By Christopher Leeson
It was Saturday evening, and Donna finally switched her mind over to the pajama party at Kaylee’s house. Glory had told her to wear whatever she wanted, which didn’t exactly help. So she picked the most presentable pajamas she owned — a navy flannel pullover, long‑sleeved and loose, paired with non‑matching flannel pants held up by an elastic waistband. Peak casual. When it was time to head for the bus stop, she put the pajamas on, layered an oversized sweater and jeans over them, and topped everything with her hoodie. Parties were supposed to be fun, and stressing over fashion was the opposite of fun.
Kaylee’s house was a ten‑minute walk from the bus stop. It was lit up like a festival when she arrived, music thumping loud enough to feel in the driveway, and the warm smell of baked goods drifting from somewhere inside. Glory opened the door before Donna could knock — clearly she’d been watching for her — and pulled her inside by the wrist.
“You made it,” Glory said, wearing the smile she saved for moments when life was cooperating.
“Why the surprise? You said seven‑thirty,” Donna said. “It’s seven‑thirty.”
“Come in. Everyone’s been asking about you. And don’t worry about the bus — I’ll drive you home.”
“Thanks,” Donna said.
The living room was just past the foyer. It had been rearranged for maximum comfort: furniture pushed to the walls, the center transformed into a landscape of floor pillows, sleeping bags, and blankets. Six girls lounged across the terrain, all dressed like they’d raided a boutique. Jewel‑tone silk camisoles. Lace‑trimmed briefs. Satin sets in colors from ivory to deep burgundy. Six girls being pretty for one another, when half of them barely bothered to be pretty for boys. Being technically a girl herself didn’t help Donna understand the female mind.
She took one look and understood two things at once: she was in exactly the right place, and she was wearing exactly the wrong thing.
Kaylee spotted her from across the room and headed over with the urgency of a hostess who’s just seen a spill. She wore ivory satin shortie pajamas that Langdon would’ve found very interesting. She swept Donna into a hug.
“Go get changed for the party,” she said, nodding toward the nearest bedroom. “Pajamas on, street clothes off. When you come back, there’ll be popcorn and soda.”
Donna went to the bedroom, peeled off her hoodie, sweater, and jeans, and swapped her clogs for the bedroom slippers she’d brought. Now fully in pajamas, she checked herself in the long mirror and wrinkled her nose. Compared to the others, her navy flannel was going to be ground zero for jokes. She braced herself. Girls were girls, and at least there’d be free popcorn.
When she reentered the living room, one girl looked her over and said, with cheerful bluntness, “Whoa. Those pajamas are… vintage horror‑movie chic.”
General laughter, warm and harmless.
“This is what I wear to bed,” Donna said. “Don’t tell me you girls actually sleep in those outfits.”
“No,” said a girl. “My real PJs are way less prudish than these.”
“Well, sorry, but these are the best pajamas I had.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Glory said. “I brought you a rescue kit.” She crossed to an armchair where a cloth shopping bag waited. “When you told me you didn’t have good nightwear, I came prepared.”
From the bag, Glory pulled out a pale lavender satin camisole — tiny, with delicate lace at the neckline, unmistakably in the style the other girls were wearing.
“There has to be more to it than that,” Donna said.
“There is.” Glory produced a matching lavender satin thong, small enough to look like a slingshot.
“You expect me to wear that,” Donna said.
“Oh, yes,” Glory said.
“Not on your life!”
But Kaylee grabbed one of her hands, Glory grabbed the other, and they started towing her toward the bedroom. The other girls followed like a crowd eager to witness a spectacle. They swept her inside with tidal momentum, and everything happened so fast Donna barely tracked it. Her flannel was off in thirty seconds. She ended up lying on the bed’s discarded clothes while Glory slid the thong over her feet, and the others pulled the camisole over her head amid laughter.
They stepped back to admire their work. Donna felt dizzy from the speed of it all. The satin hit her skin with a cool, shivery shock that made goosebumps jump up her arms. The girls gave her no time to think — they hauled her upright and turned her toward the full‑length mirror.
She looked like something out of a magazine. The bewildered expression on her face wasn’t helping the overall effect.
“Hilarious,” she said. “But I want to go back into my own clothes now.”
“Why?” Kaylee asked.
“Because I’m cold.”
“You’re not cold. The thermostat says seventy‑five. The heat’s been on for hours.” Kaylee steered her toward the door. “Don’t rush. We’re not even close to done yet.”
“What do you mean you’re not done—?”
They brought out a push‑up bra and fitted her into it. When she saw her reflection again, she saw that she was displaying the same dramatic cleavage that she’d been admiring on real girls for her whole life. Then they marched her to Kaylee’s room, where a vanity mirror stood in the corner like a throne. Two girls in tiny satin sets flanked her like guards and eased her into the chair before she fully understood what was happening.
She considered resisting — a real, physical “stop this” — but she wasn’t afraid of them, and picking a fight would only make her look ridiculous. Her most dignified option was to sit still and endure the chaos with composure.
Makeup descended on her in a flurry of swabs and brushes. It was lighter than the stage makeup she’d worn before — this was a party, not a rock‑festival audition. Concealer came first. Then rose eyeshadow, which did something startling to her blue eyes. Mascara followed, then lip gloss.
By the time Donna was unrecognizable, Mia appeared holding a perfume vial and a cotton swab, wearing the expression of a mad scientist about to test a volatile compound.
“I’m giving her Midnight Magic,” Mia announced, with the confidence of someone who believed she was creating art.
“What’s Midnight Magic?” Donna asked, eyeing the bottle like it might explode.
She found out when Mia pulled the stopper. The scent hit her instantly — a flower garden in May, strong enough to make her dizzy. Mia applied it with ritualistic seriousness, and when she stepped back, the girls formed a quiet circle, admiring the result with collective satisfaction.
“Now she’s a real pajama‑party girl,” Mia declared.
Glory nudged her shoulder. “Stand up, sweetheart.”
Donna rose, a little wobbly. They positioned her in front of the mirror and stepped back.
The girl reflected there wasn’t the stage‑face danger in the black dress. She wasn’t the hoodie‑swamped girl with messy hair. She looked like a scullion transformed by fairy‑tale magic into a barely dressed princess — soft, harmless, unfamiliar. The lavender satin, the loose hair, the rose eyeshadow all combined into something that felt less like a costume and more like a stranger she was meeting for the first time.
“That’s the new you,” Kaylee said. “Do you like her or hate her?”
Donna stared at her reflection for a long moment.
“It’s like a Halloween party,” she said finally. “I’m not supposed to look like myself. I guess it’ll be okay for one night.”
The girls cheered — high‑pitched, triumphant, delighted. It was a victory for them, and in its own way, for her too. The evening’s activities began in earnest.
What followed was nothing like the keggers Langdon had gone to with the guys.
There was food — Kaylee’s mother had no desire to be surrounded by teenagers, but she’d stocked the kitchen generously before disappearing for the night. The pizza still held a trace of warmth. Brownies vanished at a rate that suggested either more than eight girls were present or the treats were evaporating. Popcorn bowls were attacked to counteract the sugar overload.
A beach‑party movie played on the TV — hunky guys, bikini girls — but nobody was watching. It was just background noise. The real activity was talking. The girls all knew each other well, and Donna, being the least familiar, became the focus of their curiosity. She had to invent a lot of quick fibs, which left her confused and occasionally contradicting herself.
Eventually the conversation drifted to normal topics: school, the junior class trip, a disagreement about destinations, and a situation involving two sophomores Donna didn’t know but pretended to follow.
Then someone spotted movement outside.
“The boys are on the lawn,” a girl near the window announced, sounding like she’d just seen a UFO.
The room’s energy reorganized instantly. All the girls except Donna began re‑grooming themselves — straightening straps, fluffing hair, adjusting satin.
“I thought this was a girls’ party,” Donna said.
“The best girls’ parties are the ones with boys invited,” Mia said. “Pajamas like these were invented for the male gaze. If boys don’t see us, the night’s wasted.”
Donna frowned. “I thought girls didn’t like the male gaze.”
Dotty replied, “Please. The male gaze is only annoying when the guys are crusty. Cute guys get a pass.”
The door opened, and several boys stepped in with the self‑conscious energy of people unsure of the rules. Donna recognized a few — a senior with famously broad shoulders, a chemistry‑class boy who had recently discovered parties and was embracing them with gusto.
One boy drifted toward her. He tried small talk, but his eyes stayed glued to her cleavage. She felt like punching him. She still hadn’t learned to tolerate the hungry‑eyed attention boys always sent her way.
He glanced at Kaylee. “Who’s this?”
“Donna Ellis. She’s new.”
He turned his gaze back to Donna. “I’ve never seen you around.”
“I know we’ve both seen each other,” Donna said. “You just never saw me dressed like this.”
“I’m sure you’d stand out no matter what you were wearing,” he said, grinning like he thought he was charming.
Donna felt tempted to tell him she was the hoodie girl nobody liked, but that would only drag the conversation out — and she wanted it over.
“Can I get you something?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said. "I've been stuffing myself for over an hour, and now I don't feel great." She excused herself to the bathroom. When she came back, the talkative boy was already crowding up to someone else.
She’s welcome to him, Donna thought.
“Having fun?” Mia asked, appearing at her elbow.
“Yeah,” Donna said. How could she not enjoy being surrounded by pretty girls in sparce lingerie? But that was not a thought she intended to share.
“So… anybody here you’re low‑key into?” Mia asked.
“I’m still finding my feet,” Donna said, which was true in more ways than Mia knew.
“That’s what everyone says,” Kaylee said, overhearing, “right before they go totally gaga over somebody.”
Laughter rippled through the group. Donna smiled — and realized the smile was genuine.
The boys were sent home a little before ten, ushered out with friendly firmness. Curfew was approaching. The girls cleaned the house with the efficiency of people who had done this many times before, and the party dissolved back into its components — pizza boxes folded, popcorn bowls emptied, the living room restored to something a parent could walk into without panicking.
Then Kaylee produced a nail‑polish rack with about fourteen colors and announced that it was “closing ritual time.” Everyone had to pick a different shade and wear it home. The painting session lasted fifteen minutes. Mia grabbed burgundy. Priya did her nails in silver. Glory settled beside Donna on the couch with a bottle of soft pink.
“I think pink is totally your color,” she said.
Donna eyed the bottle. “I’m not sure about that.”
“It comes off.”
“I know it comes off.”
“So?”
Donna extended her left hand. Glory worked with her usual careful precision, and Donna sat still, watching the pink go on. It felt strangely intimate — something she’d never imagined doing becoming, stroke by stroke, simply something she was doing.
By the time her right hand was finished, she’d lost her aversion to the experiment.
When it was time to go, Donna offered to give the lavender pajamas back to Glory.
Glory shook her head. “Like I said, lavender isn’t my color. And you need a pair of party pajamas of your own. Keep it — it’s a gift. For being my best friend.”
Donna blinked. Best friend? Did she have a best friend? She turned the unfamiliar words over in her mind, dazed.
“Thanks,” she said — insufficient, but all she had.
She put her street clothes on over the lavender satin, stuffed her flannel pajamas into her bag, and followed Glory out to the car. The night air was cold, the streets quiet. She sat in the passenger seat with pink nails and a tiny lavender nightie hidden under her clothes.
“Did you have a good time?” Glory asked.
“Yeah,” Donna said. “The worst part was all those boys coming in and seeing me in that scimpy camisole. But nobody recognized me, so it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.”
“What if they did recognize you? Are you afraid someone might ask you out?”
“I think the whole relationship thing between guys and girls is so messed up in this county that I want nothing to do with it.”
“I guess that's why the marriage rate is super low.”
“Seems logical.”
Glory smiled at the road. “At school you keep yourself at a distance. People don’t know what to make of you. But tonight the person you actually are came out, and everyone liked her just fine.”
“I don’t think anyone particularly likes me.”
“You act shocked every time someone likes you. It’s kinda your thing,” Glory said. “You shouldn’t be. If you do things right, you might beat the odds and get married in a few years.”
“That’ll be the day,” Donna said.
She looked out the window, not wanting to think past becoming a boy again next summer.
Glory pulled up to the curb. “Sweet dreams.”
“Thanks for the ride.”
Donna got out and watched the taillights of Glory’s Ford disappear before going inside. The house was dark and quiet. Elisa wasn’t supposed to be back until the next day. Donna went up to her room and undressed — but when she reached the lavender camisole, she left it on.
With a strange expression, she went to the mirror.
Her makeup wasn’t badly smeared. Her hair had mostly held. She looked at the girl in the mirror — pink nails, lavender satin, rose eyeshadow softened by hours of wear — and thought about being someone’s best friend, whatever that meant.
She was thinking about leaving the pajamas on and sleeping in them. What would it feel like to sleep in a girl's nightie? She thought they'd be comfortable. On the other hand, she thought she should should probably wash off the makeup, so her pillow wouldn't get smeared.
But Donna wasn’t feeling well. And this time her need to go to the bathroom wasn't a false excuse.
Since the house was empty, she didn’t bother with a robe. It felt strange--and somewhat thrilling--to walk the hall clad like a hot girl. But she had to hurry; her water wanted to come frantically. She fast‑walked into the bathroom and closed the door.
When she sat down and let things go, she saw the red flow. The shock of it forced out of her a sound somewhere between a gasp and a yell.
Internal bleeding! She needed an ambulance. She needed—
She leaped up and ran into the hall. Donna made for the phone stand against the wall, and grabbed for the receiver. She fumbled and, in her dive to catch it, knocked the whole stand sideways. It hit the carpet with a crash, the phone’s internal bell ringing loudly.
She dropped to her knees, trying to right the stand, when she heard a door open behind her.
Elisa’s bedroom door was open. Elisa stood in the hallway, wrapped in her robe, staring with her eyes wide.
There was Donna on her knees, her golden hair half-up and half-spilling-down, wearing a lavender satin camisole and nothing else. She had on rose eyeshadow, pink nails, and lip gloss. In her hands was the phone stand with the phone on the floor.
The two of them looked at each other.
"I heard a crash," Elisa said.
"I knocked over the phone." Donna's voice came out higher than she intended. "I was trying to call an ambulance."
"An ambulance? Are you hurt?"
"There's blood. I went to the bathroom and blood poured out of me!"
Something changed in Elisa's expression. The startled quality left it entirely, replaced by something much quieter and more specific.
"Ah," Elisa said with no tone of alarm.
"I need an ambulance," Donna repeated.
"You don't need an ambulance," Elisa said gently. "Come back to the bathroom. I'll explain what's wrong with you."
#
Elisa found her own pack of sanitary napkins under the sink, showed them to Donna, and explained the situation with calm efficiency. You saw me buy this product for you at the store. I told you to read internet printout I gave you about what to do with them. Did you?"
“No! There was too much gross stuff in it. And there were more important things to do.”
Elisa shook her head. “When you turned…into a girl…in such a strange way, I wasn’t sure if you’d have a normal menstrual flow. But I guess the magic has made you a hundred percent girl.”
Donna frowned.
"So you knew this was going to happen?" Donna accused.
"It happens to all normal, healthy women and girls. We don’t talk about it much to family, but I thought you knew more about adult life than you seem to.”
“I’m not stupid. I’ve seen your bloody napkins. I know it happens every month, and women don’t like it. But it took me by surprise.”
“That’s understandable. I’ll get you fixed up with napkins so you can keep your bedsheets clean.”
Then Elisa noticed the thong around Donna’s right ankle. “A thong? Was that what you were wearing for panties tonight? And where did you get those pajamas? Did you buy them yourself?
"No! My friend Glory gave them to me because the girls at the pajama party were laughing at the pajamas I usually wear."
“So, you went to a pajama party?”
Donna felt defensive. “Yeah. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Maybe you should explain this from the beginning.”
Donna scowled and shifted her weight back and forth on her feet as she spoke. Embarrassed to be dressed this way.
"I went to a pajama party. Kaylee Drummond's. Glory invited me. I was wearing my regular pajamas. The girls decided they weren't acceptable." She paused. "They gave me this pair of pajamas to put on.”
"Why did you agree?" Elisa said.
"They made a big deal of it, so I gave in to keep it from turning into a nagging session."
“Did they do your hair, face, and nails, too?”
"Yes. I let them do it. You know. Go along to get along. I didn't ask for any of it."
Elisa's expression remained determinedly neutral. “Tell me, while you were having so much fun, did you give any thought to what the doctor told you?”
“He wasn't talking about things like this. It's only supposed to be bad if I enjoy being a girl. I don’t like dressing this way. If I have to do something I don’t want to do, it doesn’t mean I’m enjoying doing it.”
“Isn’t going to a pajama party a very girly thing to do?”
Donna's jaw tightened. "No, it's not! I only went because it's fun being around a flock of pretty girls. Movie stars do it, so why shouldn’t I? I went because I’m a hundred percent boy. Any man would jump at the chance to hang out with a room full of pretty girls wearing skimpy pajamas. That's all it was. Don’t make this into something bigger than it is."
“If that’s the absolute truth, no harm has been done, I suppose.”
Donna stopped and stood like a statue.
Silence settled between them.
Donna had a funny expression on her face. “You’re giving me bull,” she said. “You're not saying what you actually think.”
“And what do you suppose I actually think?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, here’s what I’m seeing,” Elisa said. “You went to a party and came home in a tiny camisole, nails painted pink, eyeliner, lipstick, hair done.” Her sharp stare felt like a challenge. “If you don’t think what you've done is against the doctor’s orders, that’s your business. But if you’re wrong about it, you won’t have anyone to blame but yourself if you don't like the outcome.”
Donna felt her jaw tighten. “Here’s what I’m seeing. You don’t care if I never change back. You’re supposed to be like a parent to me. You’re supposed to remind me about the doctor’s advice — keep me working toward the reversal. If I'm really messing up and you actually cared, you’d warn me.”
“What’s the use?” Elisa said. “Ever since your father died, you haven’t listened to anything I say. If you had, you wouldn’t have been caught selling drugs. I know how you think. No matter what I tell you, you’re going to do whatever you feel like doing. You’re almost an adult now, and if you can’t think about your own well‑being, how can you expect anyone else to?”
Donna didn’t reply. Elisa thought she saw something like a sense of betrayal flicker across her stepdaughter’s face.
“If you change your ways immediately and get serious about doing what you need to do to become a boy again, there may still be time nullify your mistakes,” Elisa said. “If you need advice from me, fine. I’ll do my best to keep you on the right track.”
Donna changed the subject entirely. "You said you'd be gone overnight."
"My client had to fly away to deal with a crisis in Minneapolis. Are you sorry I'm back early?"
"Maye I should be."
Elisa sighed. “There’s no point arguing about this at this hour. When you want to talk honestly, let me know. But right now, what matters is you learning how to use a sanitary napkin. Do you want me to show you, or do you want to look it up online? I'll get the stuff you’ll need. I’ll get it for you.”
Elisa went into her bedroom and returned with a bag of sanitary products. “Using these is simple. But they baffle you, let me know.” Then she went back to bed.
Donna stood there, holding the bag, feeling hollow.
It seemed to her that Elisa had finally let slip what she’d always suspected — that she cared very little about what Donna’s future might be. No surprise. Langdon had always assumed that. So why should Donna be surprised now. Why did it hurt so much?
What could she do about it? Was she supposed to hate Elisa for being like everyone else?
Langdon had had a mother once, and that mother had walked away to work for a corporation. She’d never checked back with the husband and son she left behind. Not even at Christmas. What was it about Langdon that not even a mother could love?
Maybe Langdon’s father had cared, but Langdon had never been sure. And the old man had died before Langdon could figure him out.
Where did that leave Langdon?
Where did that leave Donna?
Nowhere.
Langdon had never had a friend he could trust — someone who cared enough about him to show him respect, smart enough to not say stupid things that ruined everything. And Donna had never gotten out of the hole that life had dug for Langdon. Nobody cared about either of them.
Or… did Glory care? Really care? Was Glory the person she had always hoped to meet? Or would even Glory let her down eventually?
Langdon had lived two very different lives, and both of them were stuck in a miserable and lonely place.
What made people want to live anyway?
To Be Continued in Chapter 7.
