A Fresh Start in a New Uniform (3/4)

It had been a few months since Ryan had been enrolled as a freshman girl, and now he found himself wandering the boutique-lined sidewalks once again, trailing behind her classmates as they fluttered from window to window. Ryan wasn’t even sure how it kept happening—how every weekend seemed to end the same way: his arms looped through soft cardigans, his legs shaved and lotion-smooth beneath short skirts, and a growing collection of cute outfits and shoes piling up at home.

She glanced down at her newest prize—a white designer purse with a cute little clasp that clicked shut in the most satisfying way. She had spent a full ten minutes debating between this one and the blush-pink version, holding them up against her dress while the girls giggled and offered opinions. Now, as she followed them down the cobblestone street, the purse bounced softly against her hip with each elegant step of her four-inch Mary Janes.

Click, click, click.

The sound barely registered anymore.

There had been a time—not that long ago—when heels like this would have sent him stumbling, or cursing under his breath. But now, they felt... natural. Familiar. The gentle ache in her arches didn’t even bother her. Not really. Her stride matched the other girls effortlessly, each step dainty and precise.

Her gaze drifted to her hands, dainty fingers splayed over the smooth leather of her new purse. Her fresh manicure still looked flawless—long, almond-shaped nails coated in soft, glossy pink. The color made her hands look so small and feminine. She turned her wrist slowly, watching the way the light danced across each tip, a quiet part of her wondering if they might be the cutest set she’d had yet.

He caught himself and looked away quickly, cheeks flushing with quiet shame. No—he didn’t actually like his cute little purse. Or his pretty heels. Or his adorable pink nails. He was just blending in, that was all. Just trying to get through the semester… and get away from Mommy.

He shook his head. Aunt Sarah. Not Mommy. But the old title felt strange now—distant, like something from another life. She’d made sure of that, correcting him every time with that gentle firmness she always used. And now, somehow, Mommy was just what came to mind.

“Hey, Rose?” one of the girls called, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You daydreaming about boys again?”

His cheeks flushed pink. “W-What? I wasn’t!” he insisted, clutching his purse a little tighter as he avoided their eyes.

Another girl giggled from just ahead. “Mmmhmm. Sure. Bet she’s thinking about Jake again.”

He tried to laugh it off, but his gaze dropped quickly to the sidewalk—and then, traitorously, his thoughts drifted anyway. Jake. One of her classmates. Tall, lean, confident in that easy, cocky way that made her heart flutter and her thighs press just a little closer together in class. She’d caught a glimpse of his abs yesterday in the gym and had nearly dropped her water bottle.

She bit her lip, eyes glazing a little before she shook her head sharply. No. What was wrong with him? He didn’t used to like dreamy guys like Jake.

Maybe it was those supplements Mommy had him take every morning. Lately, he’d noticed the cups of his dresses filling out more than before—soft fabric pressing tighter across his chest, seams stretching in ways they hadn’t just weeks ago.

He just had to hold on a little longer. The semester was almost over.