As you think about the clothes on the floor, and the little costume that somehow fits you now, it starts to occur to you that you don't know what's will happen once you take the costume off. After all, you don't know how any of this works. What if the magic, or whatever it is, been all used up, and it won't work next time? As odd as this situation is, you feel strangely reluctant when you think about not being able to do it again. You're pretty sure that the magic part of the costume is in the tights and the dress, since you didn't notice any changes when you put on the wings. That seems like a good thing, since you don't think you'd be able to hide the wings under the rest of your clothes anyway. So you take the wings off, and feel a slight twinge in your body that you aren't quite able to identify. If anything, you feel just a little bit more awkward now, standing around in a little costume in a giant bathroom stall. You decide it's time to put on some more clothes.
Bracing an arm against the divider, you stand on one foot and poke first one leg into the shorts, then the other, before pulling them up. At first you get a sensation like the shorts are flopping around you, just absurdly too large...and then something changes. You're not sure what is different, except for the fact that now they only feel a little bit too big for you. Not like a little kid wearing an adult's clothes, which is how they before--more like wearing clothes that are a couple of sizes too large.
As you pull up the zipper, you're pretty sure that's exactly what's going on. These are a bit too big, not ridiculously so, just enough to be inconvenient and slightly beyond what is fashionable. Even with you standing still, the shorts threaten to slowly slide down your hips...and in the back of your mind comes the stray thought that you wish you hadn't forgotten your belt today. But was that right? Did you usually wear a belt with shorts like these? It's hard to be sure, but an insistent mental image forms in your mind of a belt left behind on the floor in a bedroom, a thin black curl lying in the carpet.
You shrug a little. Somehow, you feel like you're used to walking around with a hand in your pocket to make sure your pants stay up on days when you forget to wear a belt. Is that something new? It's hard to tell, just feels like instinct, really. Maybe the tights and skirt will make for a little bit of extra padding to help keep the shorts up.
Bending down to pick up the blue button-up shirt, you can already tell you've grown taller. As tall as you were before? Hard to say, but not tiny, either. Standing there alone in the bathroom stall, you feel some of your prior sense of confidence and independence return--while at the same time, feeling like the shirt in your hand looks pretty bland.
Besides the faded-out color and the boring basic design of it, the shirt looks slightly different, but it's hard to put your finger on why. You slide one arm in, then another, starting to do up the buttons, when you realize the cuffs are slipping past your wrists. Just like the shorts, the shirt doesn't fit very well, either. It looks a lot like your old shirt, but it feels like it's cut differently, and overall feels a few sizes too big. You decide to roll up the sleeves to your elbows and finish with the buttons.
You look down at yourself. The sleeves are too long and feel much looser than you expected. In fact, the whole shirt is roomy: there's a lot of space where the fabric is loose on either side of your torso, and you're pretty sure that you look like you've borrowed your older brother's shirt. The untucked tail goes a couple of inches past the waistband of your shorts, but not so much they're hidden entirely. You have a vague feeling like it's hard to find clothes that fit you well, but you aren't sure why.
The socks go on next. And..well, they're socks. They seem to fit fine, but you can't tell any difference. You haven't ever really thought about your socks much before, so who knows? Finally come the shoes. But even with a quick look you can tell that these obviously aren't the right shoes. Or, at least not your old shoes. Those were just a pair of black running shoes, cheap and pretty beat up.
These are a pair of high-top skate shoes, bright blue with neon pink laces. Newer, and much flashier than your old ones. And definitely smaller, by a few sizes. Yet your feet slide in easily, and they feel amazingly comfortable. You know without having to think very hard that you've had these shoes for less than a month, and think they're pretty great. You idly check for the size on the tongue of the shoe--it's a boys' size 5.
So, smaller for sure than your old ones, but not exactly a little kid's shoe size either. You self-consciously adjust the costume under your clothes, but nothing feels too obvious...unless somebody notices the light brown tights showing past the end of your shorts. Even as you watch, however, the color of the tights shifts, matching so closely to your skin tone that you have to actually poke your leg to make sure they're still there.
You're left there behind the door of a bathroom stall, holding a plastic coathanger and a pair of gauze fairy wings. You look down at a rumpled, too-big shirt, hanging over a pair of overlarge shorts that need a belt, down a pair of skinny legs, leading into bright-blue shoes. You wonder why the shoes changed? The rest of your clothes seem to be nearly the same as what you came in with, even if they look less interesting than the costume.
But at the same time, you know you haven't just returned to your old self. There's been enough clues that something is different. You're certain that you've grown than your body in the fairy costume, but smaller than you were when you walked in. Still, all of that sounds pretty vague, which means it's time to get a good look at yourself.