James emerged from the shower area on wobbly legs, towel wrapped tightly around his petite frame like a security blanket. His cheeks burned hotter than the cold water he'd just endured, and he couldn't meet Trish's eyes as she lounged against a locker, already dressed and looking far too pleased with herself. What the hell just happened? he thought, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. One minute he was ogling the cheerleaders like it was a dream come true, the next... Dwayne's abs were flashing in his brain, and his body had betrayed him in ways he didn't even want to contemplate. This medallion messed with more than just my body. Get a grip, James. You're a guy. A straight guy. With a crush on Lisa, remember?
"Earth to Jamie," Trish teased, waving a hand in front of his face. "You look like you just saw a ghost—or maybe a hot knight in shining shorts. Come on, get dressed. We've got a date to prep for!"
"A date?" James squeaked, his voice cracking embarrassingly high. He snatched the bag Becky had left and rummaged through it, pulling out a fresh set of clothes: a pink sports bra (of course), tiny denim shorts that looked like they'd barely cover anything, and a cropped tank top with "Cheer Goddess" bedazzled across the chest. Becky's killing me here. "I never agreed to a date! Trish, tell Dwayne it's off. I can't—"
"Can't what? Turn down a hero who just saved your cute little butt?" Trish interrupted, batting her eyelashes innocently. "Becky already gave the address. Eight o'clock sharp. And trust me, Jamie, you need this. It'll help you blend in, get into character. Plus, Dwayne's a total catch. Captain of the track team, straight A's, and those muscles... mmm."
James groaned, slipping into the sports bra with awkward tugs. It hugged his C-cups snugly, pushing them up into prominent cleavage that made him want to cross his arms forever. The shorts were even worse—riding high on his toned thighs, accentuating the curve of his hips and the perky roundness Becky had "gifted" him. I look like a walking Barbie doll. If Lisa could see me now... The thought of Lisa sent a pang through him. He'd planned to tell her about the medallion Monday at work, maybe even use it to finally win her over. But now? Stuck as Jamie for a week, prancing around high school, and apparently going on dates with guys? This is a nightmare.
Becky burst into the locker room then, her face flushed from whatever conversation she'd had with the coach. "Okay, crisis averted—Mrs. Swanson bought the transfer story hook, line, and sinker. Jamie, you're officially enrolled. Classes start tomorrow: Algebra II, English Lit, Gym (obviously), and... Home Ec." She grinned sheepishly at the last one.
"Home Ec?" James yelped, yanking the tank top over his head. It clung to his damp skin, the fabric stretching taut over his chest. "Becky, this is getting out of hand. I agreed to cheerleading, not playing Susie Homemaker!"
"It's just one class," Becky said soothingly, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. "And it'll be fun! Baking cookies, sewing—girl stuff to help you fit in."
Trish snorted. "Yeah, 'fit in.' Speaking of, mall time! Jamie needs a killer outfit for tonight. Something that says 'damsel in distress, but make it sexy.'"
James opened his mouth to protest, but the girls were already dragging him out. Fine. One week. Survive the date, nail the competition, get the medallion back, change to normal. And somehow explain this to Lisa without sounding insane.
The mall was a gauntlet of horrors. Trish and Becky hauled James from store to store, holding up dresses, skirts, and tops that made his old male wardrobe look like monk robes. "Try this!" Trish shoved a slinky red mini-dress into his arms. "It'll hug those curves perfectly."
In the fitting room, James stared at his reflection, the dress clinging to every inch of his 5'1" frame like a second skin. The hem barely reached mid-thigh, the neckline plunged daringly low, and his breasts strained against the fabric, creating a valley of cleavage that screamed look at me. I could seduce anyone like this, he thought, then shook his head violently. No! Bad brain. Think of Lisa. Her smile, her laugh... not Dwayne's abs.
He stepped out, and the girls wolf-whistled. "Hot damn, Jamie!" Becky laughed. "Dwayne's gonna drop dead."
"Or propose," Trish added with a wink. "Accessories next—heels to make those legs endless."
By the time they piled back into Trish's car, James was laden with bags: the red dress, strappy black heels (3 inches—how do women walk in these?), makeup, and even a push-up bra "for extra oomph." His feet already ached from trying them on, and his mind raced with dread. A date. With a guy. What if he tries to kiss me? What if I... like it? No. Focus on the plan.
Back home, the afternoon blurred into "girl bootcamp." Becky quizzed him on cheer routines in the living room, making him practice high kicks (his skirt flipping up embarrassingly) and toe touches (breasts bouncing like jelly). Trish handled makeup tutorials, painting his face with foundation, eyeliner, and glossy pink lip stain. "Pucker up," she said, and James obeyed, feeling the unfamiliar weight of lashes and the tickle of blush.
"You're a natural," Becky encouraged during a water break. "Seriously, Uncle—er, Jamie—you're picking this up faster than Linda ever did."
James plopped onto the couch, fanning his flushed face. "Yeah, well, gymnastics in college helps. But this body... it's so bouncy. And light. I flipped higher than I expected." Secretly, a thrill buzzed through him—the adrenaline of nailing a liberty stance, the team's cheers. It's kinda fun. Like football, but... prettier.
Trish checked her phone. "Seven-thirty! Date time approaching. Jamie, shower—shave those legs smooth—and we'll do hair."
Shave? James gulped but complied, the razor gliding over his silky-smooth skin in the bathroom. No stubble anywhere—perks of the change? Slipping into the red dress and heels, he teetered to the mirror. Holy crap. The girl staring back was stunning: long golden-brown hair cascading in waves (thanks to the scrunchy), pouty lips, sparkling eyes, and a body that turned heads. If I were still James, I'd be all over this. But as Jamie... vulnerability hit hard. Dwayne's picking me up. In a car. Alone.
