"I'm sorry, Jonny. I didn't try to convince them you were my brother," Donna admitted.

We got loaded up with too much homework at school on Friday, but since I had a babysitting job for the evening, I thought I would just knock it out there and be free for the weekend. It wasn't interesting stuff, math exercises and a short history essay, but it wasn't hard either.

Someone tripped me on my way out of study hall, but I didn't see anyone I could blame. Some of Rod Pick's pals smirked at me when I almost dropped all of my books again, but they were too far away to have done it.

I felt my face burning, and for a moment, I felt a bit sick to my stomach. Was this going to be happening all year?

By the time I got on the bus, I had stopped leaking tears and sat like a sack of potatoes, not looking at anyone or saying anything, even though I felt sure people were looking at me and maybe talking about me. I knew that was a bit of a crazy worry, but I couldn't help how I felt.

Rod Pick didn't ride the bus on Fridays, and neither did his jock friends, so at least I was spared dealing with them. I got off at our corner and headed for home, my head down because now I was not so scared and beginning to feel angry about it.

What had I ever done to anyone? It wasn't fair. I got tired of the names they called me long ago: sissy, fag, queer; I didn't even know the real meaning of some of the words, especially the ones in Spanish like puto, chingaso and mariposa. Mom knew some Spanish, but I couldn't ask her, could I?

Donna ran a few steps after getting off the bus to catch me up, and I noticed her glance at Rod's door as we passed it. That made me mad, too. So why did my face feel hot and wet?

I almost flinched when Donna touched my arm, but I turned to glare at her.

"I'm sorry about lunch," she murmured. "They're my friends, but I didn't like some of what they said."

"Did they talk about me when I wasn't there?" I asked. My mouth twisted, and I turned away.

"Uh," she didn't answer.

"I've got sitting at the Henderson's tonight," I mentioned.

She snorted. "Those brats. I'm sorry for you for that, too. Mrs. Henderson didn't like that I said no the last time she asked me." She put a hand on my back, and I moved further away.

"What are you wearing?" she asked, feeling around where the stiffeners in mom's contraption lay between my shoulder blades.

I shrugged, partly to move her hand off my back.

"Are you wearing a bra?" she wanted to know. "Is it one of mine?" She felt the shape under my clothes.

"No," I answered. "Mom made it for me," I told her. "It's just a strap, to, to keep me from… Just leave me alone, Donna!"

"My brother is wearing a bra," she said.

"I am not!" I took several quick steps to get away from her, but she easily caught up again.

"Sorry," she murmured. She had known about my lumpy chest before. "What did the doctor say? You hadn't told me, and neither will Mom?"

We stopped at the patch of sidewalk where tree roots had broken the cement into uneven blocks. I glared at the ground.

Donna reached out, but I dodged her touch. "I like those kids," I complained.

She made a face. "They didn't like me because I wasn't you. When I got there the last time, they asked me where my sister was." She flashed a grin. "I thought they meant Linda. Can you imagine putting Miss Non-Stop with those two? When I put them to bed, they complained that my sister read stories better than me, and I remembered that you had sat for them before."

We both looked away. "I didn't try to convince them you were my brother," she admitted.

I found myself smiling, and I wasn't sure why. I shook my head. The twins were a hard-headed pair, and if they got an idea, it would be hard to just talk them out of it.

"What?" Donna asked. But now she was smiling, too.

"Just don't laugh when they talk about me at school," I said.

We both headed for our front door, which opened just then to show Linda hopping up and down and squealing something about Fooler, the dog. And there he stood at her shoulder with her toy bunny in his mouth. She squealed again and wrapped herself around his neck.

Donna and I laughed like loons then we all went inside.

*

After dinner, I went over to the Henderson's with my books and homework and some cash to give a tip to the pizzaman who the Henderson's had already called for a delivery of a thin-crust ground beef and veggie special.

I was greeted immediately with cries of "Jonny's here, Jonny, Jonny, Jonny," and "Read Wocket in my Pocket! Wocky in My Pocky!" Mike was getting his vote in for which book he wanted to read early. His sister Molly simply gave me a hug, dusted with graham cracker crumbs.

Later, the twins had half a slice each of pizza, plus a dish of fruit and some carrot sticks, and I sat on the floor between their beds to read the book of Dr. Seuss nonsense, using voices and pantomiming movements and provoking both shrieks and giggles.

They were both asleep before eight o'clock.

After watching my baby sister Linda, only a year younger than these two, it all went like a symphony. Getting Linda to go to bed was more like a Battle of the Bands in comparison.

After getting the kids asleep, I had another slice of pizza and did some homework at the kitchen table but found myself napping on the sofa a little before ten. I'd been having an odd dream about swimming in soup, and I woke up in a sweat.

I felt off. My skin was clammy, my throat dry, and my head hurt. Great, I thought, I'm coming down with something. I went to the kitchen to draw a glass of water through the dispenser in the door of the fridge. It went down quickly, but the cold seemed to hit my stomach wrong, and now I felt nauseated.

A mild cramp ran across the top of my belly, and I decided to hurry to the bathroom, but nothing was happening when I got there. Except, well, I felt — overheated? I was sweating again, the armpits and front of my t-shirt soaked.

And the band Mom had made for me, still around my chest to keep my unwanted accessories from showing — the band seemed tighter than before. Much tighter. I put my hands to my chest. Did it feel — bigger?

And a new sensation, as if the band under my shirt were trying to climb upward. I felt the band through my shirt, and it seemed like a roll of flesh was squeezing its way out from under the homemade binder, pushing the flexible garment upward.

I went to the bathroom again and pulled my shirt up, watching with a feeling of dislocated horror as the roll of flesh under the binder grew and grew, separating in the middle as two breasts appeared, pushing the band of restraining cloth upward.

This is not happening, I thought, I've fallen asleep on the couch, and I'm having a nightmare. I peered out of the bathroom and down the hallway to see if I could see myself lying on the Henderson's couch. But no, my sweating, panicked face stayed in the mirror. And the mirror also showed my new, larger breasts hanging below the chest band Mom had sewn for me.

There was at least twice as much flesh there as had been examined in the doctor's office. I touched them. They were warm and sweaty and soft as pillows. And they ached. My skin had a stretched feeling. I must be losing my mind, I thought. This can't be happening.

I pulled my shirt, and the little band Mom had made me off over my head. When freed from the restraint, the mounds of flesh bounced a bit. Then they just hung there, feeling very, very weird. The cool air in the room caused the nipples to crinkle a bit, but the swollen flesh still felt warm, even hot to the touch.

I pulled my shirt back on over my head and went looking for the windbreaker I had worn on the way over. I needed Mom, I decided. An adult to tell me what to do. But I couldn't leave. The twins were asleep, and it was barely two blocks to my house, but I still couldn't leave them alone.

Just as a reminder, I heard one of them cry out. "Jonny?"

I felt staggered by what was happening. Keeping one hand on a wall, I made my way to the twins' bedroom. "Jonny?" the little voice came again.

I glanced down at my chest. Then I opened the door a crack. "Mikey?" I whispered. He was usually the more restless twin.

"I need a drink of water, Jonny," the little boy whispered back.

"Okay," I said. I went to the hall bathroom to fetch a paper cup of water, feeling a bit of jiggling. Don't freak out, I told myself. You'll scare the babies. I let myself into the bedroom without opening the door wide. The light down the hallway might wake Mikey up too much to get back to sleep.

I sat on the bed beside him and held the cup for him to drink. As usual, he drank less than half the five-ounce cup. "Better?" I asked when he stopped drinking and pushed my hand away.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Thank you, Jonny." He was already almost asleep again. "You got boobies just like mommy," he said with a smile in his voice.

I got out of there.

Back in the living room, I found the windbreaker I had arrived with. The Hendersons had promised to be back before eleven, and September could be cool in San Diego at night. Could I wait for them to get home?

I looked down at myself. Were they still growing? They still felt hot from the inside, but I didn't touch them with my hands.

I could call Mom, I decided. I tried to tell her what had happened but I cried through the whole conversation.

In less than ten minutes, she pulled into the Henderson's driveway in the family wagon. I went outside to meet her, but she motioned me back and followed me in. She had her big straw purse with her, and a small paper bag seemed to have been stuffed into it.

In the light of the entryway, she stared at me then pulled me into a hug. I felt the softness of my chest pressing against hers. I was already crying, had been crying when I called her, but somehow I felt things would be better now that she was here.

I had my t-shirt on and the open windbreaker, so I knew she could see what had gone wrong. I wasn't sure if it was still happening. The cold air that had come in when I opened the door felt chilly on my skin where I had been sweating, but I still felt warm inside.

"Take off the jacket and shirt," she told me. "And where's the bandeau I made for you?"

"The what?" I asked, my lip trembling. I peeled off the windbreaker and t-shirt and stood there, naked above the waist. Mom stared at me for a moment.

"This can't be happening, can it?" I asked. When I moved, I felt a countermovement of my chest. "They're two or three times bigger than they were."

"The chest band," she mentioned. "That isn't going to work, is it?"

I shook my head, glancing down as I felt movement. "No-o-o," I moaned. "It hurt to wear it."

"Chiggers," Mom muttered, a family word replacing more vulgar ones.

Reaching into her bag, Mom drew out a folded bit of white cloth. She shook it out, and I recognized it as a bra. I set my mouth in a hard line and frowned at the item.

"This," she said, "is a sports bra, like the ones your sister wears for gym at school. You just pull it on kind of like a t-shirt." She handed it to me.

"Huh?" I questioned. "Do I have to?" The thing was made of some stretchy fabric, like heavy-duty cotton underwear stuff.

"I think you'd better. You can wear your shirt over it and the jacket on top." We were sitting on the couch now, on the same level, and she looked me in the eye. "Put it on, Jonny," she urged. "You don't want the Henderson's to be asking questions."

I tried to follow her instructions, pulling it on over my head and slipping my arms through the straps like they were sleeves. I tugged the thing down to cover my mounds. It didn't quite, and there seemed a lot of me sticking out of the top. I felt my lip quivering again.

Mom tried to make some adjustments. "Hmm," she said. "That's a 30A/C." She blinked several times. "You certainly fill it out more than your sister does."

I lost it then, blubbering and crying and trying to get the thing off.

Mom pulled me into a hug. "Shh, it's okay, baby. It'll be okay."

I wanted to believe her. I really did.