Continued!

He could pull this off. He had to. But the risks loomed like storm clouds. Sophie’s camera was a guillotine waiting to drop—one wrong move, and he’d be a laughingstock on every group chat. Jasmine’s pranks could trip him up in seconds—literally or figuratively. Riley might dare him to something he couldn’t fake, and Ava… she’d probably sketch him mid-disaster, immortalizing his shame.

And Lila—if she saw through it, if she laughed him out the door—he’d never recover. He paced again, heels clacking louder now, the dress swishing against his legs. Humiliation wasn’t just possible—it was probable. A train wreck in slow motion. But then he pictured Lila’s wink, her calling him a lifesaver, that split-second brush of her fingers. What was a little disgrace compared to that? He’d been a ghost too long—unseen, unheard, unmissed. This was his chance, insane as it was.

Danny peeled off the wig, the dress, the heels, and stashed them under the bed in a tangle of fabric and guilt. Tomorrow was the sleepover. He’d practice the voice, the walk, the story until “Diana” was bulletproof. He collapsed onto the couch, heart hammering, a grin tugging at his lips despite the nerves. For once, he wasn’t just the pizza boy. He was a girl with a plan—and a prayer.

Danny teetered on the sorority house porch, the pizza box trembling in his sweaty grip like a flimsy lifeline. The cool night air tugged at the hem of his thrift-store dress—a pale blue confection of ruffles that swished against his bare legs—and the blonde wig itched his scalp, strands catching on his cherry-red lipstick.