A new type of shopping

Mum takes me underwear shopping after the meeting. We go to Victoria’s Secret, a place formerly forbidden to me. She's awkward about it at first, but then she gets into the spirit of things, holding up neon g-strings and whispering, "Do you think you'll like these?" It's weird, but also kind of fun. We end up picking a bunch of practical stuff - some plain black and white thongs and boyshorts, a sports bra for PE. I'm surprised by how much thought goes into something so simple. It's like I've been living in a different world, and now I'm learning the rules of this new one.

After working up the courage, I approach a bored-looking sales assistant to ask for a bra fitting. She's a chavvy girl, probably in her early twenties, with thick makeup and a nose piercing, chewing gum as if it's going out of fashion. She barely looks up from her phone as she sighs and tells me to follow her to the fitting room. The room is small and cramped, with a chair in the middle and a wall of mirrors surrounding us. She asks me to take my hoodie and shirt off, and I do so with trembling hands.

The coldness of the air-conditioned room hits my bare skin, and I feel incredibly exposed. She measures me with a tape measure, her eyes never meeting mine, which I'm grateful for. She seems to sense my discomfort and tries to make small talk about school, which only serves to remind me of the lie I'm about to start living. She suggests a few sizes, and I awkwardly try them on. The first few are too tight, making me feel like my chest is being squished into oblivion. The fourth one, however, feels surprisingly right. It lifts and supports in a way that feels almost natural.

The girl looks at me in the mirror, nodding. "Looks like you're a D-cup," she says, popping her gum.

I stare at my reflection, my chest now pushed up and framed by the cups of the bra. It's strange seeing my body this way, seeing the curves that weren't there before. I nod, feeling a bit dizzy. "Okay," I say, my voice coming out softer than I expect.

The sales assistant, seemingly satisfied, tells me to take a look in the mirror. "What do you think?" she asks, her eyes meeting mine in the reflection.

I stumble over my words, trying to come up with a response that doesn't give away the turmoil I'm feeling. "I think... it fits well," I say lamely. She nods half-heartedly and tells me she’ll bag it up for me behind the till and let me see if I want to get anymore now that I know my size.

Mum greets me outside the fitting room, and she gives me a gentle smile. "You're doing great," she says, and for a second, I almost believe her. We pay for a couple bras and a few pairs of underwear.