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MidReal Story
The Bimbo Experiment
Scenario:Elizabeth was the valedictorian and amartest girl in her school, but after some black mail shes given an ultimatum: Act like a total bimbo for 2 months or her secrets exposed
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Elizabeth Thompson
resilient, and witty. Elizabeth is blackmailed into acting like a bimbo for two months to protect her secrets. She struggles with the transformation but adapts to the new persona. Despite the challenges, she maintains her intelligence and wit while navigating her new role. Her relationships with her friends remain strong, but she faces unexpected attention from boys at school.
Cameron Reed
charismatic, and flirtatious. Cameron becomes interested in Elizabeth after her transformation into a bimbo persona. He approaches her with friendly intentions but is unaware of the blackmail behind her actions. His interactions with Elizabeth are playful and lighthearted, showing his genuine interest in getting to know her better.
Jenna Wilson
loyal, and humorous. Jenna helps Elizabeth adjust to her new persona by offering advice on fashion and makeup. She remains a steady presence in Elizabeth's life during this challenging time and provides comic relief through their interactions.
"YOU ARE JOKING, RIGHT?"
I yelled into the phone.
Unfortunately, the blackmailer on the other end was dead serious.
"If you don't do this," he said, "all of your little secrets will be exposed."
Ugh!
I seethed.
Of all the things I could be blackmailed with, this had to be the worst.
The guy on the other end of the line wanted me to act like a total bimbo for the next two months.
Me!The most intelligent person at one of the most prestigious high schools in the country.
I was the valedictorian, for God's sake!
The one girl at school who could actually answer all of Mr. Smith's trivia questions before he even asked them was being told that she would have to flunk every single test I took?
That didn't sound very realistic.
But what other choice did I have?
Either I acted like Cameron Diaz's character from 'Voce' for half a semester, or my deep, dark secrets got spilled to the entire student body.
I decided right there and then that I would take the advice of my mom's favorite reality star, Spencer Pratt.
"If you want to keep a secret, keep a secret," he always said.
I slumped against my bedroom wall, phone still clutched in my trembling hand.
My eyes drifted to the bookshelf that lined one entire wall of my room.
It was filled with trophies and certificates from every academic competition I had ever entered.
Every single honor roll certificate I had ever received was framed and displayed proudly on the shelf.
I walked over to it and started removing them one by one, placing them carefully in a cardboard box.
Each one felt heavier than the last.
My phone buzzed in my hand, reminding me that I still had it clutched tightly in my fingers.
I looked down at the screen and saw that I had received a text message from the blackmailer.
I opened it up and read the instructions for tomorrow: "Wear pink. Chew gum. Giggle at everything. Fail your calculus quiz."
I sighed heavily and placed the phone down on my bed, then grabbed my makeup bag from the back of my closet.
It was a little dusty; I hadn't used it since freshman year when I briefly tried to be popular.
I opened it up and began practicing different vacant expressions in front of the mirror.
"Like, oh my god," I whispered to myself, trying out the words.
They felt foreign in my mouth, like they didn't belong there at all.
I walked over to my closet and pulled out the pink sweater I had bought last weekend when Jenna dragged me to the mall.
It was a little too tight for my taste, but I figured it was perfect for the occasion.
I pulled out a pair of white knee-high socks and a short skirt.
My mom had always been adamant about me not showing my legs at school, so this would be another first for me.
The final touch was a pair of platform shoes that Jenna had talked me into buying.
They were a little too flashy, but they would add a nice finishing touch to my outfit.
I set them all down on the floor and picked up my phone again.
Another text from the blackmailer: "Remember, giggle at everything tomorrow. EVERYTHING."
Ugh!
I sighed and looked in the mirror.
I started practicing different types of giggles, trying to get it just right.
"Ha ha ha," I tried first.
Then, "Hee hee hee."
Finally, "Hoo hoo hoo."
Each one made me cringe just a little bit more than the last.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I muttered, staring at the phone as if it could answer back.
"Because," came the reply, "you have something I need, and this is the only way to get it."
"What could you possibly want from me that justifies ruining my life?" I demanded, frustration boiling over.
"Tomorrow," was the only reply.
I threw my phone down on my bed and walked over to my desk.
I pulled out my backpack and began emptying it onto my desk.
My graphing calculator, my binders full of notes from last year, my AP Calculus textbook, and my color-coded notebooks.
The sight of them all laid out there made me feel a little bit nauseous.
These were the tools that had helped me earn the highest GPA in school.
These were the things that made me who I was.
I picked up the graphing calculator and stared at it for a moment before putting it into the box with the certificates.
I opened up the desk drawer and pulled out a pink calculator covered in heart stickers.
It was so basic that I had never even used it before, but now it would be my new best friend.
I placed it in my backpack and zipped it up halfway.
Next, I pulled out my AP Calculus textbook and placed it on top of the box of certificates.
I couldn't risk accidentally solving an equation correctly tomorrow. I opened up my backpack again and stuffed some fashion magazines between my folders instead.
Then I added a pack of bubble gum to the front pocket.
When I zipped the bag up again, it felt much lighter than it had before.
It sounded like I was closing the door on a part of myself, and that knowledge made me shudder slightly.
I grabbed my phone off of the bed and started to text Jenna to remind her that we needed to meet up early tomorrow morning so she could help me with my hair when I saw another message from the blackmailer: "Don't forget to paint your nails pink tonight. XOXO."
I sighed and sat down cross-legged on my bed.
I picked up the pink nail polish bottle from my desk and set it down on top of my chemistry textbook.
It wobbled back and forth precariously for a few seconds before finally coming to rest.
I opened the bottle and dipped the brush into it, trying to steady my hand as I dragged it across my thumbnail.
The polish was much thicker than I remembered, and it came out in a big glob that slid down my nail in an uneven streak.
I tried to wipe off the excess with my thumb, but it only smeared it more.
Polish dripped onto my bedspread and I grabbed some tissues to clean it up, smudging the half-finished nail even more in the process.
I tried again with my next finger, but the results were similar.
By the time I got to my third finger, I had almost given up.
It looked like a kindergartener had painted them. My phone buzzed again, and I knew what I would see before I even looked: another text from the blackmailer.
"Both hands," it said.
"No excuses."
I gritted my teeth and started over from the beginning, forcing myself to paint slower, steadier strokes while fighting back angry tears.
"Why are you letting them control you like this?" Jenna's voice crackled through the phone, filled with concern.
I took a deep breath and started walking toward the front doors of the school.
Every single pair of eyes was on me, and I could feel my face burning with embarrassment.
"Hey, Lizzy," one of the girls from my chemistry class called out to me as I walked by.
"You look so different today!"
I forced a giggle and waved at her.
It sounded like nails on a chalkboard in my ears.
I walked into calculus and took my usual seat in the front row.
I pulled out the pink calculator and set it down on top of the desk, then opened up my binder full of notes from last year.
My heart sank when I saw that we were having a quiz on the first two chapters of the book, but I knew better than to even try to do well.
I looked down at each question and deliberately wrote in wrong answers for each one.
I glanced up at Mr. Thompson, who was pacing around the room and looking at everyone's work.
When he came over to see mine, his eyebrows furrowed together in concern.
"Are you sure this is right?" he asked me gently. I nodded vigorously and tried out another giggle.
"Hoo hoo hoo," I said, "I'm just a little rusty."
He stared at me for a long time before finally nodding his head and moving on to the next student.
By the time lunch rolled around, I was feeling completely defeated.
I walked over to where Tessa and Jenna were sitting in our usual spot in the quad and plopped down next to them with a sigh.
"Hey girl," Cameron said, sliding into the empty seat next to me with a smile.
"How's it going?"
I popped a bubble of gum loudly and stared up at him with a blank expression.
"Hoo hoo hoo," I said weakly.
Cameron looked taken aback by my response, but he quickly recovered himself with a chuckle.
"Right. Well, it's good to see you're still your old self," he said lamely, trying to laugh along with me. "Lizzy," Tessa said quietly, reaching underneath the table to squeeze my hand reassuringly.
"It's okay."
I turned to her and gave her a weak smile before popping another bubble loudly.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see another text from the blackmailer: "Your laugh sounds fake as hell. Get it together."
I stood up and walked over to the bathroom, locking myself inside a stall to practice.
I pulled up YouTube tutorials on my phone of "cute girl laughs" and watched them all while trying to mimic the sounds.
I walked back over to the quad and sat down in front of my vanity mirror.
I pulled out my phone and started recording myself as I tried out different variations of the giggle.
The first few sounded hollow and forced, but after an hour of trying different ones, I finally found one that sounded believable.
It was higher-pitched than my normal laugh, and it had a breathy quality to it.
I decided to test it out on Jenna with a phone call.
"Hey girl," she said when she picked up.
"How's it going?"
"Hoo hoo hoo," I said, trying out my new laugh.
"It's going."
Jenna laughed at me.
"Seriously? That's what you're going with?"
I sighed and rolled my eyes at myself in the mirror.
"I know. It sounds ridiculous."
"No, actually," she said thoughtfully, "it doesn't sound that bad. It's kind of cute."
"Really?"
I asked skeptically. "Yeah. It's just...different. You know?"
"Yeah," I said softly.
"I know."
"Well, you're doing great," she said encouragingly.
"Just keep it up for two months and then you'll be free."
"Thanks," I said quietly.
"Hey, did you hear about Mr. Smith's toupee?" she asked suddenly.
I giggled without even thinking about it: "Hoo hoo hoo! No, what happened?"
"He was in the staff room this morning and he leaned over to grab a cup of coffee, and his toupee slipped right off his head!"
She burst into laughter on the other end of the line.
"I'm dying over here!"