He She It

fifteen: the world's most stylish baby

When Eve had filled Lilly and Amara in on her plans to go shopping with Grace, she was expecting a slightly more positive response than a very blunt, very sincere:

"You're going to die."

She wasn't completely oblivious to Grace's slightly intimidating shopping rituals, of course, but even she - a girl about to embark on the first real clothes shopping trip of her life in which she wouldn't have to pretend she adored badly-fitting jeans and graphic tees - figured it couldn't possibly be that bad - surely not bad enough to actually pose a threat to her sanity and/or life.

Now, stood outside of Edgley's subpar shopping centre (it contained an almost impressive total of five clothes shops, not counting the Wooly Wooly Woo outlet, which sold clothes that were probably brilliant if you were playing a sheep in your school's nativity, but were otherwise both ugly and entirely useless), Eve was beginning to think that that assumption was a big, big mistake. Lilly apparently shared this opinion, because she'd sent her a text this morning that read: what song do you want at your funeral, loser?? make sure you pick something nice out today so you can go out in style. xx

That had not, needless to say, reassured Eve in the slightest, and she was half contemplating calling Grace with a bullshit excuse ("I'm going to Michael's to make friendship bracelets and share secrets!" or "Lilly's feeling really insecure at the moment, she needs my help," or "Natalie and Amara ran out of contraception, and I have to buy them some more," all of which were about as statistically likely to happen as a zombie apocalypse). Her contemplation was brought to a sharp end when Grace came marching down the street towards her, arms outstretched and a massive smile on her face.

"I've not been shopping for three weeks!" she said when she reached Eve, her eyes stretched wide in horror at her long-term separation from her beloved shopping centre. She wrapped her arms around the other girl's waist and dragged her as close as she could with her bump in the way. "I can't believe I'm still breathing, honestly."

Eve was now eighty percent sure she would probably not still be breathing by about one o' clock. She fished her phone back out of her bag and lingered behind Grace as she power-walked through the entrance to text Lilly back:

pick a beyonce song and tell my mum i love her. she's going to KILL me.

With her last request sent, Eve jogged to catch up with Grace, whose enthusiasm for shopping had evidently not been weakened by the fact she was now carrying another human around inside her. If anything, it seemed to have motivated her further; she tore through the baby clothing aisles at a speed that Eve hadn't even thought possible, a basket in hand and thoughts of the world's most stylish baby in mind. By the time that Eve had managed to find the female section and actually step into it, (it was still not a place she found as comfortable as she would have liked, thanks to the discerning - and usually slightly freaked out - stares of the sales assistants) Grace was powering back towards her with two carrier bags in hand.

"My child is going to be better dressed than most of the people at our school," she said, fanning herself with one hand. "Some of their outfits are downright criminal, honest - oh Jesus Christ, Eve, please tell me you are not seriously looking at capris."

Eve looked down at the trouser leg she had in her hand and confirmed that yes, she was. "Is there something wrong with them?"

"Is there something wrong with them?" Grace echoed, shaking her head. "Is there anything right about them, that's the real question."

Eve gave her a blank stare in response. The transition from the male department (which, despite containing absolutely nothing that she actually wanted to wear, had not posed the threat of verbal abuse from women that were apparently having trouble believing she was one) to the female department (which most certainly did) had been intimidating enough without the added element of being screamed at by Grace every time she so much as looked towards an item of 'the devil's clothing.' Forbidden items apparently included, but were probably not limited to: flared jeans, Crocs, raincoats ("you're either dry or fashionable, honey. You can't have both"), flower crowns, unofficial band merch, and now capris.

Grace was a walking, talking edition of Vogue, and Eve didn't know whether to be impressed or to fear for her life.

(She settled for a little bit of both).

"Don't worry, Eve," Grace said, taking Eve by the arm and dragging her away from the trousers section. "I'll sort you out."

***

"You didn't tell me that sorting me out involved this," Eve said, pressing her back against the changing room door and scanning herself in the full-length mirror. She pushed her bra (which was stuffed with a slightly lumpy mixture of toilet paper and cotton wool) up, smiled, and stood a little straighter.

She still looked absolutely ridiculous.

"I look absolutely ridiculous!" she called, opening the door a little to shake her head at Grace, who was sat across from the changing room massaging her feet. "I can't wear this!"

"Let me see," Grace said, slipping her feet back inside of her shoes and standing up with a little groan. She took hold of the changing room door and pulled it open to reveal an incredibly uncomfortable Eve, wearing high-waisted shorts and a tank top and hugging herself. Grace rolled her eyes. "Please. You look cute!"

"In what world?"

"This one, dipshit," Grace said, and then picked the last item of clothing from the peg: a bodycon dress. Eve's eyebrows (newly-plucked courtesy of Lilly and a particularly vicious tweezing session) shot halfway up her forehead and she backed up into the wall. "Oh, come on! You'll look hot, I promise."

"No way," Eve said. "No, no, no, absolutely not."

"If you try this on, we can go and get lunch," Grace offered, dropping the dress into Eve's arms. "My treat."

Eve hesitated, contemplating whether she was quite broke enough to pimp her body out in exchange for lunch from the only fast food restaurant in the shopping centre, which had shockingly low hygiene standards but the advantage of being exactly that: the only place within a five mile radius that sold food that had been dumped in a deep fat frier for five minutes and then slapped into a bag. She concluded that she was.

"Fine," she said, ushering Grace out of the changing room and closing the door behind her. "But I'll look like shit!"

She slipped out of her last trainwreck of an outfit and then into the dress, which was a considerably less smooth affair, but eventually, after a bit of wiggling, lots of swearing, and a slightly concerning tearing sound later, she emerged from the changing room and felt two things:

1) Bloody fantastic, because that was - weirdly - exactly what she looked like.

2) Shock, because that was - not weirdly - what one tended to feel when they walked out of a changing room in a skin-tight dress and right into their headteacher, especially when said headteacher was under the impression that they were very much a boy.

"Mr Hades," she squeaked, forcing the most convincing smile she could muster in such a horrific situation. "How are you?"

"Adam," he said, and Eve grimaced slightly at the name. "What on earth are you doing in a dress?"