Shadows of Envy

  Jeannie picked me up in her beat-up Honda, her ponytail bouncing as she waved from the driver’s seat. “You look cute!” she said as I slid in, her grin wide and genuine. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be shopping with Danielle or Daniel today,” she added, gncing over at me.

  “I thought it’d be weird, shopping for clothes dressed as a boy,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant. Jeannie nodded, her expression soft, and I felt my nerves ease. She always made me feel like I belonged, even when I wasn’t sure I did.

  She gnced at me again, her gaze lingering. “What is it?” I asked. “You’re doing a great job with your make-up, Dani,” she began, “but with the smoky eyes and bright lipstick, it’s more of a nighttime look. It looks great on stage, but for the mall, maybe go a little more natural.”

  I pulled down the visor mirror, seeing what she meant. “What should I do? I only know one way.” Jeannie smiled. “First stop, Target. We’ll get you some tinted lip gloss and a brown or grey eyeliner. With your eyeshadow, just stick to the lighter colors in the palette.”

  We drove to the Auburn Outlet Mall, chatting about the band’s recent success and the upcoming gig at The Firehouse. As we wandered into a small boutique, a salesgirl asked, “Can I help you girls find anything?” Jeannie smiled and said we’d just look around. Jeannie picked up a flowy blouse, then her energy shifted. “So, Dani,” she said softly, “how does it feel? Being out in the world as a girl—it’s different than the stage, huh?”

  I knew what she meant. No one had asked me directly how I felt about dressing up, and now I was at the mall. “I… like it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I hesitated, then added, “When that salesgirl called us ‘girls’? That felt good. Like when someone remembers your name after meeting you—it’s nice. That’s what it’s like when someone calls me a girl.” My cheeks warmed, a mix of joy and fear bubbling up—joy at being recognized, fear it might not st. “Does that sound stupid?” I was revealing a lot—things I’d kept inside for years, things I wouldn’t even admit to myself. If anyone would be okay with it, it was Jeannie.

  Jeannie’s eyes softened. “Not at all, Dani. I’m gd you told me. I could tell it was important, but I didn’t want to pry.” She paused, her gaze thoughtful. “I think I get that feeling of wanting to be seen. Once, I visited an old school where my dad had been stationed. I felt so invisible—no one recognized me. But then a teacher did, called me by name, and it meant a lot.” She gave a wistful smile. “Traveling sounds great, but not making real friends can be lonely.” I blinked, understanding her in a new way. I’d always assumed pretty girls like Jeannie would see me as invisible—I never thought she might feel lonely too. I touched her arm, my voice soft. “I’m so gd we’re friends now.” She grinned. “Me too. Super-gd.”

  We wandered through more shops, eventually reaching the clearance area at Nordstrom Rack. I picked up from before. “At school tely, dressed in my regur clothes, I kind of hate it—like it’s something I have to endure.” It was hard to say, but a relief to admit. Jeannie nodded, her expression somber. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be.” We fell silent for a moment, the quiet comfortable. I pretended to browse, but my attention was on her—she was thinking about what I’d said. Finally, she asked, “Do you think, someday, you might want to become Daniele all the time?”

  I took a deep breath. I’d barely let myself consider that question. “Honestly, I don’t know—I wouldn’t know where to begin.” I looked down, the idea feeling so big, like a dream I wasn’t sure I could reach.

  “That’s okay. You’re figuring it out, right? You seem so happy tely—on stage and today.” She smiled. “That’s got to mean something, right?” I nodded, a flicker of hope warming me.

  I pulled a denim skirt and white pointelle top from the rack, holding them up, the soft knit of the top brushing my fingers. I’d never have known what to pick before Jeannie helped me, but now I could almost see myself in this, stepping out as Dani. “For the stage?” Jeannie asked. “I was thinking for just hanging out,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips as I imagined wearing the outfit outside of a performance. Her eyes lit up. “It’s cute! You should get it!”

  We moved through the boutique, pop music humming overhead, but Jeannie’s energy shifted as she lingered near a rack of scarves. She fidgeted with her shirt, her usual confidence repced by nervousness. “There’s something I need to tell you… and ask,” she said quietly. “It’s about Logan. I really like him—I have for a while. Do you think he likes me too?”

  My heart sank, a sharp pang twisting in my chest as I clutched the skirt, the hanger digging into my palm. I’d seen how Jeannie looked at Logan, how she ughed at his jokes, always found a reason to be near him. But hearing it made it real. Logan would never see me the way I wanted—not like he saw Jeannie. What could I do? Discourage her and risk our friendship over a hopeless dream? “He once said he thought you were pretty when we were driving back from a gig,” I said truthfully, forcing a smile that felt brittle.

  “He did?!?!” Jeannie practically jumped, her face lighting up with a grin that made my chest ache more.

  “Yeah,” I managed, a lump in my throat. He never said I was pretty. Jeannie’s excitement filled the space, but her smile faltered as she caught the strain in my expression. She didn’t say anything, and I was grateful—I wasn’t sure I could hide it if she asked.

  She studied me, her brow furrowing. “You don’t mind, do you? I know you and Logan are close.”

  “We’re just friends,” I lied, the words bitter. “You don’t have to worry about me.” I turned back to the rack, pretending to focus on a pair of earrings, but my mind raced. I couldn’t stand in Jeannie’s way—she deserved to be happy. That meant stepping back, letting go of any chance with Logan, at least for now. As Jeannie’s ughter filled the store, I felt caught between two worlds—Dani, the girl finding her pce, and Danny, the sidekick who’d loved Logan for years—unsure if I could ever be both.