that crap the dumb ‘look at me, I’m so funny!’ guys spouted at school… oh shit, school!

  My feet come to a halt, and Philippa stops as she feels the tug on her arm. She turns to me. “What is it, baby sis?” her eyebrows go up as I expin.

  “So, you want to go to school as you, but you don’t want to have to expin to everyone? I have a question, then. How many friends do you have there? Like, REAL friends, I mean. Not just people you occasionally hang out with outside of css. Do you have many?”

  My silence speaks volumes, and Phili’s face darkens a little. “I see. Then, I’ll talk to Niko and Tricia, see if I can’t put a pn of action together. It’s best if we don’t talk about it too much at home, or mom will figure out we’re up to something. Can you give us some time? Please be patient, for just a little, and your big sisters will make this work out, I promise.”

  She embraces me, enfolding me in a loving hug, and I let out a breath I hadn’t even realised I was holding. “What did I do to deserve such great sisters?” I say without thinking, and Philippa beams. “You didn’t DO anything, silly. We love you and want you to be happy! Even mom, though she seems to have… forgotten that at the moment. I swear, though, if she tries anything, I’ll give her a little zap. Just enough to make it clear she can’t bully you. It won’t even hurt, just make her hair go all staticky!”

  I giggle at the thought of my mom’s hair standing on end. “I appreciate the thought, but you probably shouldn’t do that. You don’t really wanna antagonize her more, do you?”

  Philippa rolls her eyes. “Ever the voice of reason, Rika!” she lightly teases me, and I huff. “Someone has to be!” I chide, as we step into the elevator at the far end of the car-park. She thumbs the correct button, and the doors lurch closed shakily, getting stuck a little. Philippa tuts, and pces a hand ft on the control panel, administering a quick jolt of lightning, causing the elevator to judder into life again.

  “I swear, this stupid elevator is always low on juice. Frickin’….” She grumbles, as we ascend, the lift’s shakiness smoothing out on the way. About five minutes ter, our upwards momentum slowing, and then crawling to a halt. The double doors slide back, admitting us to the mall. Philippa smirks.

  “So, sister dearest, what first? Undies, outfits, footwear, or accessories?”

  My eyes widen in excitement, a tremble of delight thrilling through me. This is happening… really, REALLY happening…!

  I bite my lip, before making my decision. “Outfits, please. I don’t have much of an idea, so please help me figure out what I look good in, okay?”

  Philippa’s eyes light up. “Oh, you KNOW I will, baby sis! I mean, who do you think picks out Niko’s clothes?! I love our big sis, but she has NO fashion sense!”

  I wrinkle my nose in agreement. Niko would wear whatever’s avaible if Philippa wasn’t on her case about it every day. The girl has all the fashion-sense of a traffic cone.

  Pausing for a few long moments, Philippa points. “This way, I think I know the perfect pce!” I follow as she leads, heading along a row of shops selling everything from clothes to kitchenware. My older sister takes me up an escator onto a higher level of the shopping mall, my trainers a little loose. My feet are smaller than they used to be.

  On the upper floor, the dispys are all clothing-focused, more women’s than men’s outfits, and I allow my sister to usher me into a store with several different mannequins standing in the window. She heads for one of the nearest racks and starts rifling through the contents, fabric rustling as she tugs one or two pieces out, looks at them, then at me. One of them goes back onto the rail and she resumes her hunt for… something. I have no idea what criteria she’s using, and I bet it’d be gibberish if I asked. Another item gets added to the growing pile in my sister’s arms, and she smiles. “Ready to try?”

  I nod slowly, staring at the heap of cloth draped over my sister’s forearm, and she turns towards the changing rooms, “C’mon, let’s see what these do for you!”

  Picking up a tag, she hands me the bundle of material. “Go get changed, I’ll let you know what looks best with your skin-tone, yeah?” All I can do is take the clothing and obey, heading into the changing rooms and turning to the left, into the female side. Pcing the tag on the hook to signify that I’m occupying a vacant partition, before picking up the first item of clothing.

  It’s a cute, sleeveless t-shirt, a very feminine cut, in a light lic shade that shifts a little towards the deeper purple end of the spectrum. Swallowing, I steel myself. It’s now or never, I guess…

  A few minutes ter, I emerge from the changing room cubicle, and Philippa’s eyes fix on me.

  “Wow, looking good, sister dear!”

  Turning, I face the other way, looking for some kind of mirror or something. One of the walls has a rge reflective panel, and I stare at my likeness. The girl staring back is… gorgeous. Long legs, long hair, and a slender waist. Ample breasts, wide hips, and a beautiful, heart-shaped face. My reflection is cd in the t-shirt I’d tried on, a pair of ripped jeans and a bck-and-white checkered fnnel shirt over it. I look… really good, actually! Not just my face and figure, but these clothes fit so well, and I really like the colours!

  Philippa cps. “Looks like a winner to me! Try on some more!”

  I duck back into my cubicle, swapping out my successful outfit for something else, with Philippa pursing her lips. “No, not quite. There’s something about this one that doesn’t suit you. Maybe try a different top? The pants are fine, though, they look great on you; you’ve got the perfect hips for ‘em!”

  About an hour ter, Philippa and I leave, bags of clothes in arm, as she insists on paying for all of it. “I’m your big sister, spoiling my kid sis is one of my privileges! Plus, I get paid for what I do, it’s only fair I put some to use!”

  I blush, smiling, as I adjust my bag of clothes. “Okay, now what?”

  My face goes pink as Philippa grins and gestures to her chest. “We need to get you fitted for your own bras, Rika. You can’t be borrowing all of mine, even if we’re the same cupsize!” she ughs, and I pout, blowing a raspberry at her. I don’t deny that I will need my own supply of undergarments and things. Following her, I cringe a little. Why am I so excited about the prospect of getting fitted for my first bra?

  Ducking into a store, my sister heads for the counter. “Hey, can we get a fitting done, please? My sister had a recent growth spurt, and we need to get her resized, if that’s okay?”

  The dark-haired girl at the counter turns, eying me appraisingly. “Yeah, sure, we can do that no problem. Let me just get someone to cover the register and I’ll be right with you!” turning, she hollers into the back, “Heeey, I need hands at the front!”

  A couple of minutes ter, another girl with purple and pink streaks in her short pixie-cut takes up stations at the register, and my sister shoves me gently. “Go on, I’ll take the bags! I want to browse as well, so leave them with me. You go and get fitted, baby sis!” I can only follow, helplessly looking back and seeing Phili wave me off.

  I’m led into one of the cubicles, the dark-haired girl producing a tape measure. “Alright, miss, you know the routine, shirt and bra off!”

  I remove my top and borrowed bra, leaving them neatly draped over the stool. The girl nods approvingly. “Arms up, please. Don’t worry, I’m a professional!”

  I raise my arms out to the sides, and the girl goes into a steady flurry of movement, measuring and making note of the results, murmuring quietly to herself about designs and ‘underwire, or… no, ce wouldn’t work…’. It all sounds like gibberish, but I try to remember anything that seems like it might be important.

  “Okay, a 38 inches chest, and a 42 across the bust… you’re a D-cup, miss. Are you looking for any specific styles or requirements?”

  I blush. “I’d like a sports bra or two, as well as a few comfortable ones for daily wear, please…”

  “Got it, stay here, I’ll be back in a minute!” the girl leaves. I look down at my boobs. “D-cup, huh? That sounds pretty big.” I fold my arms over my chest as I wait, half-naked, for the shop-girl to return. When she doesn’t come back quickly, I can feel myself starting to get a little nervous.

  Finally, after what feels like a thousand years, the girl comes back, holding three sports bras and several regur bras, all in different colours. “Here, these should fit! Feel free to try them on, and let me know if you need any help! I’ll be right outside if you need me!” with that, she exits the cubicle, tugging the curtain closed behind her, leaving me staring at the pile of fabric.

  I reach out a trembling hand, and pick up the first one. “Here goes nothing…”