Highway to Elle
Chapter 6: Roomie with a Hue
by Paige Turner

The day before the official start of classes, a sleek black towncar pulled up to Westridge Academy's Marshall Hall, an imposing brick building with white columns that housed senior girls in double rooms.

The GIRLI driver stepped out, circling to the trunk which opened to reveal a mountain of matching pink luggage, each piece monogrammed with elegant "ECT" initials in silver script. He methodically arranged the collection on the sidewalk—five hardshell suitcases of varying sizes, three coordinating duffle bags, and a designer backpack.

The growing pile drew curious glances from passing students and parents who were moving into nearby dorms. By the time the driver had arranged the last piece, a small crowd had begun to form, watching the unusual display of luggage with undisguised interest.

With the bags arranged, the driver moved to open the rear passenger door. "We've arrived, Miss Turner," he said formally. "It's time to go."

A moment of hesitation. Then a delicate foot in a strappy sandal emerged, followed by a slender ankle and calf. As the passenger stepped fully from the car, onlookers could see a petite figure wearing a white scoop-back top that revealed her shoulder blades and a hint of freckled skin. Her hair was pulled into a tight ballerina bun, exposing the nape of her neck to the August heat, though a few tendrils had fallen loose during the journey, now framing her face. A delicate gold necklace hung around her neck, catching the afternoon light. Her green tiered skirt fell just above mid-thigh, with ruffled layers that fluttered slightly in the breeze.

The effect was immediate. A group of girls nearby fell silent mid-conversation, their eyes widening as they took in the newcomer. Two football players, who had been helping a freshman with her luggage, nearly collided with each other as their heads turned in unison. One of them actually dropped the box he was carrying, prompting an annoyed exclamation from the freshman girl.

"Dude," one boy whispered to another, not taking his eyes off the new arrival.

"I know," his friend replied, equally transfixed.

Parents slowed their pace, glancing over with undisguised curiosity. Even a faculty member paused in her conversation, eyebrows raised as she observed the striking new student.

"Good luck, Miss Turner," the driver said with a curt nod before returning to the car and driving away, leaving her standing alone with the imposing pile of luggage.

And with that, Logan's time as a Westridge Academy student—a female student—began.

For a moment, Logan just stared at his bags in dismay. How was he going to get all this to his room? But as he glanced around, Logan became acutely aware of the stares fixed on him. Every look felt like a spotlight.

"Need a hand with those?"

He turned to find a tall, athletic boy smiling at him. The student wore a Westridge Academy t-shirt that strained slightly across broad shoulders, and his confident posture suggested someone used to being noticed.

"That's a lot of bags for one person." The boy's gaze lingered a moment too long on Logan's exposed legs. "I'm Ethan, by the way. Senior. Lacrosse team."

"I'm Elle," Logan replied, his voice emerging in its lilting higher register. "And yeah, that would be super helpful."

"Cool name," Ethan said, already reaching for the heaviest suitcases. "You a freshman?"

"I'm actually a senior?" Logan corrected with a slight head tilt. "Just transferred from Oregon."

"Senior transfer? That's unusual." Ethan fell into step beside him as they headed toward the entrance. "Must be tough, switching schools for your last year."

"It totally wasn't my choice," Logan admitted with a slight eye roll, enjoying the brief moment where he was able to tell the truth despite the GIRLI neural blocks.

"Well, their loss is definitely our gain," Ethan replied with a grin that made his meaning unmistakable. "What room are you in?"

"307."

"Third floor, nice. Corner room—good view of the quad." Ethan effortlessly carried the bags as they headed inside. "So what are you going to do here at Westridge? Sports?"

"Elite cheer team."

"No way! That's awesome. I'll be seeing you at games then." Ethan's eyes lit up. "The football team loves their cheerleaders. My buddy Chase is the star wide receiver—he's going to lose his mind when he sees there's someone new on the sidelines."

Wide receiver. The words sent a jolt of psychic pain through Logan's chest. His position. The identity that had defined him before his injury, the core of who he'd been. Now he would be reduced to performing choreographed routines on the sidelines, cheering for someone else. The cruel irony threatened to overwhelm him.

Logan swallowed hard, pushing down the bitter memories. "Yeah, I'm sure the football games will be... interesting," he managed.

As they reached the third floor, Logan became increasingly aware of the stares following them through the hallway. Two girls who had been chatting by the water fountain stopped mid-sentence. A middle-aged father balancing his daughter's stuffed animal collection froze mid-step, then visibly swiveled his head to track Logan as he passed. Logan had to fight the urge to shield himself. The constant scrutiny was unbearable.

"You're making quite the impression," Ethan observed, one corner of his mouth lifting in a knowing half-smirk as his eyes darted to a group of freshmen girls. "Though I can't say I'm surprised."

When they reached Room 307, Ethan set down the bags with obvious reluctance. "So, uh, there's a back-to-school party this weekend at Campbell Hall. Mostly seniors. You should come."

"Um, I'll definitely think about it," Logan replied noncommittally.

"Cool. I could swing by, show you the way. It's easy to get lost your first week."

Before Logan could respond, the door to 307 opened. Alexis stood in the doorway, her eyes widening as she took in the scene—Ethan, the pile of luggage, and finally, Logan.

"Oh my GOD!" she exclaimed, her mouth falling open in astonishment. "Elle? Is that YOU?"

Logan shifted uncomfortably under her intense scrutiny. "Yeah."

"You look..." Alexis seemed momentarily at a loss for words, an unusual state for the articulate cheer captain. "...absolutely incredible!"

She turned to Ethan with a knowing smile. "I see you've already met our lacrosse captain."

"Just helping with the bags," Ethan said, though his lingering gaze suggested other interests. "I should get back to my dorm. See you around, Elle. Bye, Alexis."

As Ethan walked away, Alexis practically pulled Logan into the room, shutting the door behind them.

"Okay, spill everything," she demanded, circling around to take in Logan's look from all angles. "How did you already manage to get Ethan Ryan carrying your bags? Half the girls in this school have been trying to get his attention since freshman year!"

"But more important—what the heck HAPPENED to you??"

Logan winced as the question triggered a flood of fresh memories. The events of that morning had been so traumatic he'd almost managed to push them from his mind. Almost.

He had arrived at the GIRLI facility at precisely 7:55 AM that morning, his jaw set with determination. All night, he'd rehearsed what he would say to Dr. Gupta—how her neural blocks had gone too far, how they'd prevented him from communicating with Jenna, how they'd made it impossible to even write a cry for help. This wasn't just about physical transformation anymore; it was about making him a prisoner in his own mind.

The sterile hallways seemed colder, the clinical white walls more oppressive. As he approached Dr. Gupta's office, Logan took a deep breath, steeling himself for the confrontation. Whatever her "first day of school gift" was, he needed to make it clear that he wouldn't accept any further modifications without understanding exactly what they entailed. Otherwise, he'd demand to be let out of his contract.

"Punctuality. Excellent," Dr. Gupta remarked as he entered her office. She was standing beside a sleek medical workstation that hadn't been there during his previous visits, multiple displays showing what appeared to be social media posts from yesterday's party. "Please, be seated."

Logan remained standing. "Okay, before we start? I need to talk to you about something important." Logan paused, surprised that he didn't feel the conversational misdirection from the neural blocks kick in like they had at the party. Maybe he was allowed to be himself around Dr. Gupta? Could he actually speak his mind to her?

Dr. Gupta glanced at him, then back to her screens. "I'm already aware of your behavioral anomalies from yesterday's social event. That's precisely why you're here." She gestured to the displays. "My analysis of squad social media posts raises significant concerns regarding your placement potential."

She swiped through several images, stopping on one that showed the cheerleaders grouped by the pool, with Logan barely visible at the edge of the frame. "You appear in only 17% of posted images, primarily in peripheral positioning. When present, you consistently positioned yourself at social margins rather than central interaction nodes." She turned to face him fully. "Why did you deliberately remove yourself from primary social recognition contexts?"

The question caught Logan off-guard, derailing the confrontation he'd planned. "I just... prefer not to be the center of attention. It's easier to blend in. If I'm going to go through the year like this," he gestured vaguely at his body, "I'd rather do it without drawing too much notice."

Dr. Gupta nodded slightly, her expression unchanged. "Blend in," she repeated, as if the words confirmed a diagnosis. "Your statement aligns perfectly with my preliminary assessment. Deliberate social camouflage as a preservation tactic."

"Yes," Logan admitted, trying to redirect the conversation back to his concerns. "But that's not what I wanted to talk about. The neural synchronization has—"

"Behavioral analysis confirms deliberate social peripheralization tactics," Dr. Gupta interrupted, ignoring Logan's protests as she typed on her tablet. "Visibility-avoidance directly contravenes the Elle Turner social architecture specifications."

"Dr. Gupta, listen to me," Logan said, his voice rising with frustration. "Yesterday at the party, I tried to talk to someone about what's happening to me, and I physically couldn't do it. The words wouldn't come out right. I couldn't even write them down. That wasn't part of the deal, I need to—"

Dr. Gupta turned to face him, her expression cold. "The neural synchronization includes standard communication safeguards. They prevent disclosure of program details to unauthorized individuals. This is not subject to negotiation."

"But I have a right to—"

She waved dismissively, returning to the social media posts. "Your tendency toward social camouflage requires countermeasures." She pushed a button on her desk, summoning two burly GIRLI orderlies to her door within seconds. "Scholarship placement probabilities are predicated on social prominence."

"I don't want to be prominent!" Logan snapped, his rising anger momentarily breaking through the feminine speech patterns. "I just want control over my own mind!"

Dr. Gupta paused, finally giving him her full attention. "Control?" she asked, the slight curl at the corner of her mouth suggesting something like amusement. "Mr. Turner, you are in completely in control of your own actions. That control is merely being filtered through various layers of behavioral matrices and preservation protocols."

The cold calculation in her voice sent a chill through Logan. She viewed him more as an experiment than a person.

Nodding to the orderlies, Dr. Gupta instructed, "Please escort Miss Turner to Treatment Room B for the scheduled chromatic enhancement procedure."

The orderlies moved to either side of Logan, making it clear that he had no choice. Dr. Gupta gathered her tablet and followed as they escorted him down the sterile corridor.

"Based on my analysis of yesterday's social media patterns, I've formulated a comprehensive chromatic enhancement protocol," she explained as they walked, her voice professionally detached. "The procedure will optimize your visual recognition parameters for maximum social impact."

"Chromatic what now? What does that even mean?" Logan asked, anxiety building as they approached a door marked Treatment Room B.

The treatment room was clinically sterile, dominated by a sophisticated-looking chair. Above it hung an unusual apparatus resembling a clear helmet connected to an array of tubes and monitoring equipment.

The orderlies guided Logan to the chair with practiced efficiency. Before he could fully process what was happening, they secured his wrists and ankles with padded medical restraints.

"Ohmigod! What the heck?" Logan struggled against the sudden confinement. "Nobody said anything about being strapped down! This is so not okay!"

"The procedure induces mild discomfort," Dr. Gupta stated matter-of-factly, approaching with a tablet. "The restraints are to ensure you do not attempt to prematurely terminate the chromatic treatment. To do so would be unwise."

Before Logan could protest further, she positioned the transparent cap above his head and lowered it into place. A cold, viscous gel inside the apparatus made contact with his scalp, causing him to flinch as the cap sealed against his skin with a pneumatic hiss.

Logan heard a faint sizzling sound and felt an alarming burning sensation at various points around his head. "What's happening?" he asked, panic rising. "My scalp is literally on fire!"

"The preliminary phase is dissolving the cytoskeletal attachment matrices of your exogenous filament supplementation," Dr. Gupta explained. "The current synthetic integrations are incompatible with the chromatic restructuring process."

He felt a sickening sensation as the hair extensions that had taken hours to apply at the salon were systematically detached and suctioned away by the cap's internal mechanisms.

"My hair extensions? Are you serious right now? You paid, like, so much money for those! I had to sit there for literally a hundred hours!" Logan protested.

"Do not be concerned," Dr. Gupta continued, checking readings on her monitor. "The procedure includes accelerated follicular generation that will replace the artificial supplementation with genuine hair growth."

The burning sensation quickly gave way to a deep, pulsating pressure that seemed to penetrate through his skin into his skull. It felt like microscopic needles injecting something directly into each hair follicle, altering them from within.

"What even is this stuff?" Logan grimaced, the discomfort rapidly intensifying. "I feel like a pincushion!"

"A catalytic compound, " Dr. Gupta replied, checking readings on her tablet. "The mild discomfort is normal and temporary."

"Mild?" Logan's voice rose sharply.

Dr. Gupta ignored his complaints, continuing to adjust settings with clinical detachment. "We'll proceed with the next phase shortly."

Something in her dismissive tone, combined with the escalating discomfort, finally pushed Logan past his breaking point. Months of accumulated frustration, fear, and humiliation suddenly erupted into raw anger.

"You know what? I'm done with this," he said, pulling futilely against the restraints. "I'm done being your lab rat. I'm done with you treating me like I'm not even human. I'm done! I want out of this program completely."

Dr. Gupta paused her preparations, looking at him with something resembling genuine surprise. "Out? At this stage of integration?"

"Yes, out," Logan insisted. "I'll find another way to pay for college. I'll take out loans. I'll work. Anything is better than this."

Dr. Gupta's mouth tightened. "Perhaps you misunderstand your situation. Program termination at this stage would leave you precisely as you are now—an eighteen-year-old male presenting as female, expelled from Westridge Academy due to application fraud, with a permanent record of academic deception that would follow you to any institution. Not to mention, possible exposure to criminal punishment."

The blood drained from Logan's face. "But... but I didn't defraud anyone. You did this to me."

"A fact you would be unable to articulate or demonstrate," Dr. Gupta continued evenly. "The neural blocks would remain permanent without GIRLI's reversal protocols. You would have no recourse, no defense, and no credible way to explain your circumstances."

"You can't do that," Logan whispered.

"Conversely," Dr. Gupta continued as if discussing weather patterns, "completing the program guarantees your college placement with full financial support. After graduation, GIRLI will remove all communication blocks." She paused meaningfully. "The choice seems rather straightforward."

Logan felt the trap closing around him, his future narrowing to a single desperate path. The realization that he was completely at Dr. Gupta's mercy pushed him over the edge.

"You're a monster," Logan said, his voice trembling with anger. "Do you even have a medical license? Or are you just some failure who couldn't cut it in legit science? This whole program is probably just a desperate attempt to salvage your pathetic career. And now you're stuck babysitting a football player who's tired of your God complex."

Dr. Gupta's fingers froze above the tablet. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his. For the first time since he'd met her, true emotion flickered across her typically impassive features—a flash of genuine anger.

"You know nothing about my credentials," she said, her voice carrying an unusual edge.

"I know enough," Logan continued, recklessly pushing further. "No real doctor would treat patients this way. You're just a deranged man-hating quack!"

Something dangerous flashed in Dr. Gupta's eyes. Without a word, she turned back to her tablet and began rapidly adjusting settings, her fingers jabbing at the screen with uncharacteristic force. Logan could see the display from his reclined position—sliders being pushed to their maximum settings, one after another. Repeated warning messages popped up, which she dismissed with sharp, aggressive taps.

"What are you doing?" Logan asked, sudden alarm replacing his anger as he watched the warning icons multiply across her screen.

Dr. Gupta didn't answer. Before Logan could say anything else, she reached for a contoured visor. "You will find that underestimating me has consequences," she said quietly.

As she fastened the visor to the helmet, Logan caught a final glimpse of her tablet screen where it had been placed on a nearby counter—all the treatment intensity sliders had been maximized, glowing angry red instead of the previous yellow.

Darkness engulfed him instantly. "Dr. Gupta," Logan said, his anger giving way to concern. "Whatever you're doing, please—"

His half-formed protest was cut short as she efficiently inserted a molded device into his mouth. It expanded immediately, forcing his jaws apart and filling his oral cavity with a cold, gelatinous substance that tasted sharply metallic.

In the sudden silence, Logan could hear Dr. Gupta's breathing—initially rapid and angry, then gradually slowing as she regained her composure. The sound of her footsteps moved away from the chair.

"Doctor," came a technician's hesitant voice, "these settings exceed all recommended parameters. The system is displaying multiple safety warnings. The subject is at increased risk if we proceed."

"Override the protocols," Dr. Gupta replied, her voice once again clinically detached but carrying an undercurrent Logan had never heard from her before. "Begin the procedure at specified intensities."

Logan felt small mechanical arms extend from the visor's interior, firmly pulling his eyelids open and locking them in place. A soft blue glow filled his vision, gradually intensifying until it was almost painfully bright.

"Maxillofacial alignment and enamel reconstruction will proceed simultaneously with chromatic enhancement," Logan heard Dr. Gupta state. "Commence the procedure."

A wave of cold inside the helmet suddenly replaced the burning, raising goosebumps across Logan's scalp. He could feel individual strands of hair shifting independently, as though thousands of tiny insects were crawling across his head.

The mouthpiece began to vibrate subtly, sending uncomfortable ultrasonic waves through his teeth and jawbone. Tiny mechanical components shifted within the gel, applying targeted pressure to individual teeth.

Inside the helmet, Logan could hear superheated solutions being dispensed through the cap. Sitting in darkness, he imagined that molten metal was flowing through each individual strand of hair, from tip to root, seeping into the follicles themselves. Meanwhile, a steady pressure built behind his eyes as nozzles misted a stinging liquid onto his immobilized irises.

"Chromatic restructuring proceeding according to parameters," Dr. Gupta's voice came from somewhere beyond. "Primary phase integration at 47% completion. Dental reformation at 36%."

The procedure continued for what felt like an eternity, sensations alternating between pressure, warmth, tingling, and occasional sharp spikes that made him yelp into the mouthpiece. The pulsing light continued its rhythmic pattern while the mouthpiece cyclically tightened and released.

"Transition to secondary phase," Dr. Gupta announced at some point. The pressure shifted, feeling as though each strand of hair was being pulled from his head. Inside the visor, the light intensified to a searing yellow before abruptly shutting off, leaving him in darkness. The mouthpiece released a flood of heated solution that seemed to penetrate directly into his teeth, radiating through his skull.

At last, the three-hour procedure was finished. Logan's head tingled, his eyes burned, his jaw ached, and his gums throbbed with discomfort that extended into the roots of his teeth.

Dr. Gupta removed the visor first, carefully retracting the eyelid mechanisms. "Initial discomfort is expected but temporary," she said, applying a cooling gel around his eye sockets that provided immediate, blessed relief. "The chromatic integration is complete and fully stabilized."

She then removed the mouthpiece, which had contracted to release his teeth. As it slid free, Logan felt the strange sensation of his teeth against his tongue—smoother, differently shaped, and somehow more prominent in his mouth. His jaw felt oddly aligned, as if the relationship between his upper and lower teeth had been subtly but definitively altered.

Finally, she removed the cap. The sudden exposure to air made Logan gasp slightly. His hair felt heavy and unusually responsive to even the slightest movement, each strand seeming to register against his sensitized scalp. A GIRLI medical assistant led Logan to a washing station where she rinsed his hair with a series of terrible-smelling chemical solutions.

"The chromatic enhancement was a complete success, even at maximum intensity," Dr. Gupta said approvingly as her assistant wrapped Logan's head in a towel, concealing whatever changes had been made. "Detrimental impact appears nominal."

Only after his hair was dried with yet another specialized machine did Dr. Gupta finally direct him to a mirror. "You may evaluate the enhanced presentation parameters."

Logan's eyes still burned with each blink, the discomfort making it difficult to focus as he looked at his reflection. When his vision finally cleared, he felt his breath catch in his throat.

His hair—which had gradually transitioned from dark brown to auburn over the summer—had been altered into a vibrant, unmistakable copper that gleamed almost metallically under the lights. The rich, dimensional color caught and reflected every ray of light, creating a stunning effect that drew the eye instantly. It wasn't just a hair color—it was a statement, a beacon, a visual marker that would make him instantly identifiable in any crowd.

But that was nothing compared to his eyes, which were now a striking pale jade green with subtle gold accents that seemed to shift and catch the light as he moved. The color was so unusual, so distinctive, that it seemed almost supernatural—especially in combination with the luminous copper hair and his freckled complexion.

As his mouth fell open in shock, he discovered yet another transformation—his teeth had been completely reconfigured into a perfect, dazzling white smile that seemed to glow against his lips. The formerly slightly crooked canines and minimal overbite that had been distinctly his had been erased, replaced by flawlessly aligned, immaculately shaped teeth that looked like they belonged in a toothpaste advertisement.

The combined effect was mesmerizing and completely unlike anything he'd ever seen in nature—a deliberately crafted beauty that was simultaneously stunning and unreal.

"The treatment has successfully achieved the desired chromatic and structural transformation," Dr. Gupta stated, studying his shocked expression with clinical detachment. "The combined effect ensures immediate visual recognition across any distance and optimal aesthetic appeal ratings."

A sickening realization washed over him as he understood Dr. Gupta's true purpose: this wasn't just another step in his feminization; it was the elimination of any possibility of anonymity. With this distinctive copper hair, those unnatural green-gold eyes, and that perfect smile, "Elle" would be immediately recognizable to everyone at Westridge. There would be no blending in, no flying under the radar. He would be visible from across campus, impossible to miss or forget.

"You dyed my hair AND my eyes?!? And how did you do this to my teeth?" Logan sputtered. His reconfigured jaw and repositioned teeth forced his tongue to connect differently against his palate, softening his t's and d's, and the altered resonance chamber of his mouth stripped his voice of any undertones. When combined with his programmed teen speech patterns, his intended fury ended up sounding more like flustered objection.

Dr. Gupta waved her hand dismissively. "Not a dye. These processes alter the melanocyte programming at the genetic level and are therefore permanent. The follicular pigmentation, iris coloration, and dental enamel composition have all been restructured at their genetic foundations. No maintenance will be required."

Logan gaped at the stranger in the mirror, his mouth opening and closing but unable to form any words. He realized that this final change before classes began was deliberately calculated to ensure that "Elle Turner" would be immediately recognizable to everyone she encountered. In that moment, all the determination to stand up to Dr. Gupta that he entered the facility with this morning simply evaporated.

The memory of the morning's trauma faded as Logan became aware of his surroundings again—the dorm room, the pile of luggage, and Alexis standing directly in front of him, waving her hand in front of his face.

"Hello? Earth to Elle?" he heard, Alexis's concerned voice pulling him fully back to the present. "I said, what happened to you? You totally zoned out there."

Logan shifted uncomfortably under her intense scrutiny, letting his long hair out of the uncomfortable bun GIRLI staff had styled it in. "Dr. Gupta did some treatments today. Medical stuff."

"Medical stuff?" Alexis repeated incredulously, looking him up and down. "This is... you look… amazing! But so different!"

For once, the normally articulate cheer captain seemed genuinely flustered by what she was seeing. Her expression cycled rapidly between shock, fascination, and excitement.

"Did it hurt?" Alexis reached out as if to touch his hair, before thinking better of it.

Logan nodded slightly, wincing as the movement sent fresh waves of discomfort through his scalp. "It still kind of does."

"I'm sorry." She paused, then broke into an excited smile. "But if it makes you feel any better, it was totally worth it. This is going to break the internet when I post our first-day pics tomorrow. Nobody at Westridge has ever looked this hot before."

The word "nobody" made Logan's stomach clench. That was exactly what Dr. Gupta had engineered—a totally unique appearance designed to draw attention and be instantly memorable.

Room 307 was spacious by dormitory standards—a corner unit with large windows, two beds with built-in drawers beneath, matching desks, and a shared bathroom. Alexis had already claimed the bed near the door, her side of the room already transformed with a coordinated bedding set in royal blue and white, string lights decorating her headboard, and a collection of framed photos arranged on her desk.

"Well," she continued, changing the subject while clearly still captivated by Logan's new appearance. "I'm so excited we're roomies! Let me help you with your bags!"

What followed was an excruciating evening of Logan unpacking and arranging "Elle's" belongings that GIRLI had packed for him that morning while he was enduring his treatment. While he worked, Alexis talked continuously, sharing team gossip and plans for the upcoming school year.

"We're going to have the best senior year," she declared, sitting cross-legged on her bed in short sleep shorts and a tank top. "And don't worry about fitting in with the other girls—you're under my wing, which basically makes you royalty at Westridge."

In contrast to Alexis' comfortable, casual pajamas, Logan moved about the room awkwardly in a pale pink satin nightgown GIRLI had packed for him. The delicate straps left his shoulders exposed, and the thin material clung to his artificially curved figure in ways that made him acutely self-conscious.

He found himself constantly adjusting the hem, trying to cover more of his legs while simultaneously keeping the neckline from revealing too much. The last vestige of his old wardrobe—the oversized Westlake t-shirts he'd slept in all summer—had apparently been deemed inappropriate for "Elle's" new life at Westridge.

As it progressed, the unpacking process only reinforced Logan's sense of displacement. Each item he removed from a suitcase revealed the thoroughness of his manufactured identity—personalized stationery with "Elle" monogrammed in flowing script, framed photos of "family" members Logan had never met (presumably actors hired by GIRLI), and multiple monogrammed accessories bearing the initials "ECT."

As they prepared for bed that evening, his new roommate continued to glance at him with barely concealed fascination. "Seriously, though." Alexis paused in the doorway of the bathroom. "You're going to be instantly famous at school. I hope you're ready for all the attention."

"I'm not really used to standing out," Logan admitted truthfully, each blink still sending uncomfortable twinges through his new eyes.

Alexis laughed, misinterpreting his discomfort as modesty. "Well, get used to it fast. You're definitely going to be noticed now."

Unpacking complete, Logan sat at his desk by the window, pretending to organize his school supplies while Alexis FaceTimed with Madison about first-day outfit coordination. The trappings of his new identity surrounded him—the uniform hanging pressed and ready for the morning, the makeup arranged precisely on his designated bathroom shelf, the schedule of classes for "Elle Turner" laid out beside a decorated planner Tiffany had insisted was essential for "staying organized and cute at the same time."

The sense of unreality that had sustained him through the summer was fading, replaced by the stark reality that tomorrow, he would walk into Westridge Academy as a female student—not just for a brief evaluation or training session, but for an entire school year, while sharing living space with someone who expected him to be a teenage girl at all times. The charade was no longer theoretical but immediate and encompassing.

The logistics of sharing a living space with a teenage girl 24/7 were more than Logan was prepared to deal with after the day he'd had. The first night in the dormitory tested everything Dr. Gupta had programmed into Logan's transformed body and mind. From elaborate bathroom maneuvers to keep his specialized undergarments hidden, to performing his extensive skincare routine under Alexis's watchful eye, every moment required careful navigation.

The casual intimacy Alexis expected between roommates created constant anxiety, yet Logan found himself responding with perfect feminine enthusiasm. The disconnect between his internal panic and flawless outward performance left him feeling profoundly alienated.

"Don't forget we're doing the royal blue headbands tomorrow." Alexis patted her face dry, completing her extensive nighttime skincare routine. "All the seniors on Elite are coordinating accessories for the first day."

Logan nodded, adding the satin headband to his laid-out uniform. "Got it. Thanks for reminding me."

As he settled into his bed that night, listening to Alexis's steady breathing from across the room, Logan stared at the ceiling, contemplating the bizarre turn his life had taken. Tomorrow would begin his second senior year of high school—his first real test of integration with both his teammates and the broader Westridge community.

"Night, Elle," Alexis called as she turned out her bedside lamp. "Ready for tomorrow?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Logan replied, the feminine voice emerging naturally as he settled under his coordinated bedding.

As he drifted toward sleep, Logan felt an unfamiliar, resigned calm settling over him. The copper-haired, jade-eyed beauty in the mirror wasn't going away. The neural blocks wouldn't release their grip. His confrontation with Dr. Gupta hadn't just failed—it had backfired spectacularly.

But maybe he'd been fighting the wrong battle all along. Direct resistance clearly wouldn't work—it only gave Dr. Gupta more reasons to "fix" him.

In the quiet darkness of Room 307, a decision crystallized into resolve: he needed to navigate this new reality strategically, finding whatever opportunities for autonomy remained within the system that had trapped him. If Dr. Gupta wanted Elle Catherine Turner to be remarkable, he'd make her remarkable—but on his own terms. For now, at least, that seemed the only path forward.