Jordan stood in the menâs section of Nordstrom surrounded by mirrors that multiplied his misery from every angle. His arms had transformed into clothing racks, piled high with fabrics of varying weights, textures, and price tags. The mountain grew taller by the second as three very different women circled him like fashionable sharks that had scented blood in the water.
"This would look perfect with those slacks," Kumiko said, tossing another button-up onto his stack. The lavender fabric slid precariously before settling.
"No it wouldnât." Alexis plucked the lavender shirt off and replaced it with a navy one. "This is formal dinner attire, not a K-pop concert."
"Whatâs wrong with K-pop?" Kumikoâs twin tails swung as she spun around.
"Nothing, if youâre fourteen."
Chloe ignored them both, examining a rack of jeans with intense focus. She pulled out a dark wash pair, checked the size tag, and added it to Jordanâs burden.
A Nordstrom sales associate passed by, caught Jordanâs eye, and quickly covered her mouth to hide a smile. Jordan saw it anyway. She whispered something to another employee, both glancing in his direction before moving on.
Great. Now he was the entertainment for minimum wage retail workers.
The clothing pile reached his chin. His biceps burned from holding everything steady. The exercise was working muscles he didnât know existed, even after the Tune Up trait had overhauled his physique.
Who knew shopping could qualify as strength training?
"This is stupid," he muttered to no one in particular. "I already own clothes."
Alexis shot him a look that could freeze hell. "Those arenât clothes. Those are rags with delusions of adequacy."
"My closet isnât that bad."
"You own six identical grey t-shirts."
"Theyâre different shades of grey."
"Oh my god." Alexis rolled her eyes so hard they might have completed a full rotation in her skull. "Why are you just standing there? Go to the fitting room already."
Jordan didnât move. Partly because any sudden movement might send the clothing tower tumbling. Partly because he was being stubborn.
"Thereâs an issue."
Kumiko paused her excavation of a clearance bin. "Whatâs the issue?" She tossed another shirt onto his pile without looking. Some kind of graphic tee with Japanese characters Jordan couldnât read.
"The issue," Chloe said, stepping between them, "is that all our picks are mixed together, and my boyfriend isnât exactly a fashion expert. He wonât know whose top goes with whose bottom."
"Hey!" Jordan protested. Then after a second: "I mean, thatâs true, but hey!"
"We need a system." Alexis tapped one manicured finger against her chin. "My selections are for the formal dinner tomorrow. Classic silhouettes, tailored fit, subdued colors."
"My picks are for everyday campus wear." Kumiko bounced on her toes. "Fun, expressive, comfortable but stylish."
"And mine are basics," Chloe said. "Things heâll actually wear when none of us are around to see."
Jordanâs arms trembled under the weight. "Can we debate fashion philosophy after I put some of this down?"
"Fine." Alexis pointed toward the fitting rooms. "Start with my selections. The navy button-down with the charcoal slacks. Weâll tackle the formal dinner outfit first."
"No way!" Kumiko grabbed a handful of clothing from Jordanâs arms. "Start with my stuff. The graphic tee with the distressed jeans. Youâll see how much better it looks."
"Are you insane?" Alexis snatched her own selections back. "A dinner with his parents requires priority attention."
"His parents arenât here right now. I am."
Chloe sighed loudly. "How about we let Jordan pick which outfit to try first?"
All three women stared at him.
Jordan looked between them: Alexis with her cold blue eyes and arms crossed over her cream sweater dress; Kumiko with her pink cheeks and fuzzy purple crop hoodie; and Chloe with her patient expression and blue-streaked hair.
The Systemâs quest about filling Slot 2 flickered through his mind. Alexis would bring social connections and clout. Kumiko would bring genuine warmth and enthusiasm. But the way Chloe looked at him now, waiting for him to speak, to have an opinion of his own...
His chest felt tight. Warm.
"Letâs do Alexisâs picks first," he decided. "Get the formal stuff out of the way while I still have energy."
Alexisâs smile was small but distinctly smug. "Good choice."
Kumiko pouted. "Fine. But Iâm next."
Chloe nodded, her expression neutral. "Makes sense."
A Nordstrom employee approached, a guy in his twenties with a nametag reading "Jerome."
"Can I help you folks with a fitting room?"
"Yes," all four of them said simultaneously.
Jerome blinked. "Right this way."
He led them to the back corner where a hallway opened to individual fitting rooms with heavy curtains instead of doors. The largest room at the end had a circular platform surrounded by three full-length mirrors.
"Will this work?" Jerome gestured toward the spacious room with the platform and mirrors.
"Perfect." Alexis swept past him with the air of someone whoâd commandeered countless fitting rooms before. She pointed at the velvet bench along the wall. "You can set everything down there."
Jordan gratefully deposited the mountain of fabric onto the bench. His shoulders relaxed as the weight left his arms. He flexed his fingers, feeling circulation return.
Jerome lingered at the entrance, watching the four of them file in. His gaze landed on Jordan. There was something in that look, a kind of unspoken solidarity that seemed to say "good luck with all this, my guy" without him needing to verbalize a single syllable. Then he slipped away down the hallway.
Alexis had already begun her assessment of the pile, fingers moving through fabrics with the precision of someone conducting inventory. She pulled out specific pieces one by one. "Navy button-down. Charcoal slacks. Black belt. These shoes." Each item was handed to Jordan with crisp, declarative instruction. No room for debate.
Chloe claimed one of the cushioned chairs positioned outside the fitting room entrance. She crossed one leg over the other. "Iâll wait out here."
"Me too," Kumiko said, perching on the arm of the chair.
Alexis looked between them, then at Jordan, then back at the girls. "I suppose Iâll wait as well." She sat across from them.
Jordan stood there holding the clothes, not moving.
"What now?" Alexis asked.
"I need to change."
"So change."
"Youâre all just going to... sit there?"
"Did you expect us to come in with you?" Alexis raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow.
Jordan felt his face heat. "No! I just... nevermind."
He ducked into the fitting room and yanked the curtain closed.