CHAPTER TEN: THE WORST IS BEHIND US

After Elle signed a stack of consent forms and she and Miranda exchanged all of the relevant contact information, the journalist packed all of her things back into the royal-blue SUV and headed back to Los Angeles, offering Elle a pearl-perfect smile, a thumbs up, and a wave as she backed out of the driveway. As soon as she was down the road, Melanie rushed up behind Elle, wrapped her in a bear hug, and twirled her around, lifting Elle bodily off the ground. She planted kisses on her neck and whispered in her ear.

"That was amazing! I have to show you the pictures!"

She showed Elle the dozen or so pictures she'd covertly snapped during the interview, Elle somehow managing prim-perfect posture for at least a few of them and looking at Miranda Cuthbert with bright, engaged eyes. Elle picked the two she liked the most - none where she was slouching, and definitely not the one where she was crying - and gave Melanie permission to post them. Within seconds, a notification popped up on her phone linking to the post.

<My girl @Elle_Bouquet NAILED her first-ever TV interview!

"I don't have an Elle Bouquet account," she said. She'd just decided she was Elle an hour ago.

"I made some during your interview!"

"Some? Plural?"

Melanie nodded. She certainly knew her social media. She gave Elle the account login information and Elle found, much to her astonishment, that @Elle_Bouquet already had 5,600 followers. That was fifty times more than Elias ever had! It was, however, still well short of @SportyMel's three hundred thousand and counting. She didn't mind.

Elle chewed at her lip, thinking. "Do you think Miranda will mind? I mean... she hasn't even had a chance to post our interview yet."

"Are you kidding?" Melanie laughed. "Do you have any idea how many hits this will get her? She's thanking her lucky stars right now. I'm taking everyone out for dinner to celebrate!"

"Good," El said, patting her rumbling stomach. "I'm famished."

They drove back to Melanie's so she could shower and change and then she and the whole Bouquet clan went out to Kublai Khan Teriyaki for Mongolian barbecue. Elle went through the line three times with Melanie graciously picking up the tab each time. Nolan bet her five dollars she couldn't finish her piled-high second plate and doubled down for the third plate, conceding the ten dollars when Elle slurped the last noddle from her chopsticks. By the end, she'd stuffed herself so much that her white blouse no longer fit - not to mention she'd slurped little spatters of sauce all over it.

"You'll get chubby, eating like that," her mother said.

She didn't bother to point out for a second time that, no, she wouldn't. She still had at least a few days before AHS was out of her system. Even then, it was considered to be nigh impossible for AHS people to get really out of shape (or, for that matter, to substantially undo the effects of the transformation), as their new biology simply wouldn't allow it. As they left Kublai Khan's, Nolan nudged El.

"You still owe me breakfast," he said. "Technically."

Elle and Melanie made out in the latter's car for a while, but amazingly didn't progress much beyond that. Elle was physically stuffed and emotionally drained from the day and needed to recharge. Once more, she fell asleep doing her mental exercises, half-wondering whether doing them in such a tired state could even do any good. But she figured, as her eyes drooped down and the phone slid out of her slim hands, something was better than nothing.

- - - - - 

Elle awoke at half-past nine, having really slept in for the first time since AHS and having missed many dozens of social media updates. She logged in, gagged a few times, and spent the next twenty minutes figuring out how to screen unsolicited dick pics out of her feed. She had 50,000 followers and Miranda's article wasn't even due to drop until sometime that afternoon.

<A million thanks to @SportyMel for delicious barbecue at @KublaiKhans!
<Me and Mel and our foodbaby:

She posted a picture that Nolan had taken of Melanie glancing lasciviously at a food-comatose Elle. She had no memory of that particular moment, but the proof was in the picture. She tagged Nolan on the picture, figuring he might pick up some mojo from the vicarious association.

Elle plodded to the mirror and then to the bathroom scale she'd temporarily commandeered to assess the night's damage. She was famished again and her stomach rumbled at the smell of omelets wafting in from under her door.

Ninety-three pounds and a shade under four foot eleven. That's what the scale and her little improvised door marker said. Her changes were slowing down - a lot. All except for two areas. The creasing of the t-shirt hurt her swollen chest and her expanded backside had actually ripped the seam at the seat of her pajama pants. Her stomach rumbled again. She was still a growing girl, it seemed.

Elle threw on her terrycloth robe and walked down to breakfast. The robe was far too large, but she'd worry about finding things that fit later. Maybe she could still fit into one of the bras she got yesterday. It seemed unlikely. Her mother, as usual, was busy at the breakfast nook, happily flipping away at more omelets than a family of four could possibly need (well... under normal circumstances), expertly rolling them on to serving plates and garnishing them with parsley and chives.

"Just in time for breakfast!" her mother said. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving! How many can I have?"

Her mother wetted her lips, looked between Elle and the serving plate, and smiled diplomatically. "As many as you like!"

Greg Bouquet came down a moment later, his face drawn in worry. Elle's mother noticed immediately and clacked over to him, ever graceful in her heels. She kissed his cheek and ran ruby-tipped fingers through his hair. "What's wrong, hon?"

Elle's dad looked to her seriously, waving his phone back and forth like it was a tricorder. "Did you post something online yesterday? Some kind of interview?"

Elle felt the pit of her stomach sink. She still swallowed her bite of omelet, though. She was hungry. "Granny Olsen?" she said.

"Your grandmother found out," he nodded. "She's worried. She's angry. She thinks you're a he-she, whatever the hell that is. And, most importantly, she's flying in tonight."

"Shit."

"Shit," he agreed.

"Language!" Elle's mother said.

Nolan jogged down the stairs and helped himself to some orange juice and an omelet. He glanced at his own phone. "Why is Granny Olsen asking me about Elle?" He shrugged. "My flight out's at five p.m., so good luck with that."

"Gee, thanks," Elle said. "So I guess you're going to have to take a rain check on that breakfast."

"Looks like," he said. "We'll talk later... actually, I have a kind of important question to ask you, but I figure we should wait until all this dies down before dealing with regular-life stuff."

"You can ask me now," Elle said. "I know I've been kind of weird the past few days, even all this AHS stuff considered, but I was just in a really weird place and I was just starting this massive rush of hormones and a bunch of other shit, you know? I promise that I'll be cool with whatever it is."

"I know," Nolan said. He ruffled her hair. "Is it longer? It's longer. I know you'll be cool, Elle, but I'm not sure I will be. We'll talk next week."

- - - - - 

Elle thought she'd be more out-of-sorts at the Grandma Olsen news than she ended up being. Granny lived out in Tempe and Elle wasn't all that close with her or most of the rest of the Olsen side of the family, save Aunt Katherine, who was a hoot and a half and some kind of crystal-healing yoga instructor or something out in Tucson. If Granny Olsen wanted to come out and be supportive and connect with Elle, she was perfectly happy to do that. If she wanted to get high-and-mighty with the fire and the brimstone, Elle had already made up her mind about that sort of person during her interview with Miranda.

It wasn't as if Elle didn't already have plenty on her plate. She had another meeting with Team Gender-Bender at the community center and she was really looking forward to it. Ash was going to bring Luci and, hopefully, they could get Dr. Turcott to help get her sorted.

Elle had a momentary pang of panic - if Ben put a few little clues together, he might infer that Luci's rescuers had been from her group at the community center. If Ash came in with her, he could get in real, serious legal trouble. If Ben got word to Dr. Turcott, they might all be in serious trouble. Creepy pervert rapist though he might be, Elle suspected that the law would be on Ben's side on this one. She messaged Ash:

<Be careful about Luci

<We could get in trouble

<Don't come in with her.

<I thought about that-, Ash texted back.
<I'll drop her off a block or so away-
<She'll come in a few minutes later-

<Good. Delete these texts.

<Ok-
<;)-
<I feel like a spy-

<Haha, me too!, Elle replied

That last text made Elle smile. Maybe everything would turn out fine. Ash made her feel good. Not good in the same way Melanie made her feel good, but not too far off. Elle wondered whether it was possible to be in love with two people at the same time. It was her understanding that these things seldom turned out well, but there could always be exceptions. Right?

Elle put in plenty of time with her exercises, wolfed down three microwave burritos, and headed off to the community center, her worries mostly forgotten. She could deal with Grandma Olsen. They would get things sorted out with Luci. She could love Melanie and Ash... there was chemistry between all of them, right? You couldn't deny chemistry. Right?

She pulled into the side lot, checked herself in the mirror, adjusted the tortoiseshell beret for optimal effect, and headed into the community center. Ash, Petra, and Dr. Turcott were already sitting on cushions in their little meeting area. Petra, engrossed in her phone, cocked her head to the side and pantomimed striking somebody with a knee. That was appropriate - she'd further developed and now looked like a tall, dark, and beautiful female MMA fighter, with her slightly-bulging muscles and lean cut. As tall and fit as Melanie was, Petra probably had two or three inches and fifteen pounds of lean muscle on her. Her hair was long and coal black streaked through with copper.

Dr. Turcott looked up at Elle, did a half-second double-take, and smiled. "It seems you're all famous," she said.

Elle felt more and more famous by the hour. Miranda's piece, complete with interview video, had dropped ninety minutes earlier and she'd had to turn notifications off to keep her phone from constantly buzzing. Petra chuckled, looked over to Elle, and also did a double-take.

"Damn, El. And I thought this shit hit me hard." She chuckled. "But check this out, ya girl Petra's famous."

Her phone displayed an article from the Elite Daily about the AHS outbreak. It prominently featured a picture of Petra, mid-kick, pushing the beefy woman away from a mostly off-screen Elle.

'A Corona outbreak AHS patient fends off CEC attackers.'

"Usually, it's 'brown person savagely attacks peaceful patriots', you know?" She thumped a fist above her now-sizable bosom. "Fends off crazy white people attackers. No offense to present company. Those fuckers are crazy but you're good people."

"I appreciate that," Ash noted with a hint of sarcasm.

His voice had gone a bit deeper, his face a bit more ruggedly handsome, and he'd continued to stretch and swell out. If Elle had to guess, she'd say he weighed a deuce fifty, very little of that fat. Almost three times what she weighed. Elle sat down, feeling very small between Ash and Petra.

"So..." Dr. Turcott said. "Let's talk about what's happening. Let's talk about what's happening in your life and what you're doing about it. Anybody?"

"Aren't we going to wait for Luci?" Petra asked. "I mean the girl's a space cadet, but that's pretty cold."

The doctor smiled primly. "If she shows up, we'll be sure to catch her up to speed. Okay? What do you think, El?"

"I'm going by Elle now," she said. "Same pronunciation, almost. E-L-L-E. I decided that when I was being interviewed by Miranda Cuthbert. And I decided that I like who I am and I don't care who knows it. I was never much for self-pity, but I don't think I even have anything to feel bad about. I got AHS. I'm kicking its ass. And I'll still kick ass when it's down to three ppm."

"Fuck yes," Ash said, pumping his fist. He looked like he could crush rocks with those hands. "Um... ppm?"

"Particles per microliter. Three ppm is the quiescence threshold for the AHS vehicle. Above that is considered potentially active and... I'm rambling... it's when AHS stops.

"Ah. Good to know."

Dr. Turcott nodded. "Accurate and informative as usual, Elle. We'll start drawing samples every few days starting this week until you get two in a row below the threshold. Then you'll take the assessment battery - it's not mandatory, but it helps us track your symptoms so we can help you and future AHS patients."

"AHS people," Elle said.

"Of course."

They went around their small circle a few times, with Ash growing more visibly agitated with each passing minute. It only took Elle a moment to realize why: Luci hadn't arrived yet. There were all sorts of possible reasons for that. Maybe she'd just gotten lost. Knowing her, it might not take much to do that. But if somebody picked her up off of the street and discovered her pathologically agreeable nature, they might never find her.

"I need to take a pee," Ash said, rising to his feet.

"A piss," Petra said with a chuckle. "A man would never say 'take a pee'!"

"I don't care," he said.

"That's the spirit. Very manly!"

Ash stalked off and the two of them remaining went back and forth a few times with Dr. Turcott mediating. And with each passing minute, now Elle was becoming more anxious. It had been five minutes. Now six. Ash hadn't returned yet. Luci hadn't shown up yet. Something was very wrong. Should she text Ash? No, Elle decided, she should be helping. She rose to her feet and started for the door.

"I suppose you're taking a tinkle, too?" Petra said.

"I'm worried about Ash and Luci and I'm going to find them," she said.

Neither Petra nor Dr. Turcott made any move to help or stop her. They just watched Elle leave. She headed out from the rotunda, walking toward the parking lot. She spotted Ash's lilac pastel Beetle - it was hard to miss - and peeked inside it, thinking it might kindle some mote of inspiration. Nothing. She turned toward her own car and suddenly she was being lifted into the air.

Elle was grasped by arms much stronger than her own, lifted through the air as if she weighed nothing. She kicked, scraping her small feet against a muscled thigh and losing a too-loose shoe in the process. She tried to scream and felt meaty fingers clamp over her mouth. She was, she realized, being kidnapped in broad daylight in the parking lot of the North Corona Community Center.

Thick fingers muffled her screams. Elle bit at the fingers, tasted blood, and then felt and smelled something aromatic and ammoniac pressed over her face. It made her head swim. The fight left her limbs and her mouth wouldn't work. By the time Elle regained enough control to scream and thrash again, she was in the dark trunk of a car with her wrists and ankles zip-tied and a gag in her mouth. Somebody else was crammed into the trunk with her, but she couldn't tell if they were dead or just unconscious. She cried and twisted about and tried to scream, but the car drove off and there was nothing she could do.

OvidLemma

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