"This one!"
Jerry points to one Little League uniform at random, to which Jim nods in response and hands it over to him. The 25-year-old, with his hands full, gently nudges the fitting room behind him with his shoulder, giving him alone to reflect on his situation.
"What have I gotten myself into?" Jerry snorts, a bit regretful over entertaining this ridiculous bargain. "Oh, well, a deal's a deal. Let's get this over with."
The plastic wrapping crinkled as Jerry tore them open -- attached to it is a small shipping tag baring the name 'Dean'. Having unhooked it, the young man finds himself past the point of going back as his large hands pull the small jersey from its casing. A sense of caprice prompts his hands to run through its soft, white fabric; fingertips trace their way over the stylish logo adorning the jersey. He then brings it over to his face, closing his eyes to feel just how smooth the jersey was against his cheek. There was an entrancing quality to the uniform that spurred a sense of belonging in Jerry as he vicariously imagined the thrill of playing baseball, a sport that he cared little about moments prior. He could vividly picture it: the audible cheering from the crowd, the vivid image of his teammates lifting him up for a well-played game and the earthy scent of the field -- it all called to him, and as though to answer it, Jerry's body gradually sheds its height; his clothes becoming loose to the point of draping over his diminished form, standing at a mere 4'8.
With his mind still hypnotized, Jerry pulls his jersey into a hug, his giggling took on the higher-pitch of a cheerful little boy as these clothes seem to take on a sentimental value for the person he was becoming. Jerry's features continued to remold: softening the contours that had given him his distinctly mature features, undoing in moments what took years for puberty.
Traces of baby fat resurface to round his form, gently injecting a bit of plumpness in his limbs, working its way up to his elbows and now-pudgy hands.
The boy opens his eyes to find himself drowning in the clothes of his former self. "Huh? Why am I wearing these," the boy wondered. He scratched his head, running his fingers over his hair, which took on a light brown hue -- its locks messily fluffed up and gained a healthier volume and sheen. "Guess I got carried away wearing grown-up stuff, haha. I should probably get dressed just in time for my ballgame."
What remained of Jerry was fighting to regain control, but the spell of the uniform was too strong. He was forced to watch for the time being as the boy emerged from the baggage to wear the baseball uniform with the ease and speed of someone who had worn them many times before: sliding his feet into the knicker pants, ringing a belt around its loops, which fittingly rested against his smaller frame.
A quick knock on the fitting room's door seemed to snap him out of his moment.
"Need any help there, buddy?" Jim spoke. "You've been on there for quite some time."
Jerry, re-asserting his control over his transformed body, attempted to answer him in-character. Whatever happened to him, he knew Jim had something to do with it, so he had to keep it cool. "Umm, uhh... No! I'm good, thanks!" he answered.
He hurriedly pushes his feet into the baseball stirrups. Jerry feels his mind slipping away to this intruding boy's identity, so in a race to escape, he perches a blue ballcap over his head, and then finally, he puts on a pair of accompanying cleats. After all was said and done, he stepped out of the fitting room's door.