Mirror Image

Chapter 9

The mall buzzed with the late-afternoon crowd as Emma and John—"Jenny" for the day—strolled side by side, their steps nearly synchronized. John, dressed in fitted beige trousers and a lavender blouse, moved with a subtle grace that made Emma stifle a grin. The kitten heels he reluctantly wore gave his posture a slightly poised tilt, and though his nails were still plain and unpolished, Emma had plans to fix that soon.

Emma stole a glance at him. It was remarkable how everything had come together. The haircut, the clothes, and even his unexpectedly refined movements blended seamlessly to create a surprisingly feminine image. She still didn't understand where this sudden shift in his mannerisms had come from, but she chalked it up to his sheer determination not to lose the bet. The effort, though, had left her pleasantly surprised—it was almost like he had been practicing, even though she knew that wasn't possible.

"Well," Emma said, breaking the silence as they reached the nail salon, "that's the final touch. Manicure? Check. Haircut? Check. Clothes? Double check. Jenny's almost complete."

John sighed, his voice slipping back into its natural tone for a moment. "Can we please stop calling me that?"

Emma grinned, nudging his arm playfully. "Not until the day's over. Remember? It's part of the bet."

He rolled his eyes but didn't respond, his long strides maintaining an elegance that matched his attire. The lavender blouse tucked into the tailored trousers flattered his slim frame, and his natural poise was convincing enough to turn a few heads as they walked.

As they stepped into the brightly lit nail salon, the faint scent of acetone and citrus greeted them. Emma wasted no time leading John to two plush chairs by the window, gesturing for him to sit beside her.

John hesitated but finally lowered himself into the chair with the same practiced elegance that had been surprising Emma all day. His legs pressed together neatly, and his hands rested lightly on his lap. Emma couldn't help but notice how similar their postures were—it was almost uncanny.

A cheerful nail technician with a name tag reading "Mia" approached them, her smile warm and welcoming. "Hi there! What can I do for you ladies today?"

Emma leaned forward with an easy smile. "Matching nails for both of us. Soft almond shape, not too long. Maybe a pale pink with a glossy finish? Something simple but elegant."

Mia nodded enthusiastically. "That sounds lovely. Are you two related?" she asked, looking between Emma and John.

Emma smirked, tilting her head. "What makes you think that?"

"Well," Mia said, glancing between them again, "you look similar—not identical, but close enough. Maybe cousins or sisters." She turned to John with a friendly smile. "You have a beautiful complexion, by the way. And that haircut suits you so well."

John's cheeks flushed faintly, and he stammered, "Uh, thank you." His voice cracked slightly, and he quickly cleared his throat to adjust back into the softer tone he'd been using all day. "That's... really nice of you."

Mia didn't seem to notice the hesitation, busying herself with gathering the supplies.

Emma nudged John playfully once Mia stepped away. "Hear that, Jenny? You're a natural."

John groaned under his breath. "This is getting ridiculous."

As Mia worked on their nails, Emma kept the conversation light, chatting about colors and nail trends. John sat quietly, watching as Mia shaped his nails into soft almond tips. When she began applying the pale pink polish, his hands started to take on a dainty, polished look. The glossy sheen of the finish made his fingers appear elegant and refined, almost delicate.

Once the polish dried, Mia stepped back to admire her work. "There you go! Matching nails for the two of you. Very chic."

Emma lifted her hand and turned it side to side, admiring the work. "Perfect," she said. Then she glanced at John. "What do you think, Jenny?"

John held up his hand reluctantly, the pale pink polish gleaming softly under the salon lights. "They're... fine, I guess."

"They're more than fine," Emma said, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "They're fabulous."

As they stepped out of the salon, the late afternoon sunlight caught on their polished nails. Emma felt a swell of satisfaction as she glanced at John. With his manicure, neat haircut, feminine clothes, and graceful movements, he looked transformed. Not identical to her, but similar enough to spark curiosity. To the casual observer, he might pass as her slightly tomboyish twin—or maybe a woman with her own understated style.

A group of young men passed by, their eyes lingering a little too long on John. Emma noticed the way they glanced back, as though trying to puzzle him out. She smirked, wondering if they were drawn in by the way he moved, his deliberate steps and graceful posture, or if it was simply the clothes and nails.

John, oblivious to the stares, fell into step beside her. "What's next on your list of ways to embarrass me?"

Emma laughed. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. This is all in good fun, remember? And besides..." She held up her hand, showing off her matching nails. "You're totally pulling it off."

He rolled his eyes but didn't argue. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips as they continued walking.

"Well," Emma said as they reached the parking lot, "I think Jenny's big debut is officially done. Let's head home."

John let out an exaggerated sigh of relief as he slid into the passenger seat. "Finally," he muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke.

Emma chuckled as she slid into the driver's seat, glancing at him as he adjusted his seatbelt. His movements were so refined now that she couldn't help but smile. "You know," she teased, starting the car, "Jenny turned a lot of heads today. I think you've got a natural talent."

"Not funny," he grumbled, sinking slightly into his seat.

"Come on," she said, stifling another laugh. "It's all for today. Once we're home, you can go back to being boring old John."

"Good," he muttered, though the faint blush creeping up his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment.

As Emma drove them out of the parking lot, the golden glow of the setting sun painted the streets in warm hues. For her, this had been a fun and harmless experiment—a way to poke fun at John's newfound grace and enjoy the day together. Tomorrow, she figured, they'd both laugh about it and move on.

But as she caught sight of John's polished nails resting lightly on his lap, she couldn't shake the feeling that the day had been more than just a silly bet. For now, though, they were heading home, and that was all that mattered.