Highway to Elle
Chapter 3: Short Notice
by Paige Turner

Chapter 3: Short Notice

The day after meeting the cheer captains, Logan found himself back in Dr. Gupta's clinical office. She was reviewing footage from his interaction with Alexis, Madison, and Tiffany—Logan hadn't even realized he was being recorded.

"Your integration parameters remain significantly outside acceptable ranges," Dr. Gupta stated, gesturing toward the screen. As Logan watched the video, he cringed at how clearly he stood out. Standing four to five inches taller than Alexis and the others, Logan's frame still retained hints of its athletic past—shoulders too broad for a typical female cheerleader and a physique that lacked the developed curves the three seniors displayed.

Despite months of treatments, the difference was unmistakable. Worse, he could see the subtle but telling male mannerisms he hadn't even been aware of—the way he stood with his weight shifted, how he gestured when speaking, even the occasional drop in his voice.

"The physical disparities create unnecessary attention. Your behavioral patterns still contain masculine identifiers that could trigger recognition anomalies." She closed the video file and fixed Logan with her cold, calculating gaze. "Accelerated integration protocols must be implemented immediately. You must pass close observation at the full team assembly, but your current physiological configuration presents unacceptable risk factors."

Logan hated the idea of "accelerating" anything related to GIRLI, but knew that if he wanted to avoid discovery, he had no choice.

"Your height variance creates unnecessary scrutiny," Dr. Gupta noted with clinical detachment. "Expedited anthropometric parameter normalization will be implemented immediately through enhanced calcium matrix manipulation and increased vertebral compression."

The treatments intensified with methodical precision. Dr. Gupta administered what she called "enhanced osteogenic modulators" through a series of injections that burned as they entered Logan's spine and major joints. "These compounds accelerate the compression process by altering bone density at the cellular level," she explained as Logan winced from the intensifying discomfort.

The familiar night-time "skeletal alignment stabilizer" was replaced with a more comprehensive compression system that maintained constant pressure on Logan's entire frame while he slept. "The sustained compression optimizes the restructuring compounds while you rest," Dr. Gupta instructed as she adjusted the increasingly tight straps. "Wear it for a minimum of eight hours nightly to achieve maximum height reduction."

But what Logan now dreaded the most were his frequent visits to the "Somatic Acceleration Pod"—a cylindrical chamber that sealed around his body and filled with luminescent gel while he breathed through a tube. As the machine hummed to life, unsettling pulses synchronized with waves of colored light, creating an intense tingling sensation throughout Logan's body. He could swear he felt his tissues shifting and reorganizing at an accelerated pace, the uncomfortable process leaving him exhausted and visibly altered when Dr. Gupta would finally extract him from the pod hours later.

Each session inside that glowing cylinder triggered a primal urge to escape. His instincts screamed to run, to fight, to break free from this nightmare. But the hard reality was that he had nowhere to go. The small apartment and borrowed clothes were all he had left, and even those weren't truly his. His body no longer felt like his own property. He was trapped in a limbo between who he used to be and whatever future GIRLI was creating for him—with the pod being his only passage forward.

The accelerated treatments produced dramatic results. Within just three weeks, Logan's height had decreased from 5'10" to an astonishing 5'6"—a full eight inches shorter than his original 6'2" frame. The dramatic reduction was accompanied by proportional changes throughout his body, creating a petite yet increasingly feminine silhouette that Dr. Gupta declared "approaching acceptable parameters for team integration."

The dramatic height reduction affected every aspect of Logan's daily existence and made him feel like the world was expanding around him. His apartment now felt strangely oversized, amplifying the hollow emptiness of the space and how lonely each night inside it felt. Each morning, he found himself instinctively reaching for objects slightly too low, his muscle memory still calibrated to his former proportions. And he now had to climb rather than step into the SUV that transported him to and from training each day.

It seemed that GIRLI staff replaced some item of clothing from his closet almost every day while he was at Westridge for training. Large practice uniform shells were replaced by mediums, then smalls. The team-issued sneakers shrank from women's 12 to 10.5, then 9, before settling at an 8.

The few Westlake University football t-shirts he'd been allowed to keep as sleepwear provided the most stark reminder of his transformation. Once properly fitted to his athletic frame, they now hung like tents from body, the hems reaching his upper thigh, the sleeves extending past his elbows, and the collar constantly slipping off his shoulder.

His body's silhouette underwent similarly accelerated changes during this period. His waist narrowed dramatically while his hips developed a more pronounced curve. His shoulders became noticeably less broad, their once-powerful musculature redistributing into a more delicate frame. His facial features continued their softening process, with cheekbones becoming more prominent and jawline less defined.

"Your physiological metrics are stabilizing appropriately," Dr. Gupta observed one morning, recording his measurements with digital calipers. "The data suggests your height is leveling off at approximately 5'6". The initial phase of osseous restructuring appears to be concluding."

Logan felt a wave of relief wash over him. Though the transformation had already reduced his once-powerful frame by eight inches, the thought that this part of the process might be complete offered a small comfort. At least he wouldn't get any smaller—he could adapt to his new reality if it would just stop changing.

"So I won't shrink any further?" he asked cautiously.

"Current projections indicate height stabilization at your present parameters," Dr. Gupta replied, making notes in her tablet. "Unless necessary for enhanced probability of institutional placement, your vertical dimensions should remain consistent."

The qualifier in her statement didn't register fully with Logan, who was too focused on the revelation that some aspect of his transformation might finally be complete.

Two days later, Logan's phone lit up with a group text from Alexis to him, Madison, and Tiffany.

"EMERGENCY STYLE INTERVENTION NEEDED," the message declared in all caps. "Just watched Elle's latest practice footage. Tumbling = amazing. Everything else = disaster. No way she meets the squad looking like that."

A barrage of texts followed from all three cheerleaders, culminating in Alexis's final decree: "Saturday, 10AM. Shopping day. We're coming to you, Elle. No excuses."

That Saturday, all three senior cheerleaders arrived at Logan's temporary apartment with a detailed plan. Alexis had a checklist on her phone, Madison carried fashion magazines with pages marked, and Tiffany had a small notebook filled with store recommendations.

When Logan met them at the door wearing a drab grey hoodie and leggings with his hair in a basic ponytail, Alexis immediately frowned at his appearance.

"Elle, seriously? This is what you're wearing?" She shook her head disapprovingly, eyes scanning his outfit.

After a moment, she tilted her head with a curious expression. "Wait, something's different about you," she observed, studying Logan with analytical precision. "Weren't you like, way taller when we met you in July?"

Madison nodded in agreement, "And your shoulders are smaller. Your whole frame looks different."

Tiffany approached, examining Logan's face closely. "Your features are softer too. Did you get a nose job?'

Logan felt panic rising but forced himself to remain calm. "It's part of my health condition," he explained, drawing on the backstory Dr. Gupta had created. "I had to quit gymnastics because of a rare endocrine disorder that affects my growth patterns. The treatments I'm getting at Dr. Gupta's facility involve targeted osseous malleability protocols and cellular reconfiguration that can cause rapid physical changes." He continued with more of Dr. Gupta's incomprehensible medical jargon about "phenotypic optimization" and "hormone modulators," watching their eyes glaze over with each technical term.

Alexis finally held up her hand, "Okay, TMI on the medical stuff. As long as you can help us win Nationals, that's all that matters."

Madison nodded sympathetically, "My cousin has weird medical stuff too. It sucks."

Tiffany just shrugged, already losing interest in the conversation. "Your tumbling is amazing though! Now let's get going, the mall's about to open."

Logan exhaled quietly, relieved that his explanation had been accepted without further questions.

The shopping expedition began at Willow Creek Galleria, the largest mall in the area, with the three cheerleaders guiding Logan through stores he would never have entered before. The girls moved through the shops with practiced efficiency, selecting items and holding them against Logan to assess fit and style before he even reached a changing room.

"You need to define your personal style," Tiffany explained while arranging potential outfits on a boutique couch. "Everyone on Elite has their signature look. Mine is bohemian chic, Madison is preppy classic, and Alexis is polished feminine. With those waves and freckles, your natural features would work perfectly with a fresh, romantic vibe."

"Fresh and romantic?" Logan repeated, uncertain what that even meant.

"It's all about youthful, airy silhouettes that highlight your delicate features," Madison explained, pulling a blush-colored blouse from a nearby rack. "Think soft florals, playful details, and colors like sage green, dusty rose, and lavender—but with modern touches so it looks teen-appropriate, not like you raided your grandma's closet."

Alexis nodded in agreement. "Your coloring is perfect for this look. And it will de-emphasize your… problem areas." She held up the blouse Madison had selected. "See how this would highlight your waistline without being too tight?"

Logan felt a strange disconnect as the girls discussed his body with such casual expertise. They spoke about features he was still getting used to as though they were simply facts to build a wardrobe around, not recent and disturbing changes to his identity.

As Logan moved through the stores with the cheerleaders, he found himself in a strange psychological space. Certain feminine mannerisms—the way he tilted his head when considering an outfit or how his hands naturally gestured when speaking—now emerged without conscious effort. Yet he still felt like an actor in an exhausting performance, constantly monitoring his words and censoring his natural reactions. Every interaction required vigilance, the mental checklist of "what would Elle do?" running constantly in the background of his thoughts. Even when the physical movements came automatically, the mental strain of maintaining the facade was overwhelming. One slip, one moment of dropped guard, and everything could unravel.

It didn't help that Logan found himself increasingly confused by the cheerleaders' fashion vocabulary.

"What about this peplum with the knife-pleat midi?" Madison suggested, holding up a combination of garments Logan couldn't even identify.

"Elle, what do you think?" Alexis asked, turning to Logan. "Would you prefer the cold-shoulder or the keyhole neckline?"

Logan stared at her, completely lost. "I... um... the second one?"

The three cheerleaders exchanged knowing glances.

"You have no idea what we're talking about, do you?" Tiffany asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Logan shook his head, embarrassed.

"Oh my god, we need to start from scratch," Madison declared. "No wonder you've been looking so overwhelmed."

"First things first," Alexis said, taking charge of the situation. "You need a crash course in fashion terminology or you'll never survive on this squad."

"This is a fit and flare silhouette," Madison explained, holding up a dress with a fitted bodice and flared skirt. "It defines your waist and gives movement to the hem, which is perfect for a petite frame."

"Cold shoulder tops have these cutouts here," Tiffany demonstrated with a lightweight sweater. "They're flirty without being too revealing, and they'll look amazing with your collarbones."

For the next ten minutes, the girls gave Logan a crash course in women's fashion vocabulary. They explained the differences between cap sleeves and flutter sleeves, boat necks versus sweetheart necklines, and why certain fabrics draped better than others.

"Peplum tops have this little flare at the waist," Alexis demonstrated. "High-waisted bottoms will make your legs look longer."

"A-line skirts are different from skater skirts because the flare is more gradual," Madison added. "Both would work for you, but skater skirts have more movement, which is good for cheerleading events."

Oddly, Logan's mind seemed to easily absorb the avalanche of information, nodding at what he hoped were appropriate moments. Pencil skirts, bodycon dresses, shift dresses, wrap styles—each term came with its own set of rules about body types and occasions.

Logan's head spun with unfamiliar terminology—empire waists, babydoll cuts, swiss dots, and keyhole necklines—as the cheerleaders selected an assortment of youthful pieces: cropped cardigans with pearlescent buttons, flirty skater skirts, off-shoulder tops with delicate embroidery, sundresses with ribbon ties, high-waisted shorts, and fitted jeans that accentuated his new curves.

Once alone in the changing room, Logan faced the challenge of actually putting on the unfamiliar garments. He struggled with a peach-colored minidress that had intricate crisscross straps at the back. After several minutes of contortion, he managed to get it on, but the straps were hopelessly tangled, forming an awkward zigzag instead of the clean X pattern they were supposed to create.

"Everything okay in there?" Madison called through the door.

"I'm fine," Logan insisted, his pride preventing him from admitting he couldn't dress himself.

"Elle, seriously, do you need help?" Alexis asked, sounding concerned. "You've been in there forever."

"I can't figure out these straps," Logan finally admitted with embarrassment. "They're all tangled."

"Oh, those crisscross straps are tricky for everyone," Alexis said sympathetically. "Want me to help?"

Before Logan could protest further, Alexis slipped inside the changing room. He froze, painfully aware of how exposed he felt with his bare shoulders and legs visible.

"Oh, you've got these completely twisted," Alexis said matter-of-factly, immediately moving behind him. "Hold still."

Her fingers worked quickly at the straps, occasionally brushing against his skin. Logan stood rigid, staring at his reflection—a petite figure in a feminine dress with another girl casually adjusting his clothing, as though this were the most normal thing in the world.

"There. That's how they're supposed to look," Alexis said with satisfaction. "Try this one on next, the color is amazing."

Alexis handed Logan a vibrant teal halter dress unlike anything he had tried so far—a stunning jewel-toned color with an open back and a flowy skirt that hit just above the knee. The fabric had a subtle shimmer that caught the light.

"This looks pretty fancy," Logan hesitated.

"It's perfect for any major party," Madison called out from the next stall. "Everyone needs at least one statement piece."

Reluctantly, Logan slipped on the teal dress. After the strap disaster he'd just experienced, it was surprisingly simple to put on—the halter tied behind his neck, and the back remained open, eliminating complicated zippers or buttons. The material was cool and silky against his skin.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the changing room.

When he looked in the mirror, even Logan had to admit that the dress was perfect for him. Even with his minimal makeup and basic ponytail, he looked stunning—the rich teal color made his auburn hair look more vibrant and his brown eyes warmer. The cut of the dress emphasized his newly narrow waist and created the illusion of curves where Dr. Gupta's treatments had only begun their work. The open back revealed his shoulder blades, now delicate and feminine where once powerful muscles had been.

All three cheerleaders fell silent, their expressions shifting from casual assessment to genuine surprise.

"Oh my god," Madison breathed, her eyes widening. "Elle, you look incredible."

"Holy crap," Tiffany blurted, circling around him. "That back detail with your shoulders—it's perfect!"

Alexis actually clasped her hands together. "This is beyond what I was hoping for. The color against your skin, the way it frames your collarbones—you're going to turn heads in this."

Logan stood awkwardly in the center of their attention, acutely aware of how exposed his bare shoulders and back felt. The dress moved like water around his legs when he shifted his weight.

As they continued through the mall, the cheerleaders' selections grew increasingly coordinated. Soon, they had moved on to accessories. Madison selected delicate jewelry—thin chains with small, youthful charms like tiny hearts and crescent moons—while Tiffany added scrunchies, headbands, and hair clips to their growing collection.

Madison held up a pair of emerald green earrings against Logan's face. "These would look amazing with your coloring," she insisted, then paused. "Wait. Your ears aren't pierced?"

Before Logan could mumble an excuse, Tiffany gasped dramatically. "We have to fix that immediately! How can you be on the squad without even basic accessories?"

Logan found himself shoved into a chair at a jewelry kiosk, Alexis holding his hand supportively as small marks were made on his earlobes with a surgical pen.

"Just a tiny pinch," the technician promised before the piercing gun pressed against his ear with a sharp click.

The sensation was more startling than painful, and minutes later, Logan was examining his reflection with small silver studs decorating his earlobes—another irrevocable step in his transformation. Logan touched one of the studs gently, wincing slightly at the tenderness.

"These open up so many options," Madison said excitedly, immediately returning to the jewelry display. "Now we can get you some cute dangly earrings for formal events, and some studs in different colors to coordinate with your outfits."

As they moved on to the next phase of their shopping expedition, the cheerleaders steered him toward footwear. Their selections followed the same youthful theme as the rest of his new wardrobe—white platform sneakers, colorful ballet flats, and strappy sandals.

"These platforms are trending right now," Alexis explained, holding up a pair of chunky white sneakers with a two-inch sole. "They add height but they're still casual enough for everyday wear."

Logan slipped them on, finding an unexpected comfort in the added height that partially compensated for what Dr. Gupta's treatments had taken away. Standing a couple inches taller, even momentarily, felt like reclaiming a small piece of his former self.

With each new store they visited, Logan watched with escalating alarm as the pile of purchases grew ever larger. "I don't think I need this much stuff," he protested weakly as they added yet another shopping bag to his collection.

"You absolutely do," Tiffany insisted. "Senior year requires having the right look for every occasion—class uniforms, weekend casual, football games, post-game celebrations, coffee dates, mall hangouts, team bonding—"

"Plus holiday parties, formal dances, and spirit week," Alexis added, examining a pale blue mini dress. "Trust me, you'll need all of it."

By the time they'd worked through their shopping list, Logan had over thirty complete outfits. His new "signature style" had been thoroughly established, documented in dozens of photos, and reinforced with countless items that now constituted his wardrobe.

Between stores, they took a break at the Willow Creek Galleria's central courtyard. As Logan sipped a diet lemonade (Alexis's insistence after he initially tried to order a milkshake), he noticed his reflection in the mirrored column beside their table. The person staring back seemed like a stranger—delicate features, softened jawline, the hints of curves now visible even beneath his hoodie.

By the time they headed toward "Luxe Intimates" in the west wing of the mall, Logan's arms ached from carrying bags and his mind swam with fashion terminology he'd never needed before. The girls had declared his wardrobe nearly complete, with only the final, most intimate layer remaining.

"You cannot keep wearing those basic sports bras," she declared with authority. Logan started to protest but stopped himself—he'd already come to terms with the fact that his "compression harnesses" were essentially sports bras.

"You need actual bras that fit properly. And cute underwear," Alexis continued, gesturing toward a display of lacy options. "It's a confidence thing, even if nobody else sees them."

Inside, the boutique was a sea of lace, satin, and soft cotton. Logan stood awkwardly beside a display while Alexis confidently sorted through options.

"You definitely need at least five everyday bras and some cute matching sets," Alexis declared, holding up a pale pink bralette. "This would look perfect with your coloring."

Madison nodded in agreement. "And you'll need something special for dates. Trust me, feeling sexy starts with what's underneath."

Logan felt his cheeks burning as he reluctantly took the growing pile of intimate apparel. The entire situation felt surreal – standing in a women's boutique while three teenage girls selected bras for him with such casual confidence.

"Go try these on while we find more options," Alexis directed, pointing toward the fitting rooms at the back of the store.

Resigned, Logan headed toward the fitting rooms with the armful of lacy items, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor to avoid eye contact with other shoppers. So focused on his embarrassment, he nearly collided with an employee approaching with a measuring tape.

"Whoa, offsides, my bad," Logan said automatically. The surprise collision had taken his mind off being "Elle" for just long enough that one of his reflexive "Logan" football phrases broke through. He looked up and felt the floor drop from beneath him.

Standing before him, her name tag reading "Assistant Manager," was Kayla Chen—his ex-girlfriend from Westlake University. They'd dated for nearly a year before his injury, the last person to see him as the old Logan before everything fell apart.

Kayla stared at Logan, her expression shifting from professional politeness to confused recognition at hearing the phrase Logan always used to use whenever he clumsily bumped into her on a date. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied his face.

Logan's terror at the encounter was compounded by a disorienting realization: Kayla was now at eye level with him. The woman who once had to look up to meet his gaze, who used to fit perfectly under his protective arm, was now standing eye-to-eye with his transformed body. His height loss had erased the physical dynamic between them completely. He used to love how she would playfully complain about neck strain when they kissed too long. Now that cherished memory was contradicted by the reality before him, a stark reminder of just how much of himself he had lost.

Kayla stared at Logan, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied his face. "Sorry... have we met before? You look really familiar."

Logan's heart hammered against his ribs, cold panic flooding his system. Kayla had been there through his recovery, visiting him in the hospital after his surgery, helping with his physical therapy before she'd finally ended things when his depression became too much. She knew the surgical scar that used to be on his back intimately, had listened to his fears about his future. And now she was looking at him with that small frown of concentration she always got when trying to remember something.

"I... I don't think so," he stammered, his voice sounding alien even to himself.

Kayla tilted her head, studying him. "Are you sure? Your eyes especially... I could swear I know you from somewhere."

"Elle's new to the area," Alexis intervened, appearing at his side. "She's transferring to Westridge Academy this fall."

"Oh, Westridge?" Kayla's puzzled expression cleared. "No, that can't be it. I don't know any high school students around here. Must be one of those weird déjà vu things." She shook her head as if to clear it. "Anyway, first time shopping for bras? We recommend a proper fitting to ensure the right size."

"Elle's a little shy," Alexis explained, misinterpreting Logan's frozen terror.

Kayla's expression softened. "No need to be nervous. I help first-timers all the time." She held out her hand for the items Logan was clutching. "Those are pretty, but let's make sure we're getting the right size first. Come with me to the fitting area."

Logan stood frozen, panic rising. The thought of Kayla measuring his transformed body, her hands unwittingly touching the person she once knew intimately, was too much to bear—especially now that some part of her recognized something about him.

"I'm actually not feeling well," he managed, his voice barely audible. "Maybe another time."

Concern crossed Kayla's face—the same expression she'd worn when she'd nursed him through a bad flu during their relationship. "No problem. When you're ready, just ask for Kayla." She handed him a business card. "I'm usually here weekends and Thursdays." She hesitated, then added, "Sorry about the confusion earlier. You just remind me of someone who used to be very special to me."

Logan took the card automatically, terror building as he realized how close he'd come to discovery. "No problem."

As Kayla walked away to help another customer, he could feel her glancing back at him, that puzzled expression still on her face.

"Elle? You okay?" Madison asked, placing a concerned hand on his shoulder. "You look like you're about to pass out."

"Fine," Logan lied, swallowing hard. "Just nervous about all this."

Alexis studied him curiously. "Do you know her or something? That was weird."

"No," Logan said firmly, making a decision in that moment. "I don't know her at all."

When they exited the store twenty minutes later, purchases complete thanks to another associate's help, Logan made an unexpected declaration.

"Let's do the salon next," he said with sudden determination. "The complete makeover you mentioned. How soon can we go?"

The cheerleaders exchanged surprised glances.

"Really?" Tiffany asked. "I thought you were totally against it."

Logan looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Kayla helping another customer. "I've changed my mind. If I'm going to be on Elite, I need to commit completely." His voice hardened with resolution. "I want to look different. Completely different."