Cool girl friend

*Click

The smartphone camera captured Stacey's embarrassed face on the screen. She checked the photo, quickly deleted it, took another one, but still wasn’t satisfied. Even though her expression was slightly better, something was still off. Her eyes, her lips, her posture—everything felt wrong. She closed her eyes for a moment, sighed, and allowed herself to relax for just a second. Remembering Lisa’s advice, Stacey adjusted her glasses, tilted her head differently, and slightly parted her lips.

Another click—this time, she didn’t hurriedly delete the shot. After all, it was just for Lisa. Her friend had asked for a couple of photos in the new look, so she could choose the best one and... Honestly, Stacey wasn’t even sure why she was doing this. Finally, her fingers, with the long nails she still wasn’t used to and called "shovels," pressed the "send" button.

The message was sent, and Stacey looked down at her cleavage, immediately feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

– Damn… – she whispered, nervously adjusting the fabric of the dress as if it could hide the revealing neckline. Her breasts were heavy, palpable, strangely twitching with every movement. It still threw her off balance. How the hell do women live with this? – She's mocking me… I can't go out like this.

She glanced at her reflection again: a slender figure, neat bob haircut, lips painted in a natural, yet noticeable shade. The polka-dot dress emphasized her breasts, which felt like an unfamiliar weight on her chest, as though someone had attached two sacks of sand to her body, but at the same time, they were incredibly sensitive. Taking a deeper breath, she flinched as the fabric rubbed against her skin.

– This is not normal… – she exhaled, once again trying to convince herself mentally that it was temporary. That she wasn’t stuck in this body forever. But with each passing day, that thought was growing weaker.

Her phone vibrated in her hand. A message from Lisa.

Lisa:

🔥🔥🔥 Well, now you at least look like a human! Although, of course, you still need to work on the look. Smile a little, not like you're at a funeral!

Stacey:

I don’t give a shit, I can’t go out like this. This dress… It… well, you get it!

Lisa:

Oh, come on. It looks good on you, get used to it. You still have to go to your shift, so stop being shy. The customers will love it, and you need those tips 😉.

Stacey:

I hate you.

Lisa:

And I love you! ❤️

Stacey groaned irritably, turning off her phone and slinging her bag over her shoulder. Yeah, tips. Tips would be nice, considering her waitressing salary was crap, and after a few weeks of working there, Stacey finally understood the truth behind what Lisa had said when she got her the job. Up until today, Stacey had mostly worn oversized clothes—loose pants or sweaters that hung loosely on her fragile shoulders and covered her new body. Her tits, though still noticeable under the clothes and reminding her of themselves regularly, at least weren’t on full display like they were now. But now? Now, this polka-dot dress made her breasts the center of attention, accentuating curves she’d rather keep hidden. Her gaze fell on her reflection again. Fragile collarbones, smooth skin, a slim waist, long legs… It was all so far from what Steven used to be.

"If you don’t wear it, I’ll have to use the spell, babe!" Lisa had written that morning. Stacey had frowned then, remembering their constant arguments about what would be best for Stacey, and knowing Lisa, she didn’t risk it. She had already learned: arguing with her friend was pointless. Once her witchy tricks started, Steven—well, now Stacey—had no choice.

Just a few months ago, she was called Steven Hayes. A tall, strong guy, dressed in an oil-smeared jumpsuit, with a cigarette always in his mouth and hands that could take apart and put together an engine with his eyes closed. He worked at a small auto shop on the outskirts of town and could have called himself happy if it weren’t for one thing: debts.

He had once invested in his own business—opened a small garage, fixed cars for friends, and then for clients through ads. Everything was going fine, but one day, a pricey foreign car—a tricked-out Audi—was brought to him by some important guy with buff bodyguards after a night race. The car was wrecked, and the owner was dead set against anyone knowing its condition. Steven agreed to take on the job for good money. He was supposed to patch up the body, replace the parts, and make sure no one could tell it had been in an accident.

But something went wrong.

Steven ordered fake parts, and he handed the major work to a familiar painter who turned out to be a complete idiot. A week after the repair, the car was pulled over at a checkpoint, and it turned out something wasn’t right. The client was slapped with a fine, they started digging deeper, and that’s when he remembered Steven.

“You think I’m just gonna let this slide? – The voice on the phone was cold and sharp. – You owe me 90,000 bucks. Tomorrow.”

Ninety thousand. Steven didn’t even have a thousand. He needed to disappear. Lisa was there at that moment and heard the whole conversation.

– I’m screwed, Liz. These guys aren’t messing around, – he sat on her old, worn-out couch, clutching a glass of cheap whiskey. – I don’t know what to do.

Lisa, as always, gave him that mysterious look like she knew something he didn’t.

– You want to hide? – she asked.

– I’d hide anywhere!

She smiled.

– I’ve got a better idea.

The idea turned out to be… too radical.

He thought Lisa had lost it back then, but didn’t have the chance to yell at her properly, because she muttered something under her breath, her fingers locked around his wrist, and then… Everything spun, compressed, stretched. The world rolled in waves, as if he had fallen into a vortex, and then…

Boom.

A mirror. In the reflection— a girl. A bob haircut, wide eyes, slender fingers that nervously touched her own chest.

– Oh my god… – she rasped, but her voice was high-pitched, melodic.

Lisa clapped her hands in satisfaction.

– Perfect! Now no one will ever find you.

…

And now, two months later, she—stood in front of the mirror in the polka-dot dress, sending a selfie to her friend.

How ridiculous this all was.

But there was no choice. She grabbed her bag and left the apartment.