I honestly couldn’t tell you what was more degrading; having to wear a dress or riding home in a booster seat. It took all my resolve not to throw a tantrum in the backseat as we left the Radeon facility. “I’m going to call around to see if I can find someone to babysit you for a few hours,” Mom said as she looked at me from the front seat.
I had been fidgeting with the hem of my dress until Mom said that. Then, turning my gaze on her, I said, “Excuse me? Why do I need a babysitter?”
“Your father and I are going shopping for clothes, and anything else we need to sell the illusion that you’re a 5-year-old girl. We assumed you wouldn’t want to come along, so we need someone to watch you.”
“You’re right; I wouldn’t want to tag along. But why can’t I stay home by myself?”
“You’re only 5 years old, Clay; we can’t have you home alone,” Dad said as we came to a stoplight. “I know it’s not ideal, but we all need to make sacrifices until this gets rectified.”
“Seems like I’m the only one sacrificing anything,” I said while crossing my arms in a huff.
We got home 15 minutes later, and I was surprised to see Dylan sitting on the front steps. Mom said, looking at her through the windshield, “I wonder what she’s doing here?”
Having Dylan see me like this was the last thing I needed right now. Mom got me out of the booster seat while Dad walked towards the front door. I couldn’t hear the entirety of their conversation, but I heard enough to determine that Dylan was here to see me.
Dylan spotted me as I came up the walkway with mom, a confused look appearing on her face. “Where’s Clay? And who’s this little cutie-pie?”
I clung to Mom’s leg and craned my neck to look at Dylan. Mom looked at me before turning to Dylan, “There was a mix-up, and Clay was given the wrong injection. The cutie-pie clinging to my leg is Clay.”
Dylan turned her attention back to me and said, “That must’ve been some mix-up, Clay.”
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