Even if they walk a bit like an unsteady toddler, Ross sure knows how to dress the human part. Their bright orange hair is thick and perfectly styled, a curving mass with gentle waves that blow in the beach breeze. Their blue jeans have been replaced with tight black ones that hug every inch of their lean legs, and an equally tight white T-shirt grabs on to their chest and arms. They’re not muscly at all, more willowy, and I could easily wrap them up in my arms for a jealousy-inducing kiss.

Dominic’s going to hate it.

Perfect.

Ross finally reaches me and I notice they’ve gotten a few inches taller. We’re standing eye-to-eye, which hasn’t happened before. My eyes pan down to see they’re wearing high heels.

“Nice shoes.” I point to the deep purple velvet heels with silver studs poking out on the toe.

“It’s surprising how much shopping you can do in just a few hours,” Ross says, then taps their feet. “I got a lot of these. There’s something so artistic about this footwear. And powerful. Not at all like the tennis shoes I keep seeing most male-bodied people in. And don’t you think it’s weird that humans wear tennis shoes but most don’t play tennis? At least high heels are exactly what they say they are. But I’m trying to get used to the balance. Walking on feet is hard enough, but these . . .” Ross grimaces, which makes me Donkey Laugh.

“That explains the wobble,” I say, but I crook my elbow and motion for them to grab on.

Ross playfully smacks my shoulder, then threads their arm through mine before I lead them down the street. Their pressure is gentle but firm, and just like that we drift into partner behavior. It feels so natural, and it must to Ross too because they slip into conversation like we’ve known each other for years instead of days. “I’ll get used to it,” they say. “You should try them sometime.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I mean, have you seen these legs? They would make a heel snap in about two seconds.”

Ross’s eyes shoot down to my thighs, which are seriously filling out my jeans. Kavya calls these the Magic Pants because my thighs and butt seem to push against the seams, yet I don’t feel restricted in them. It’s a Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants thing, or, like, Thighhood of the Thick or something.

Ross stares for a bit longer than I expect, and when I clear my throat it’s them who blushes for once.