High-Tops to High Heels: Part 3

Bobby took his stance at the free throw line, dribbled the ball twice, licked his fingers for grip, as was his routine, and splashed the first one home touching nothing but net. DeShawn, who was grabbing rebounds for him, passed the ball back. Bobby turned to Kimberly with a smirk, and shot the second one: another swish. Everybody in the gym was murmuring excitedly, growing louder as he sank shot after shot. Kimberly watched with an increasing anxiousness as his perfect form remained perfect. But on the twenty-second shot, she noticed one tiny difference: before Bobby took the shot, he scratched his neck.

Another swish, but Bobby was making a strange face, moving his tongue around his mouth, as he prepared the twenty-third shot. This time he caught a tiny bit of the back rim, but the ball still dropped through cleanly. Kimberly could see him frowning, trying to maintain his concentration. By shot number thirty, he was sniffing and his eyes were watering slightly. By shot number thirty-five, he kept having to clear his throat every few seconds.

After shot number forty swirled around the rim and down, he shot a suspicious glance at her which Kimberly carefully ignored, pretending to be entirely focused on the hoop. Forty-one, forty-two, and forty-three were all swishes again, as Bobby regained his composure. His face was red and his eyes were watering more than ever, but he clearly wasn’t going to stop. Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six -- each shot was perfect.

“Come on, bro, you got this,” DeShawn called from behind the net, passing the ball out to his point guard once again.

Kimberly was clenching her fists so hard that her knuckles were turning white. Bobby coughed before he shot number forty-seven, and it bounced on each side of the rim, teetered dangerously, and…

Fell through the basket, shot made.

He looked at her again and winked. She glared back at him. No matter what, Bobby Vickerson somehow always managed to come out on top. In three more shots, she was going to have to somehow scrape together fifteen hundred bucks, and suffer another humiliation at his hands. Jefferson High was going to be talking about it for the rest of the school year, how Bobby’s jilted ex ended up paying for his Laker tickets after some weird attempt at revenge backfired on her…

Forty-eight swished through the net. She couldn’t bear to watch her defeat, so she shut her eyes. The gym sounded just about ready to explode. She could hear the chatter growing louder, a few people already starting the stupid “We Love Bobby” cheer. And then…

Nothing. Nothing but stunned silence. She opened her eyes in time to see the basketball rolling away under the net, but DeShawn was too shocked to grab it. Everyone was staring, open-mouthed, at Bobby. Bobby was staring, open-mouthed, at the rim.

Kimberly grabbed the phone of the person beside her and dragged the video backward. Shot number forty-nine: Bobby took his two dribbles, licked his fingers, and missed the rim entirely, just barely grazing the net.

Bobby was still staring at the hoop, red in the face. “What. The. Fuck!” he screeched. He grabbed the basketball off the floor and hurled it angrily at the wall. “This is bullshit!” he shouted. “This is total bullshit! Fuck!”

Kimberly exhaled. She couldn’t believe it. She’d won the bet -- certainly not fair and square, but hey, against someone like Bobby Vickerson, you had to play dirty.

He was one of those people who never got cavities, never got pimples, never broke bones, et cetera. In fact, Kimberly didn’t know if he’d ever been to a doctor -- he had a weird mistrust of modern medicine. But she knew that his mom made an elaborate coconut cream cake for Serena’s birthday each year, even now that she wasn’t in Green Lake, and she knew that Bobby never ate a bite, because he was very allergic to coconut.

She had snuck into the gym storage room during her study block with a huge bottle of coconut oil, covering every basketball she could find, before setting off the “body-spray bomb” of Axe to hide the smell. She had then slathered the first ball with Vaseline, to ensure that every time he licked his fingers between shots he would taste that, instead of the coconut. Subtle, evil, and it had actually worked -- Macchiavelli, eat your heart out.

“See you tomorrow, Bobby,” she called over her shoulder as she strutted out of the gym. “Or should I say, ‘Barbie?’”

She was so thrilled that she couldn’t even wait until she got home to enact the next part of her plan. She pulled out her phone on the bus and scrolled to her newest contact, a certain basketball player from a certain Catholic school, to make sure he was still free for a date tomorrow.

#

When Kimberly got to the Papillon Salon bright and early on Saturday, Bobby was already waiting, looking around sullenly with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He was honoring the terms of their bet -- it would have been impossible not to, what with how many people had it on video -- but he was clearly not happy about losing out on Lakers tickets in favor of an involuntary makeover. Kimberly, on the other hand, was in the best mood she’d experienced in quite some time.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” her ex muttered. “How long is this going to take?”

“Three to four hours, I would guess,” Kimberly said. “That’s why we’re here so early.”

Bobby groaned. “Alright. Fine. Whatever.”

They stepped through the glass doors of the salon and were immediately greeted by Pam, an attractive red-head who managed the salon for Kimberly’s mom. She had already been in contact via email, explaining the situation in detail. Well, explaining a made-up situation in detail. She had told them she was transferring her mom’s full makeover offer to a friend, a deeply, deeply closeted friend, who had dreamed of such a thing since he was a little boy, had confided in her, and was now battling a serious case of cold feet, to the point where she had agreed to pretend the whole thing was just the product of a lost bet.

“Kimberly! Always so nice to see you,” Pam exclaimed. “And this must be the poor sucker who lost the bet, right? Bobby?” She gave Kimberly a knowing wink over his head. “This must be torture for you.”

“Got that right,” Bobby said blithely. “Can I at least get a massage from some cute Asian chick?”

“I’m afraid our masseur is from Brazil,” Pam said. “And he’s quite a hunk. Not that you would care, of course.” She gave another exaggerated wink, making Kimberly wince -- a born actor, this woman was not. “Shall we get started?”

“You have the list, right?” Kimberly asked, referring to the detailed list of everything she, or according to the email, Bobby, had requested.

“I sure do,” Pam said. “Oh, he’s going to be such a doll. I can already tell. Amazing bone structure.”

“It really is,” Kimberly said, with just a twinge of jealousy. “Okay, I’m off to do some shopping. I’ll be back by noon, Bobby. Relax and enjoy yourself, okay?”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Bobby yelped.

“Yep,” Kimberly said. “See ya.”

As much as she wanted to see Bobby’s masculinity removed step by step, she had a few more things she needed to prepare while her ex was occupied. Besides, one of the estheticians had volunteered to film the whole thing for her.

As soon as she was out of the salon, she high-tailed it back to her mom’s borrowed car and started for the other side of town. She crossed the railroad tracks, pulled into the parking lot of a seedy-looking motel, and made sure the windows were rolled up while she texted another new contact in her phone, a drug dealer who went by the truly lame nickname “Skeeter.”

She was so busy watching the motel doors that she didn’t even notice when a small blue Prius had pulled up beside her until it honked. A bespectacled man in a button-up shirt was waving at her. Wondering if he needed directions or something, she rolled her window down.

“Hey, Kimberly,” he said. “You got the money?”

Kimberly blinked. “Uh, yeah,” she said. “You got the stuff?”

“I sure do.” The man, who could be none other than Skeeter, produced a bulging grocery bag from his glove box. “You’re lucky too much stuff fell off the truck. This is one hell of a discount I’m giving you. But also, I feel like I’m doing my duty as a progressive, open-minded kind of criminal, you know? Money.”

Kimberly handed him the envelope of money she had emptied her savings account for, and he handed her the bag at the same time. She checked inside and grinned.

“Your transition is going beautifully, by the way,” Skeeter said, briefly counting the bills. “I would never have guessed. Now, that stuff is the ultra-powerful, non-FDA approved, Chinese laboratory stuff, not your average estrogen pills. So, do your research about dosage. With great power, great responsibility, et-kuh.”

“Et-kuh?” Kimberly echoed.

“Et-kuh,” Skeeter said, frowning. “You know, so on, so forth, et-kuh. It should last you a few months. If you need more, you know who to call. Later days.”

He rolled his window back up and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving Kimberly with the next phase of her diabolical plan sitting in her lap. Reaching into the backseat, she pulled out one of Bobby’s prized possessions: the massive jar of protein powder he kept in his gym locker for pre and post-workout shakes. As Skeeter had so recently suggested, Kimberly had done her research.

Getting the great Bobby Vickerson all dolled up as a girl and putting it all over the internet would probably be enough revenge for the typical revenge seeker, but Kimberly was aiming much, much higher. She started crushing the pills and measuring them out carefully into the protein powder.

“Striving for greatness,” she muttered. “Striving for greatness…”

#

Kimberly had high hopes for “Barbie’s” debut, both because of how adorable a princess Bobby had been on Halloween six years ago and because of how his close-up Instagram selfies looked when run through a gender swap filter -- she figured it was the best way to get a preview. He was small, with narrow shoulders and a generally slender body, and, like Pam had noticed, amazing bone structure. She was expecting him to make a surprisingly pretty, passable girl, even if he couldn’t compete with big sister Serena.

When she re-entered the salon just before noon, loaded down with shopping bags, she realized her expectations had been hopelessly off-base. The fidgeting high-schooler being subjected to a final makeup inspection was not a pretty, passable girl. She was fucking goals.

Kimberly just stood there for a few seconds, her brain and her eyes in total disagreement as she took in the sight. Bobby’s hoodie and skinny jeans had been swapped for a short pink robe, exposing a pair of long, slender legs that were much too sexy to belong to a guy: sleek, smooth, and sun-kissed. Full-body waxing had been the first thing on her list, and as much as she regretted not witnessing it in person, seeing the result was almost as good. The quick trip to the tanning booth had obviously been worthwhile too, as his exposed skin had a definite “beach babe” glow.

But they had done so much more than that. The sparkly pink pedicure made his small feet seem almost dainty in their chunky white flip-flops, while the matching manicure, square-cut half-inch talons selected by Kimberly herself, transformed his hands into fluttery emblems of femininity and somehow even made his tanned arms seem more slender.

Most arrestingly, his former dark brown undercut had been replaced by a gorgeous mane of tumbling Barbie-blonde waves, long enough to be piled up on his head in an elegant twist while also spilling down both shoulders. Kimberly knew it was a wig -- human-hair, front lace, to be precise -- but it looked amazing, and his own hair hadn’t been long enough for extensions. And, if her eyes weren’t mistaking her, she could see the gleam of small silver keepers in his pierced earlobes.

As for his face? Unrecognizable. All traces of masculinity had been replaced by flawless foundation, contouring and highlights to emphasize his cheekbones, fluttery black false eyelashes, and an expert blend of shadows that gave him a sensuous, smoldering stare. They had plucked and pencilled his eyebrows into perfect feminine arches, which must have drawn a few protests, and they had even done the collagen treatment on his lips.

Those pouty, pillowy lips, so swollen he couldn’t quite close them over his whitened teeth and painted a poppy matte pink, were currently being coated in a shiny liquid gloss by Pam’s expert hand.

“Kylie Jenner, eat your heart out,” she announced, stepping back. “Girls, I think our work here is done.” She caught sight of Kimberly, who was still speechless, but now more delighted than stunned. “Welcome back! What do you think?”

Kimberly couldn’t think of an adequate descriptor for Bobby Vickerson’s stunning transformation from all-star jock to bleached-blonde bimbo. “Uh, not bad,” she said.

“Uh, I probably look like a freaking fairy,” Bobby said, ruining the illusion. “This is, without a doubt, the gayest thing I have ever done.”

“I love how you’re reclaiming that word, hon,” Pam said brightly. “So fierce! Ready to see the new you?”

“Whatever,” Bobby sighed, the sound of his voice still totally incongruous with the blonde beauty it was coming from.

“Yep, super fierce,” Kimberly said, shooting Bobby a glare in case he was thinking of “reclaiming” any other homophobic slurs. “Let’s go have a look, shall we?”

Pam ushered him over to the three-way mirror, trailed by the beautician who was still dutifully filming the makeover on her phone. He seemed totally oblivious to the attention he was getting from the other customers, most of whom had heard his yowling during the bikini wax and were now stunned by the final product. In his deluded mind, he probably thought there was no way he could look like a girl, and that the stares were because he looked ridiculous -- as the loser of a bet was supposed to look.

When he reached the mirrors, Kimberly got to watch his glossy lipsticked mouth fall open in utter shock. For a moment he was totally frozen, then he spun from one mirror to the next, as if hoping it was some kind of trick. As the fact that it was really him sank in, he started blushing under his makeup, and a tremor went through his waxed-smooth legs.

“Talk about an after!” the beautician manning the phone camera exclaimed. “Can I get a nice big smile? We need a few shots for the salon’s Instagram account.”

Bobby, still completely dazed, looked around. The beauticians who had worked on him were all crowded in to admire Pam’s makeup job, and they, in turn, had drawn the attention of several curious customers -- a mix of hot trophy wife types and pretty girls closer to his own age. He was used to being surrounded by an adoring audience, and by attractive members of the opposite sex, but this was something he had never experienced in his life.

On what looked to Kimberly like autopilot, Bobby slowly parted his glossy lips and smiled for a camera. A nervous laugh even escaped, just briefly, sounding almost giddy. Then he caught sight of her, and his pretty blue eyes filled with fury. He was still smiling through gritted white teeth, trying to be a good sport for the camera and pretend he didn’t care he had just been transformed into not just a girl, but a gorgeous one. But she could see the anger and embarrassment in his eyes, and it was satisfying as hell.

“Perfect,” the beautician beamed. “This is definitely going on the before-and-after wall.”

“Agreed,” Pam gushed. “We love showing off our satisfied customers! I mean, um, our customers who lost a bet and totally don’t love looking pretty…”

“That’s not the boy who came in earlier, is it?” one of the trophy wives blurted. “No way!”

Kimberly watched Bobby’s throat bob up and down as he gulped, realizing photo evidence of his makeover would be joining the legion of “before-and-after” photos in the Papillon Salon lobby. She waited for him to explode, make a vehement argument against it, and definitely call Pam, and possibly everyone else there, a “crazy bitch.” But Bobby was not used to disappointing an audience, and he was clearly still stunned by the reflection in the mirror. She had to take advantage of it while she could.

“Come on, Barbie,” Kimberly said sweetly, grabbing him by the arm and nodding toward the curtained-off changing area. “Let’s get you dressed and get out of here.”

#

Even if the rest of the plan fell apart completely, Kimberly felt like she could die somewhat happy just having seen Bobby Vickerson swish across the salon parking lot in high heels and a miniskirt. He was managing both about as well as could be expected, but when he stumbled she was quick to let him know about it.

“Heel toe, one foot directly in front of the other, remember?” she said. “Roll your hips! Come on, I thought you were an athlete. Where’s the body control?”

Under normal circumstances, Bobby would have fired back, probably with something demeaning and incredibly sexist, then laughed at his own wit. But these were very abnormal circumstances, and all Kimberly got was a glare, which wasn’t particularly intimidating since it came through several layers of expertly-applied makeup as well as spiky black eyelash extensions.

She relished the silence: the beauticians had giggled endlessly over his sullen, teenage boy voice coming out of an ultra-girly package, and Pam had assured him that if he wanted to “pass” he was going to have to speak in a much more feminine voice. The result was that she could tease her ex all she wanted, getting the last word she never got while they were dating, and Bobby had to keep his lipsticked mouth shut or risk exposure.

Of course, he was a little exposed no matter what, thanks to his outfit. Kimberly had taken no small delight in picking out her ex-boyfriend’s clothing. He had always pestered her to wear sexy lingerie for him, so she had made a little stop at Victoria’s Secret to find the sexiest black push-up bra she could find.

It was dripping in lace and had gel-padded cups to give him the appearance of having a bust, and it was adorable watching him struggle to do up the clasp with his newly-long nails. Bobby had whined and complained, but she’d reminded him the bet was “skin out,” even showing him the video proof, and he’d toned it down to a sulk.

The sexy bra was paired with a lacy black thong, naturally, and when Bobby insisted there was no way he would be able to wear it without “flopping out” all over the place, Kimberly had just grinned and held up a roll of special adhesive tape. It was, weirdly, probably the most intimate they had been since breaking up. Using YouTube know-how, she’d helped him force his testes back into his body cavity and tape his willy back between his butt-cheeks, so tightly she could see tears smarting his eyes.

She couldn’t lie: for some reason, it was incredibly hot. So was watching him observe his flat, feminine crotch in the mirror afterwards with a stunned, slightly fearful look on his face. Once she was satisfied that the thong would wedge itself sexily between his cheeks with each step, and that the bra was just a little too tight for comfort, it was time to get him dressed.

She had magnanimously chosen a navy blue Nike tank top for him to wear, since Nike was his favorite brand of sports equipment, but there was one little difference -- this was a girl’s crop top, designed to end just below the ribcage, exposing plenty of toned, tanned midriff. She enjoyed the irony of having him wear his precious Nike brand as a girl, especially since the rest of his outfit would make any kind of athletics totally out of the question.

She had quickly introduced him to his very first miniskirt, an extremely short, pleated white number designed to contrast his tanned legs and swish flirtatiously around his thighs, giving him a hippier appearance at the same time. A sexy skirt like that required heels, of course, so she helped him strap his feet into a pair of cute cork-wedge sandals with a chunky three-inch heel and one-inch platform, open-toed to display his glittery pink pedicure.

As a finishing touch, she replaced the studs in his ears with big golden hoops and put a gold choker-style necklace of tiny linked hearts around his slender neck, then added a few bangles to his wrists for good measure, ensuring he would tinkle prettily with every motion.

As fun as it was watching him stumble around the salon, knock-kneed like a drunk girl leaving a nightclub, she eventually started giving him tips on how to move in his new footwear, walking heel-toe with his hips swaying naturally from side to side. Once she was satisfied Bobby could navigate without falling flat on his face, she had him thank each of the beauticians with a dainty air-kiss, then dragged her new creation out into the real world.

It was amazing how his new feminine appearance forced him to adopt a femmy body language as well: the restriction of a short skirt and high heels made him take tiny, mincing steps, the claw-like manicure meant he could no longer clench his fists and so was more likely to hold his wrists limp and fan out his pretty fingers, and the novelty of his long hair meant he was constantly touching it unconsciously, not to mention toying with his large hoop earrings, all of which gave him the appearance of a fussing, primping young lady.

In short, it was a dream come true. He was clearly terrified to be out in public like this, even just for a trip across the parking lot: his eyes were darting in all directions, and when a woman heading to the salon gave him a curious glance he nearly fainted on the spot, probably mistaking her appraisal of his makeover for suspicion of his gender. With the sunlight gleaming on his blonde hair, his bracelets tinkling, and his heels clopping noisily on the tarmac parking lot, he drew several more looks by the time they arrived at the car.

“Get in butt-first, and keep your knees together unless you want people to see that lacy black thong,” Kimberly advised, opening the car door for her ex.

“I know how to get into a freaking car, Kimmy,” Bobby whispered, glowering.

Kimberly got her phone out just in time to record him tumbling headfirst into the passenger seat with all the grace of a dying goose. “Barbie’s first time in high heels and a mini,” she sang. “It’s a learning process, right?”

She tagged Bobby, added a few choice hashtags, and posted it to her Instagram story. The likes and incredulous comments immediately started flooding in, most of them demanding to know if the hot blonde was really Bobby Vickerson.

“Come… See… For yourself…” she muttered, tapping out a reply.

“Who are you talking to?” Bobby demanded.

“Nobody,” Kimberly said sweetly. “Let’s hit the mall, cutie.”

#

The Green Lake mega-mall was the pride and joy of the town, proof, once again, of how utterly boring a place Green Lake was. That meant on a Saturday noon, it was absolutely packed with shoppers: moms and daughters, families with small screaming children, lost and bewildered boyfriends, and, of course, droves of teenagers from Jefferson High and other schools. It was understandable that Bobby was a little reluctant to get out of the car.

“I can’t do it, Kimmy,” he said, shaking his head furiously, making his hoop earrings swing. “I can’t do it, I’m seriously freaking out. This is cruel and unusual, you know that? It’s, like, it’s…”

“Part of the bet,” Kimberly said. “Here’s the way I see it, Bobby. You look hot. Face facts. You look like a hot girl, and it’s freaking you out. You know who gets even more attention than a hot girl? A hot girl freaking out or acting like a guy in drag. So if you want the medium humiliation instead of the extra spicy humiliation, your best option is to shut up, smile, and look pretty.”

Looking vaguely like he was going to be sick, Bobby nodded. Satisfied, Kimberly reached into the backseat and pulled out a white designer purse she had already loaded with the essentials, and added Bobby’s phone, keys, and wallet to it. She also tugged the corner of the blanket hiding his protein powder back into place, glad her ex was much too distracted to notice.

Once they were out of the car, she gave him one final inspection, tugging on his top, adjusting his miniskirt, and untangling a tendril of long blonde hair from one of his hoop earrings. As an unnecessary but emasculating last touch, she had him add a little more gloss to his lips with the help of his phone screen. She could see the fright in his pretty blue eyes as he adjusted the sit of the purse strap on his slender shoulder, and it was adorable.

Without further ado, Kimberly linked arms with her ex and marched him inside the mall. Almost as soon as they passed through the doors, she could hear Bobby’s breathing quicken, and for good reason -- two attractive blondes walking arm in arm drew a lot of eyes no matter what, and the noisy clopping of his high-heeled sandals did the rest. Kimberly was used to getting checked out, but Bobby had never experienced the male gaze from this side of the tracks before.

“Remember to smile,” she said, elbowing him.

What she got was more of a grimace, but with his ultra-pouty lips and perfect makeup just about any facial expression was alluring. By the time they got to the food court, there was absolutely no trace left of Bobby Vickerson’s patented cockiness or macho swagger -- he was way too overwhelmed, not to mention terrified, by the lustful stares he was getting from horny frat boys, horny teenaged delinquents, horny dads, horny ten-year-olds… Basically, any male who was into females and had two eyes in their head.

He was so busy blushing and fiddling with his hair and clothes that he didn’t realize he was swishing his way into a trap until it was too late. The food court table outside Orange Julius was currently occupied by none other than Jefferson High’s entire cheerleading squad, drawn to Kimberly’s Instagram story and invitation like moths to a porch light.

“Oh. Em. Ef. Gee.”

Beverly, the cheer captain and one of Bobby’s former hook-ups, had been the first to look up from her smoothie, and the pretty brunette’s mouth was now hanging open. Bobby was staring back with an expression of equal alarm. Kimberly was officially on Cloud Nine, possibly even Cloud Ten.

“Ladies, may I introduce the new, and improved, Barbie Vickerson?” she said sweetly, reaching for Bobby’s arm to prevent him from making a run for it. She pulled him forward into full view, nearly toppling him by accident. As he regained his balance on the high heels, the noise level suddenly went from 0 to 100 as stunned silence gave way to a chorus of incredulous squeals. The phones were out, and from the look on Bobby’s face he would have probably preferred the girls were holding switch-blades.

“Hey, come on!” he blurted, momentarily forgetting his “shut up and look pretty” policy. “I don’t want this all over my socials!”

“Oh, my god, it is way too late for that,” Beverly giggled. “I cannot believe this! All I need is a hashtag… How about ‘Tomcat to minx?’ Or ‘he’s a bad bitch?’ Oh, my god, I can’t believe how good he looks! Is that lace front, like, real hair?”

“Yep,” Kimberly said proudly. “No expense spared, remember? When my idiot ex agrees to a full makeover, he goes all out.”

“Oh my god, he looks like a Sephora model!” Ally chimed in. “Like, maybe there are two models in the family now? Whoever did his makeup is a serious artiste.”

All the excited squealing was turning heads throughout the food court, and Kimberly could see Bobby’s panic increasing by the second. Normally her ex loved being the center of attention, but it was clear this particular spotlight was killing him: his shoulders were rounded, as if he could make himself disappear by sheer will power, his made-up eyes were blinking rapidly, and his hands kept fluttering from the hem of his skirt to the bottom of his crop top, desperately trying to hide at least a sliver of his new appearance but unable to decide on what.

“Keep it down!” he snapped. “I don’t want the whole mall knowing I’m…”

Two middle-aged soccer moms walking past with their trays suddenly did a double-take at hearing Bobby’s voice. “Wait, is that a boy?” one of them demanded in a much-too-loud whisper.

The cheerleaders broke into fresh peals of laughter as the two women frowned and moved away, shaking their heads, no doubt wondering how they were ever going to explain such a thing to their poor children, and whatever happened to family values, et cetera. Bobby’s face turned bright red and his gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet anybody’s eyes.

“You’re not doing yourself any favors talking like that,” Ally gasped, still recovering from her laughter. She put on a gruff parody of a man’s voice and barked, “I don’t want the whole mall knowing I’m a guy!”

“One of these things is not like the other,” Beverly agreed. “But if he doesn’t open his mouth, wow. I mean, those lips? Hot.” She leaned in for a closer look. “Were they always that pouty? How did I never notice?”

Kimberly could tell that Bobby wanted, desperately, to blame the collagen injection. However, he was equally desperate to avoid detection as a guy and causing another minor scene, so his jaw remained clenched shut.

“And those cheekbones!” Daphne exclaimed. “How did I never realize how pretty he was? I mean, not just pretty boy pretty, but like, pretty pretty.”

Bobby could only stand there blushing as the girls oohed and aahed, marveling over every detail of his transformation to ultra-girly blonde bombshell, and Kimberly was loving every second of it. Judging by their reactions, not a single one of them had seen the feminine potential hiding behind Bobby’s swaggering macho athleticism -- even Kimberly had to admit she hadn’t expected him to look this hot -- but now, they would never be able to unsee it.

All the girls who once thought of Bobby as a stud were now busy cooing over his flawless makeup, giggling over his impractical heels and claw-like manicure, and admiring his slender, coltish legs and taut tummy, and she could see each compliment take another chunk out of her ex’s male ego. He was half-heartedly trying to hide his face from the camera phones with one manicured hand, while the other was still tugging nervously at his skirt.

In one masterful stroke, she had turned Jefferson High’s most eligible bachelor into the equivalent of a fellow cheerleader, or at best a swishy gay best friend in drag, totally desexing him. Not a single girl in town would view him the same way after this, especially not with what came next…

Right on cue, her phone buzzed.

“Josh Delacroix just texted me,” she announced, waving her phone. “He’s on his way to meet ‘Barbie’ up for their first date!”

The girls gasped, then broke into peals of laughter. “Oh my God, this is too much!” Beverly exclaimed. “This is amazing!”

“Wait, Josh is on this, too?” Bobby demanded, too shocked to remain silent. “Josh Delacroix? That’s my date? I thought you meant me and you!”

“As if,” Kimberly said. “I’m not into girls, and obviously neither is ‘Barbie’ -- she only dates studs. Big, manly studs. And you’d better work on your voice if you don’t want the whole mall listening in...”

Bobby glanced around wildly, making his hoop earrings dance, then lowered his voice to a whisper, doing his best to raise the pitch at the same time. “But Josh is my rival!” he sputtered. “My nemesis! He’s Moby Dick, and I’m the guy who, like, stabs him with the spear thing and uses his blubber for lamps. I can’t be seen in public like this with Josh Delacroix.”

Kimberly raised her eyebrows. “One, I’m impressed you actually read Moby Dick...”

“Sparknotes,” Bobby muttered. “Had to do a report last year.”

“And two, what kind of bet would it be if the loser got to decide his own punishment?” Kimberly smirked. She swiped Josh’s message away so she could send a quick reply to a certain “deshawnesome39,” then opened her camera. “Now, let’s send Josh a hot selfie so he can see what he has to look forward to!”

Bobby crossed his arms. “Yeah, miss me with that,” he said, in a breathy falsetto that was obviously his idea of a normal female timbre -- it was more like a kid imitating a sex phone operator, but she wasn’t about to correct it. “I’m not going on a date with a dude, even as a joke, and especially not with Josh.”

“So, you want to go back on the terms of the bet?” Kimberly asked. “Which means, you know, owing me fifteen hundred bucks?”

Beneath his perfect makeup, Bobby’s face paled.