Gladys was about to pull on a pair of jeans that were now much smaller than they had been when she entered the room, when she was interrupted by the locker room door opening. Coach Felicia Barry stepped in, strong hands on well-toned hips. The woman was in her early-40's, but still maintained the physique that brought her just shy of qualifying for the 1996 US Olympic volleyball team. She still ran to work every day, still lifted weights, and could still out-compete almost all the senior boys in most athletic events.
And she was not happy that one of her students had snuck out of gym early.
The elegant hawk-like features of her face stared down the former cow of the school, the girl who no longer had any legitimate reason to want to change alone, and so had never spoken to her coach about leaving early. "How dare you." She took a calculated step forward.
"Excuse me?" Gladys squeaked out.
"Do we think that my gym rules don't apply to everyone, Miss Brewer?"
"I-"
"If there is a pressing issue, what are we supposed to do before leaving the gym?"
"Ask permission?"
"And what did we forget to do before leaving the gym today, Miss Brewer?"
"Ask permission?"
"So tell me, what was so important that made you forget the rules of my gym?"
Gladys felt like the world was closing in around her as she fumbled for an answer. Why had she left early? She couldn't-- then something clicked, and she found her confidence again, to her own surprise.
"I'm having a problem with my underwear. Can I trade with you?"
Coach Barry was caught off-guard for a moment, then looked incredulously at Gladys for another, before the magic of Sarah's wish made it to her. "And that she will trade underwear with one person before nightfall."
Coach Barry smiled. "Sure, no problem. What do you need?"
"Your panties," she replied, then thought a moment. "Though I guess it would be silly not to match. Can we trade bras, too?"
The coach nodded as she pulled off her shirt and revealed a set of rock-hard abs below her white sports bra, then pulled down her sweatpants to reveal a solid white pair of spandex boyshorts.
As Felicia Barry received the pair of lacy black panties from Gladys, she considered them from an athletic perspective: they simply weren't practical. Too decorative, too fragile. Felicia was driven, goal oriented, and anything that didn't lead her to a specific and worthwhile goal was unnecessary. But she'd do it this one time, she thought to herself.
She pulled off her panties and slid on Gladys' pair, and then the changes started. They weren't as dramatic as Gladys', but here and there they were noticeable: formerly plain fingernails now had a coat of red, as did formerly plain lips. Formerly solid brown hair saw streaks of bleach blonde run through it. Muscles softened, though only a tad, only enough to bring some smoothness into formerly sharp edges. And formerly lacy black panties lost all decoration, all adornments, and became plain, solid cotton and straight elastic as Sarah began to feel a bit more no-nonsense.
While the panties conformed a bit to Felicia's normal standards because Sarah was affected by the wish to "absorb characteristics from anyone that wears them," the matching bra that the coach then took from Gladys, several cup sizes too big and full of patterns and lace, were only affected by the wish which contained the words "as if they were her own," and while the wish didn't explicitly talk about bras, once they had entered the picture, the magic put them in the category that made the most sense.
Felicia's bust expanded generously as the woman fastened her new bra behind herself. She now had proportions that would have prevented her from a reasonable volleyball career, along with most physical sports, but that was okay because now she was absolutely the kind of person who'd wear clothes just for decoration, like this flimsy, showy bra. Eye makeup appeared on her face, pink studs in her ears, her hair finished bleaching itself to a pure blonde, and her previously dour expression shifted into the type of permanent smile generally reserved for PR executives, television presenters, or even cheerleaders. Her muscles melted further: she was still in shape, but it was a much girlier shape than it had previously been.
She looked around and found her clothes, a pair of cheer shorts and a tank top, as Gladys began to don her own new underwear.
Thick white spandex was drawn up legs that became increasingly taut, increasingly toned. The hands that gripped the fabric became sharper, more powerful. The panties that came to rest on Gladys Brewer's hips did so on the body of an athlete: the kind of person who would invest in practical underwear that increased her performance.
Pulling on the sports bra only took her farther. Tone turned to chisel, her posture became deliberate. Her breasts deflated until they fit comfortably inside the garment, until it supplied a peak level of support. Gladys' expression became hard as food shifted in her mind from something that brought pleasure, to a tool she used to perform better. She'd received thinness from Sarah, and now she had received athleticism and determination from Coach Barry.
The girl pulled on a loose T-shirt followed by black tights and workout shorts, and then her coach turned to her.
"You know why I called you back to the locker room early, don't you?" she asked though her seemingly-permanent smile.
"You're going to ask me to join the cheer squad again?"
Coach Barry pursed her lips slightly. "You know we could use someone with your strength, and I'm sure you'd be a great influence on the rest of the girls."
"Yeah, yeah, and now you're going to tell me that your time as a Patriots cheerleader was the best years of your life, and that if I just apply myself--"
"No, I understood from our last conversation that I can't pull you away from tennis completely, but I thought that maybe we could come to a compromise."
"What kind of compromise?"
"Well," Coach Barry's smile grew, "I don't know if you're aware, but my husband happens to be the tennis pro over at Lake Point Grove Country Club, and he used to be nationally ranked. Now I've talked to him since the last time we spoke, and he said that as a favor to me, he's willing to let you in to use the facilities there for free, and he's willing to work with you one-on-one."
"What was his rank?"
"Well, a torn ACL ended his career pretty early, but he likes to brag about the time he was swept in straight sets by Pete Sampras."
"He was swept?"
Coach Barry's eyes gleamed as she nodded. "In the first round. But by Sampras! You don't get much better than that."
"How much are you asking in return?"
"Two practices a week, two hours after school, and I'll drive you straight to the Country Club as soon as we're done."
Gladys gave Coach Barry a hard look.
"He knows the ins and outs," the coach tried to soften her, "he can get you into tournaments."
"I'll think about it."
The door to the locker room opened again, and the room was soon full of teenage girls. Class had finally ended, leaving a slightly different student body and faculty from the one that existed when it began.
