High-Tops to High Heels: Part 7

That following Sunday afternoon, Green Lake’s least-frequented Starbucks location was graced by a brand new customer. Since Kimberly had shown up a half-hour early to scout the place for potential pervs in red hats, she got to witness the barista spill almond milk all over himself as the automatic doors breezed open and a stunning blonde breezed inside. Tanned, slender legs, flawless figure, prettily made-up face -- all the “hot girl” boxes were instantly checked in the brain of every guy in the vicinity.

Kimberly felt so proud. She had forced Bobby to shave fresh, legs and armpits, handing him the Venus disposable razor through the shower curtain and refusing to give him any clothing until he complied. It was necessary, since the outfit she’d bought for him showed a lot of skin. True to her word, no skirt was involved: instead, her ex was clad in an adorable, ultra-feminine, off-the-shoulder romper. She’d hunted high and low for the perfect garment, holding his new, hormone-enhanced measurements in hand, and she was pretty sure she had found it.

The romper’s poofy sleeves, elastic hidden under girlish ruffles, made it look like it was on the verge of slipping right off Bobby’s slender shoulders and necessitated a strapless push-up bra. Meanwhile, the peek-a-boo cut-out showed off a tempting slice of tan midriff, and a big floppy bow at the bust drew attention to his latest “developments.” It also happened to show more leg than any miniskirt could have, and, to top it all off, the baby blue pinstripes really brought out Bobby’s pretty eyes.

Naturally, her ex had absolutely hated it from the moment he saw it, which was a large part of the appeal. But it looked adorable on him, especially paired with the four-inch cork wedge sandals currently showing off his sparkly silver toenails. She had given him press-ons in the same glittery shade for his fingers, and while she wasn’t quite on Pam’s level when it came to beauty skills, his hair and makeup were absolutely on point.

She had decided to bust out the false eyelashes again, making them a part of “Barbie”’s standard look, and further enhanced his baby blues with liquid liner and a dusting of slightly-sparkly shadow. His lips didn’t have the collagen advantage this time around, so she’d made up for it by using lip-liner and painting them in extra full, dusty rose pink, and slathering on the gloss. She’d even manage to clean up his brows, not quite to the extent of Pam’s tweezing, but definitely enough to restore some feminine precision.

His wig, meanwhile, had been properly brushed and treated, now spilling in a glamorous blonde cascade down his tanned shoulders -- it was definite shampoo model hair, especially because it wasn’t really his. Jewelry completed the look: swinging drop earrings that clicked occasionally against the expensive AirPods in his ears, bracelets and a couple rings that highlighted his slender wrists and manicured hands, and a gold pendant necklace that gleamed at the perfect height to draw eyes both to his flawless collarbones and to what lay further south.

If any of the customers happened to have been at the Green Lake mall seven weeks earlier, they might have recognized the memorable blonde beauty, but also noticed a few differences. For one thing, the girl from seven weeks ago had been a blushing, wobbling mess. This time around, though she still had a look of utter distaste on her pretty features, she strode confidently in her high heels, lending her hips a sensuous sway with each clopping step. The designer purse on her shoulder looked less like a foreign object and more like a comfortable accessory.

Perhaps even more noticeable, at least to male observers, her romper was now hugging a much curvier butt, and she had added two brand new weapons to her arsenal. Peeking over the floppy feminine bow, modestly-sized, but unmistakable: boobs. “Barbie” officially had cleavage, and there was no way Kimberly was going to let her ex get away without displaying it, no matter how much he’d whined and complained upon seeing himself in the mirror.

Now, watching him swish his way to the counter and snap just about every neck on the trip there, she was almost in awe of her own creation -- right up until his wedge caught the edge of a floor tile, and he nearly fell flat on his face. So much for athletic poise. He stumbled forward, steadied himself on the nearest table, and straightened up with a terrific blush. A blonde tendril of hair caught on his sticky lip gloss, and he had to delicately pull it to the side with one claw-tipped nail, eyelashes fluttering as he gave several nervous blinks.

“Hey, you okay?” asked the male occupant of said table, a good-looking guy in his thirties. The female occupant, who was clearly his date, chose to treat Bobby to a catty stare instead.

“Fine!” Bobby blurted, in his somewhat-improved “girl voice.” It was still breathy and a little too high-pitched to sound natural, but it was no longer “ten year old boy imitating a sex operator” bad. “Um, how about you?”

“Pretty good,” the guy said, exchanging an awkward glance with his date. “Thanks?”

“Real smooth, Barbie,” Kimberly said into her phone in a low voice. They were already on the call: Bobby’s phone, stuffed in his purse, was synced to his AirPods. At her comment, his eyes darted around the coffee shop, and he glared when he caught sight of her sitting in the corner with her MacBook, partially disguised by big sunglasses and a ball cap. “Don’t look, dummy,” Kimberly hissed. “Mission Impossible, remember?”

Her ex grimaced, made a surprisingly graceful pirouette, and finished his walk up to the counter. The feminine swish he leant to his hips was apparently magnetic: Kimberly watched the guy on the date, who was now blowing any shot he’d had with her, almost pull an “Exorcist” trying to follow Bobby’s strut.

“You said I had to act more polite,” Bobby hissed. “You know, “girls are more socially aware,” or whatever. I was being polite!”

“Just order your drink, then take the middle table,” Kimberly said. “I hope this guy doesn’t show up in a MAGA hat. Like, that only just occurred to me.”

“Are you trying to say mega-hat?” Bobby whispered. “What the hell does that even mean? Like, it’s extra big?”

Kimberly’s eyes nearly rolled out of her head, but she was spared from having to explain by the interjection of the barista, who had managed to clean the almond milk off his apron. “Hey, welcome to Starbucks,” he said. “What can I get started for you today, miss?”

“Mango smoothie, mega size,” Bobby said brusquely, though still affecting his falsetto.

“Uh, do you mean “grande” size?” the barista asked, eyes fixed firmly on Bobby’s sliver of exposed cleavage. Kimberly perked up. She was about to witness a very important “first” in Bobby’s life -- someone talking to his chest instead of his face. She waited for her ex to notice, but he was obliviously scanning the menu behind the counter.

“Whatever, Starbucks guy,” Bobby sighed breathily, and Kimberly’s eyebrows shot up involuntarily. Bobby had never been respectful to people in the service industry, but now, being disrespectful while also clutching a designer purse, he had made the transition from “entitled jerk” to “basic bitch.” It was sort of amazing.

“Name?” the barista asked, in a much less friendly way, obviously cooled off a little by the attitude.

“Barbie,” Bobby said, suddenly much quieter -- obviously he still hated the name.

“What’s that?” the barista frowned.

Bobby blushed. “Barbie,” he repeated, choosing to lean forward instead of raising his voice. It was the wrong choice. The blush and the timid whisper, together with his posture, made it look like he was being flirtatious, intentionally giving the barista a peek at his cleavage. The barista clearly interpreted it as such, because his expression suddenly changed from put-upon service worker to wannabe Lothario.

“I think I saw your car in the parking lot,” the barista said, already grinning at his own wit. “The pink Jeep, right?”

His eyes darted down to Bobby’s bust again, and this time Kimberly got what she’d been waiting for: Bobby noticed exactly where the guy was looking. She saw horror, indignation, and disgust flash across her ex’s face in the span of a single second. But to her utter delight, rather than trying to tell the guy off in his quavery “girl voice” or simply march away in a huff, Bobby froze like a deer in the headlights.

It seemed his male ego was unable to process the fact that another male, the kind he once denigrated and made fun of for working dead-end jobs despite the fact that he’d never had a job in his life, was busy enjoying the sight of his push-up bra enhanced cleavage. Maybe her ex had noticed a few guys eyeing his chest at the mall, but he would have been able to comfort himself with the knowledge that they were staring at padding, nothing more.

Now, however, they were undeniably real boobs, and they were his boobs. Kimberly watched Bobby’s face turn bright pink under his makeup, and to make matters worse, the blush was quickly spreading all the way to the tops of his breasts.

“You know, I’m a “grande” myself,” the barista said, pushing his luck but tempering the remark with a cheesy wink. “Cash or card, cutie?”

Bobby Vickerson once would have socked any guy who called him “cutie” in the nose, but times were a-changing. Now Kimberly watched in incredulous delight as her ex, still blushing furiously, fumbled in his purse like a flustered airhead until he finally found a twenty-dollar bill. The barista took it and made change, still eyeing Bobby admiringly but clearly trying to gauge if he had a shot or not with such a hot blonde. Throwing caution to the wind, the guy kept the change in his cupped palm instead of dumping it onto the counter -- Kimberly had been subjected to this move before. When Bobby reached for his change instinctively, he found his soft manicured hand enclosed by the barista’s.

“Nice nails,” the guy said. “Salon, or you do them yourself?”

God, Kimberly wanted a snapshot. Her macho, pig-headed ex, all-star athlete Bobby Vickerson, slightly off-balance in his pretty cork-wedge sandals, leaning forward just enough to exaggerate the camber of his bare back and make his hormone-plumped buttocks strain invitingly against the fabric of his ruffly blue romper. Blonde hair tumbling around his made-up face, pendant necklace dancing teasingly in front of his boobs, dainty hand caught in the grasp of another guy who clearly wanted him. And the best part was, Bobby still had no idea how to deal with it.

“My friend did them,” he squeaked, casting a glance in Kimberly’s direction which she was careful to ignore.

“I think long nails are really sexy on girls,” the barista said, now drawing an irritated glance from his female co-worker. “What do you think?”

“Uh...” Bobby tugged his hand free. “Yes?”

Clearly thinking he had things in the bag, the barista scrawled a phone number on the receipt and handed it over with a wink. “Well, I don’t mind a little scratching,” he said. “Call me.”

Not meeting the guy’s eyes, Bobby took the receipt and his change and minced to the other end of the counter to await his mango smoothie. The girl who was making it for him gave him a look of disdain for what she had obviously interpreted as bimbo-esque flirting. Bobby blushed and looked away. He was refusing to meet Kimberly’s eyes, too, for which she couldn’t really blame him. Getting hit on by a horny barista in front of an ex had to be a little embarrassing, but if she wanted this Mission Impossible to go off without a hitch, she couldn’t rub it in. She needed to keep him focused on the plan.

“You did good,” she said. “I mean, he definitely thought you were a girl.”

Bobby looked momentarily stricken, then plastered a fake smile to his face. He picked up his smoothie and carried it past her on his way to the most central table. She couldn’t help but notice that they’d gotten the name wrong, as per usual. The girl had written “Bobbi” on it. Kimberly could only smile. Just another one of life’s little ironies.

#

The stage was set. Kimberly was tucked away in her corner, pretending to be totally absorbed watching something on her laptop, and the coffee shop had gotten pretty empty otherwise. The couple on the date had left, separately, and now it was just her, “Barbie,” two old men reading newspapers, and a hipster guy with a moustache playing on his phone in the opposite corner.

There was no way the blackmailer could miss his date, since Bobby was sitting right in the middle of the coffee shop, sucking away at his mango smoothie, legs crossed prettily at the thigh and one foot bobbing up and down in a nervous gesture turned incredibly feminine, drawing attention to his sparkly toenail polish and stylish sandals. He seemed to be recovering from the barista’s attentions -- the guy had been reprimanded by his manager shortly afterwards and sent to the back to stock shelves, which probably helped. Mango smoothies also seemed to have a calming effect where Bobby was concerned.

The automatic door breezed open. Kimberly subtly turned her head, saw a flash of red, and zeroed in. Her heart sped up with the thrill of the hunt. There he was: the blackmailer. Kimberly wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t someone so normal looking. The guy was probably in his early twenties, a college student, in decent shape and possessing a nicely-trimmed beard, dressed in a casual plaid shirt and black jeans. As promised, he was wearing a bright red beanie hat.

Looking back to Bobby, who had also caught sight of the guy, Kimberly could see absolute rage about to break the surface. Her ex’s fists were clenched so tight his sparkly claws were in danger of snapping off, his teeth were clearly gritted behind his glossy lips, and he was breathing so hard his chest was heaving, which had the likely-undesired effect of making his breasts actually jiggle, just slightly, behind the low cut of his top. She could already picture him ruining everything, either by getting up and trying to deck the guy, or, if his female disguise was still important to him, throwing the smoothie in the guy’s face and then scratching his eyes out. The barista would probably be next.

“Hey, deep breaths,” Kimberly whispered. “You can’t blow this, remember? I know you hate this guy, but “Barbie” doesn’t. “Barbie” is curious about him, and a little scared of him, and a little attracted to him. Got it? I know you can act, you did it the whole first month we dated, so act.”

The speech seemed to shake Bobby’s head clear. She could see him draw a deep breath, composing himself and inadvertently making his cleavage a target yet again -- the blackmailer’s eyes took an immediate sight-seeing detour, though he seemed more surprised than lecherous. As the guy sat down, Bobby managed to greet him with a pained smile.

“Hi!” he chirped, “girly voice” activated. “You know, I totally love Starbucks! Great choice!”

“Uh, yeah,” the blackmailer said, sitting down. In contrast to Bobby’s falsetto, he seemed to be trying to make his voice as deep and macho as possible. “Nice to meet you in person, beautiful. I’m Mike.”

“Nice to meet you in person, Mike,” Bobby said, emphasizing the name in case his AirPods hadn’t picked it up loudly enough for Kimberly to hear.

“Ask him if it’s short for something,” Kimberly whispered. “Don’t ask him his last name, it’ll spook him. Oh, and be flirty when you do it. Play with your hair.”

The prospect of flirting with his blackmailer was clearly a painful one, but Bobby followed orders, clumsily twirling a lock of his blonde wig between two fingers. “Is that, like, short for something?” he asked. “Michael? Michelangelo?”

Mike the Blackmailer hesitated for a second before responding, still in the same deep baritone. “Just Mike. You look really sexy, by the way. Cute outfit. Totally adorbs. Uh, adorable. I’d like to just tear it off you right here.” Mike’s eyes traveled up and down Bobby’s feminized body, and he gave an exaggerated grunt of approval, adding something she couldn’t quite make out.

Kimberly watched her ex’s face go red, but she couldn’t fully enjoy Bobby’s humiliation because this interaction was weird on multiple levels. Something was definitely off about this Mike guy. She knew some people had a big contrast between their real-life and online personas, but he didn’t seem like some nerdy hacker type thrust into sunlight for the first time. He seemed almost like he was playing a role, the same way Bobby was.

“Get closer,” Kimberly ordered. “I didn’t hear the last thing he said.”

Bobby looked like he would rather get close to a basket of venomous snakes, but he leaned forward to get his AirPods a little nearer to Mike’s mouth, placing both elbows on the table and inadvertently framing his cleavage in a very eye-catching way. This had been Kimberly’s ulterior motive, and, to her bafflement, Mike the Perv didn’t seem to even notice.

“So what school do you go to?” Bobby asked breathily. “You look, um, older than me?”

Bobby was pushing for information way too quickly, and also probably didn’t realize he sounded like complete jail-bait trying to seduce an older guy. But Kimberly was more interested in the way Mike’s answer, yet again, came with a strange delay.

“I go to Green Lake College,” he said gruffly. “I’m a theatre major.” He cocked his head to the side. “Uh, I mean, football major. I play football.” He pulled his beanie cap up slightly, to scratch his neck in an oddly nervous gesture, and Kimberly saw a flash of white.

“Oh, look, we both have AirPods,” Bobby chirped. “Cool!”

Kimberly’s eyes narrowed. Mike was wearing AirPods, concealed under his beanie, and was acting really, really weird. It could only mean one thing. She started scanning the coffee shop, but was jerked back to the conversation when Mike slammed his hand on the table.

“Look, beautiful, I’m going to stop blackmailing you,” he announced abruptly. “I feel bad about it. I’m going to delete all that stuff I got off your laptop, get off your socials, and stop messaging you. I know you felt like we had a connection, but…” Mike paused, then, as if warming to what he was saying, continued with a bolder voice. “I’m just not the one for you, beautiful. You should be with someone your own age. You know, a high-schooler. Someone you have shared interests with. Sometimes, the right person is under our noses all along! Me, I once dated a guy, I mean, a girl, who I used to absolutely hate. She and I had this sort of rivalry going on, but it turned out she was actually an amazing person once I set all that aside.”

Bobby’s look of hatred had been replaced by sheer puzzlement. Kimberly couldn’t blame him. She was totally baffled as Mike stood up, putting his hand on his heart dramatically.

“I truly believe you can find that same kind of connection, beautiful,” he said. “Just give it a chance. Also, Catholic guys aren’t all repressed. Some of them are really open-minded.” He scratched his head. “I just had to get that off my chest,” he added lamely. “There is absolutely too much anti-Catholic rhetoric in Starbucks stores across America. Anyways, good luck finding that guy, beautiful. Later.”

With that, he bounced out of the coffee shop with a slight prance in his gait that was definitely more theatre major than football player. Bobby was sitting there stunned, pretty pink mouth hanging open, looking for all the world like a spurned hot girl who had just been dumped in public. Kimberly didn’t have time to enjoy it. She was too busy staring at the hipster sitting in the opposite corner of the Starbucks. He was wearing a golf hat and big wire-frame glasses, and his bristly red moustache covered his mouth, but all the same…

She grabbed her phone, scrolled through her contact list, and selected Josh Delacroix’s number. Hey there, mountaindew18, she tapped out. You and I need to talk.

Across the store, the hipster jerked backwards from his phone as if it was suddenly venomous. Then, with one last glance towards the hot blonde in the middle of the coffee shop, he got up, revealing himself to be suspiciously tall, and sneaked out the door. Kimberly could hardly believe what she had just discovered. Her mind was racing with possibilities, potentially good ones, potentially disastrous ones, for the “girlify Bobby Vickerson” master plan.

“Kimmy?” Bobby whispered. “Yo, Kimmy! What the hell just happened?” He was looking over at her corner, and now wiggled his manicured fingers in a wave to get her attention.

“I guess he wants you to meet a nice Catholic boy,” Kimberly said, not bothering to correct her ex’s use of her nickname. “I think we’re in the clear now. Mission Impossible over, or whatever.”

With a grimace, Bobby plucked the AirPods from his ears and dropped them into his purse. Kimberly watched her ex slide off his chair, still a little awkwardly, and walk over. He was definitely better at the strutting part than the sitting part -- she guessed Mister Perv, AKA Josh Delacroix, hadn’t been making him practice that. She was still reeling from the revelation, but whatever she did with the information, she wasn’t about to hand it over to her ex.

“Well, we know his first name and his school,” Bobby said, a little scratchily, obviously tired of using his “girl” register. “And he’s on the football team. Probably, like, third-string. So we should be able to reverse blackmail him, right? That’s the plan?”

In Kimberly’s opinion, it was a lot more likely that “Mike” -- probably not the guy’s real name -- was a gay theatre student who had agreed to participate in a really weird, AirPod-directed improv skit for twenty bucks. But she wasn’t sharing that particular opinion with Bobby.

“It sounded like he was telling the truth,” Kimberly said, trying to sound pensive. “He got pretty into it at the end, there. I think we should sit tight, and see what happens. Sometimes these things really do just go away on their own.”

Bobby looked less than convinced. But before he could argue, in an exhibit of things that didn’t just go away on their own, the barista came sauntering over, untying his apron. “Still hanging around for me?” he asked jokingly. “That’s cute, but you should know it comes across as a little clingy.”

Kimberly watched her ex turn red yet again. She wanted to ruin Bobby’s life, sure, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t allow him a few small victories here and there. In fact, it was probably better for the plan in the long run, especially now that she was entering the uncharted territory of Phase Three featuring Josh Delacroix the secret perv. She pushed her still mostly-full, mostly-cold coffee across the table to him, even going so far as to remove the lid.

“Do it,” she said. “It’s the ultimate female power move.”

Bobby stared at her in confusion for a second, then, realizing what she was proposing, grabbed the foam cup and hurled its contents directly into the barista’s grinning face. Kimberly had to give credit where credit was due: girlified or not, her ex’s aim was still pretty damn accurate.

#

The following day at school, Bobby, for the first time in recent memory, seemed happy. It was a little depressing to Kimberly, especially since he was back to his usual sweatpants, sneakers, and hoodie instead of swishing around in high heels and a cute, sexy outfit -- the contrast between yesterday’s flawless “Barbie” and his current appearance was unsettling. She kept wanting to whip out her mascara wand and some lip gloss to pretty him back up, even as she nodded along to his latest news.

“So he even disappeared from my contacts, and all his messages are gone, too,” Bobby finished, with a look of great satisfaction. “I think that pervy nutcase was telling the truth. Ha! I’m home free! I can go back to jacking off with my laptop!”

“Uh huh,” Kimberly said, checking her phone and seeing a new message from Josh Delacroix. “Great. Great. Look, I have study hall, so I’ll see you later, okay?”

She took off, waving to Ally and Daphne on the way down the hall, but kept right on going out the doors into the parking lot. She had arranged a sit-down meeting with Josh, this time at Green Lake’s second-least frequented Starbucks location. She had a feeling the barista at the other place might still be nursing a grudge.

When she pulled up to the coffee shop ten minutes later, she could already see Josh sitting at a table inside, moustache-free and wearing his usual Saint Ceylan’s Sprites track suit. He had already ordered what looked like a vitamin water -- athletes -- and so Kimberly didn’t bother heading to the counter herself. She walked in, bee-lined to his table, and cut right to the chase.

“Okay, Josh, spill,” she said, sitting down across from him. “What’s going on? What’s with this pervy blackmail bullshit?”

The Saint Ceylan’s basketball star looked around, wincing, and lowered his voice. “Look,” he said. “I know it was wrong. It was just, like, once I started I couldn’t stop. Ever since the first time I saw her, it’s like…” He trailed off. “I know it’s crazy, but I’m in love.”

Kimberly blinked. “You’re in love with Bobby.”

Josh’s face went red. “With Barbie,” he corrected. “I thought it would go away, but even after the mini-putt thing I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I watched that video of her over and over, but it wasn’t enough. Just thinking about never being able to see her again, and only ever seeing Bobby? It drove me nuts. So, I hacked her.”

Kimberly had about a million questions, but she chose to lean back and give Josh an impenetrable glare instead. The basketball star grimaced, and started to speak a little faster and more frantically, unloading what was clearly a guilty conscience.

“I know it was weird, and pervy, and immoral, and illegal,” he said. “But it was the only way I could see her again! And I was right, wasn’t I? That girl I saw in the video, that girl I met in the mall and played mini-putt with, that gorgeous, perfect, flawless…” He swallowed. “That girl was the real her! Not Bobby Vickerson the trash-talker. That guy is just her cover, you know? So when Barbie confessed to me about, you know, transitioning? And taking hormones?” Josh sighed and rubbed his temples. “It confirmed all my suspicions,” he said. “But it also meant I had to find a way to get her and me out of the whole blackmail mess. So I hired that actor off Fiverr, Mike, and got him to pretend to be the blackmailer, and break it all off.” Josh gave a resigned shrug. “He’s not a great actor.”

Kimberly pursed her lips, weighing her options. She could let Josh keep believing his little fantasy, about Bobby secretly wanting to be a girl, but that would mean juggling yet another lie. The alternative was hedging on Josh’s clear obsession with “Barbie” -- and if that didn’t work, she had copies of all the messages he’d sent to Bobby, so reverse blackmail was still on the table.

“Turn your phone off,” Kimberly said. “I’m about to share some sensitive information. I know you like stealing people’s personal info, and I don’t want you recording this.”

“I’m not,” Josh protested, but he took his phone out of his pocket and turned it off.

“There’s just one problem with your plan,” Kimberly said. “That confession was made-up. Bobby’s not “transitioning.” At least, not on purpose.”

It was Josh’s turn to blink stupidly. “Are you kidding?” he frowned. “You saw how she looks in a bra and panties, right?”

“Oh, Bobby’s taking hormones,” Kimberly continued. “He just doesn’t know it. Let me fill you in a little bit…”

Taking a deep breath to brace herself, Kimberly told him the whole story. She started at the beginning, with Bobby dumping her, calling her a dumb blonde bimbo and saying the words she wanted to haunt him forever: that he would be better off dating a Barbie doll. She explained about finding the Halloween photo and getting the idea for the makeover bet. She even showed Josh the meticulous entries she had been making on his fake LiveJournal, charting his progress from “boy to babe,” and told him about the high-powered hormones she’d bought from Skeeter. But at this point in the story, she made an important change.

“I thought I would just dose him for a couple weeks, and maybe it would give him ED, or something,” she said. “And I figured the LiveJournal would be embarrassing, but he would be able to claim it was a prank. But after that day at the salon, and seeing him at the mall, and the mini-putt, I knew I had to go all in.” She looked away, putting a guilty expression on her face. “It’s like you said, Josh. He was just so gorgeous. Perfect. Flawless. I couldn’t stop thinking about “Barbie.” Not in like, the romantic way. That’s all yours. But Bobby was such a perfect girl, I couldn’t help but think it was just… Meant to be.”

Josh’s mouth was hanging open. “Yes!” he exclaimed, in a hushed voice. “Exactly!”

“It was like a beautiful butterfly was stuck in this cocoon,” Kimberly continued, laying it on even thicker. “This ugly, macho, sexist cocoon. And I had to help that butterfly be free, you know? Even if Bobby doesn’t know it, we’re doing this for his own good.”

“We’re doing this?” Josh echoed.

“That’s right,” Kimberly said. “You and I can help each other, Josh. We can make sure “Barbie” becomes a permanent fixture. Sure, you got a little carried away, but you’re not a bad guy. Your heart is in the exact right place, and you saw exactly what I saw: a beautiful girl trapped living a boy’s life, pretending to be some big basketball star, when she should actually be a cheerleader. Your cheerleader.”

The Saint Ceylan’s star sat back in his seat, looking stunned. She had hit him with every trick in the book, and she could see his sense of morality warring with his desire for “Barbie.” She could see him justifying it to himself, piece by piece.

“We’re doing this,” Josh repeated, this time not in question form. “And it’s for her own good. She’ll see that eventually, right?” He took a deep breath. “So what’s next?”

Hook, line, and sinker. Kimberly grinned. “Next,” she said, “is a little thing I call Phase Three.”