I take the first item off the hanger and carefully step into it. I’ve never tried on a new designer dress before. It’s incredibly soft against my skin, almost like a caress.

Is Jessica really onto me? Is it possible that she knows more than she pretends?

I slip my arm under each strap and pull it up just as I hear a knock on the door.

“May I assist you with the zipper?”

I step back and open the door. Tanya is standing there with a shoebox in her hand and a big smile on her face.

“Oh, you did try the Mischka on first! Good!” She immediately puts the box down and zips me up as I stare at my image in the mirror. Artfully draped ruffles enhance the gentle V neckline of the finely tailored gown. It gathers softly on the right side of my waist, which marks the beginning of another delicate cascade of silk-chiffon ruffles that fall along the side of the slender skirt.

“Here,” Tanya says as she bends down by my feet. “Try on the shoes.” She pulls out a pair of high-heeled platforms that are only a slightly darker pink than the dress. “They’re Italian patent leather,” she explains as I sit down in the chair and allow her to fasten the double straps around my ankles. When I stand up again I’m about six inches taller, but I look so completely feminine . . . and innocent . . . and pure.

Tanya stands behind me, admiring my reflection in the mirror. “You look like a princess,” she breathes.

The comment takes me back a little farther than I’d like to go . . .

“You were wonderful,” my mom had gushed as she walked me home after the third-grade performance of Sleeping Beauty. “You know what? I think you really are a princess.”

“Mama!” I had laughed, skipping along the cracked sidewalk, still dressed in the Aurora costume she had made for me. “For me to be a princess you’d have to be a queen!”

My mother looked at me sharply. “Are you kind to people when they talk to you?”

I nodded and played with the ruffles on my dress.

“Are you graceful?”

I had hesitated at that before answering shyly, “I think I dance okay. Does that count as graceful?”

My mother had to wait to answer as a police car drove by, its siren wailing. “Yes,” she said finally. “It counts. Do you try to help those who need it?”

Again I had to think before answering. “Sometimes at recess I help tie Eva’s shoes when nobody’s looking. She’s not so good at it, but she’s too embarrassed to admit it, so I help.”

“That is helpful,” my mother confirmed. “You have grace, kindness, and compassion, and in my book that makes you a princess.” And then she leaned down and whispered in my ear, “And with that you’ve made me into a queen.”