The Clothes Swap Challenge

Chapter 1: Just for Laughs

Saturday mornings usually began with noble intentions, but by eleven o’clock Edward and Amelia had abandoned theirs entirely.

“I’m telling you,” Amelia declared from her spot sprawled upside down across the sofa, “there cannot possibly be another challenge video left on the internet.” Edward, sitting cross-legged on the rug with the television remote balanced on his knee, clicked to the next recommendation anyway.

“There are literally millions.”

“Millions of people making fools of themselves.”

“Exactly.”

The next video opened with dramatic music and two teenagers pointing exaggeratedly at piles of clothing, and Amelia groaned the moment she saw it. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“I’ve seen this one.”

Edward looked over. “‘Sibling Clothes Swap Challenge,’” he read aloud.

Amelia snorted. “They swap clothes for a day.”

He pressed play anyway.

For ten minutes they watched complete strangers attempt to navigate life dressed in each other’s clothes, laughing at exaggerated reactions, failed attempts to walk in heels, and increasingly desperate complaints about the lack of pockets. When one boy dramatically held up a tiny skirt and asked, “Where’s the rest of it?” Amelia burst into laughter. “It’s always the pockets.”

“They’re right though,” Edward said. “How do you carry anything?”

“We don’t.”

“Seriously?”

“We’ve been complaining for decades.”

He looked genuinely horrified. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know.”

When the video ended, another automatically began, and then another, and by the fourth Amelia was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “I swear they’re all exactly the same,” she said.

Edward just shrugged. “Still funny.”

She studied him for a second before a mischievous smile spread across her face. “...Bet you wouldn’t do it.”

He looked up. “What?”

“A clothes swap.”

He barked a laugh. “You think I’d chicken out?”

“I think you’d take one look at tights and surrender.”

“Tights can’t be that complicated.”

Amelia stared at him. “They absolutely can.”

Edward stood up dramatically. “Challenge accepted.”

Amelia blinked, genuinely surprised. “Wait... really?”

“Why not?”

“I thought you’d say no.”

“I was going to.”

“And?”

“You looked too confident.”

Amelia grinned. “Oh, you’re going to regret this.”

Half an hour later, Amelia stood in the doorway of her bedroom holding up two possible outfits.

“No dresses.”

“Aww.”

“No.”

“Fine.” She eventually settled on a soft cream jumper, a navy skater skirt, black tights and a pair of white trainers.

Edward eyed the collection suspiciously. “The skirt looks... short.”

“It’s knee length.”

“It looks tiny.”

“That’s because you’re used to trousers.”

He sighed dramatically. “If I fall over, I’m blaming you.”

“You’ll survive.”

“You sound very confident.”

“I’ve worn skirts since I can remember.”

“Fair point.”

Meanwhile Edward’s contribution to Amelia’s outfit consisted of jeans, trainers, one of his oversized hoodies and a zip-up fleece, and when she held them up she couldn’t help herself. “...This is just your normal wardrobe.”

“Exactly.”

“I look like I’m about to help someone move house.”

“You look comfortable.”

“I’ll admit... the hoodie is nice.”

“It has pockets.”

Her eyes widened. “Actual pockets?”

He nodded proudly.

She shoved both hands inside immediately. “Oh, that’s unfair.”

“I know.”

Twenty minutes later Amelia knocked gently on her own bedroom door. “You alive?”

“...Maybe.”

“You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“I think I’ve fought the tights into submission.”

“You think?”

“They won the first three rounds.”

She laughed. “Need help?”

There was a pause before he answered. “...Maybe.”

She opened the door just enough to peek inside, and found Edward standing in front of the mirror looking utterly baffled.

“I don’t understand how these things have a front and a back.”

Amelia took one look and burst into helpless laughter. “They’re inside out!”

“I knew that.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I suspected.”

She showed him how to turn them the right way around. “See?”

“That seems unnecessarily complicated.”

“Says the person who wears the same jeans every day.”

“They’re reliable.”

“They’re boring.”

“They have pockets.”

“Yeah... I walked into that one.”

A few minutes later Edward emerged from the bedroom, and when Amelia looked up and blinked, the outfit actually suited him, not because it looked ridiculous or funny, but simply because it seemed strangely natural.

Edward immediately folded his arms. “Don’t laugh.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“I was.”

“So?”

Amelia tilted her head. “...It actually works.”

Edward frowned. “You’re lying.”

“I’m really not.”

He looked down at himself: the cream jumper was a little loose on him, the navy skirt sat neatly at his waist, and the black tights made his legs look oddly elegant. “...Huh.”

“See?”

“I expected to look much sillier.”

“I did too.”

There was a beat before Edward experimentally spun on the spot, and the skirt flared gently before settling again, his eyebrows shooting upward. “Oh.”

Amelia laughed. “You did the spin.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Everyone does.”

He spun again. “...Okay.”

“What?”

“I get it.”

“You get what?”

“The spin.”

She folded her arms with exaggerated satisfaction. “Told you.”

The next hour passed with steadily increasing amusement, as Edward discovered that sitting in a skirt required slightly more thought than he’d expected, while Amelia slouched in the incredibly comfortable hoodie and refused to give his back.

“I understand why you steal mine now,” Edward complained.

“I regret nothing,” she shot back.

He kept absent-mindedly smoothing the skirt over his knees whenever he sat down, and although Amelia noticed, she said nothing about it.

When they made sandwiches for lunch, Edward frowned thoughtfully. “I feel taller.”

“You aren’t.”

“No, but...” He looked down. “...Everything moves differently.”

“The skirt?”

“I think so.”

“You get used to it.”

“Huh.”

Later she painted one fingernail bright blue “for science,” and Edward protested all of three seconds before holding out his other hand. “If we’re doing one...”

“...We might as well do all ten?”

“...Might as well.”