Continued!

He bolted upright, heart pounding like a drumline. Unless he wasn’t Danny. Girls-only meant no guys, but what about a girl? A fake one. The idea crashed into him like a rogue wave—ludicrous, reckless, maybe genius. He could dress up, slip in, get close to Lila. Talk to her. Hear that laugh up close. His palms went slick with sweat, his mind racing.

Danny paced the tiny living room, bare feet scuffing the linoleum. It could work. He wasn’t bulky—skinny, even, with narrow shoulders and no beard to speak of. A wig, a dress, some makeup—he’d seen drag queens on TV pull off worse. He could be… “Diana,” he whispered, testing the name. Shy, new, a freshman looking to fit in. He’d bring the pizza as a cover, say he—she—wanted to help out. His pulse thrummed in his ears, half-thrilled, half-terrified.

The next afternoon, Danny stood in the thrift store, the musty smell of old fabric tickling his nose. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows on racks of discarded clothes. His reflection in a chipped full-length mirror showed a gangly guy with messy brown hair and a frown that screamed “out of his depth.” Not sorority material by a long shot. He grabbed a blonde wig—long, tangled, a little matted—and held it up, squinting. It’d do. Next came a flowery dress, pale blue with ruffled sleeves, the kind his mom might’ve worn to church.

It looked like it’d fit if he held his breath. Makeup was a minefield; he rummaged through a clearance bin, snagging a tube of cherry-red lipstick, a cracked blush compact, and a mascara wand that looked like it’d seen better days. He added a pair of scuffed white heels—size 10, close enough—and paid with a fistful of crumpled bills, dodging the cashier’s curious stare.