Doubts and Distractions Pt. 2

The moment your eyes caught Marcus’s name on the screen, a thrill shot through you so intense that you nearly dropped your phone. Liam noticed your reaction immediately, craning his neck to see. “Oh my god—no way. Did he…?”

Your heart pounded as you tapped the notification, the screen lighting up with a short but electric message.

You look good in that picture. Sorry I didn’t respond sooner, things have been kinda crazy.

“‘Good’?” Liam snorted in delight, slapping the bed. “He said ‘good,’ like, not just good-good, but ‘I noticed you, and I’m sorry I missed this’ kind of good. It’s understated, it’s cool, but—let’s be real, he’s definitely into it!”

You couldn’t help the ridiculous grin that spread across your face. “This… this actually worked! He’s interested!”

The two of you erupted into celebration, laughing and throwing pillows across the room, letting out all the frustration and doubt that had been brewing over the past week. But as the initial excitement faded, reality set in. Now you had to reply—thoughtfully, perfectly, without messing it up.

“Okay,” Liam said, pacing the room with his chopsticks clutched like a tiny pointer stick, “so, we gotta think this through. If he was cool and casual, we’ve gotta match that vibe. Keep it light. But also hint at, you know, wanting to meet up.”

You glanced back at the text. You didn’t want to come across as overeager, but it felt like a chance too good to pass up. After all, you didn’t have forever to pull off this whole “trial” ordeal. You needed to see him again and push things a little further. But how? And what could you say that would subtly imply a meeting without sounding ****?

“Maybe… maybe something like, ‘Glad you think so, I guess it’s hard to look bad with good company around,’” you suggested, your voice dropping a bit as you grew self-conscious.

Liam gave you a knowing grin. “Oooh, flirty and humble at the same time! I like it. It’s kind of mysterious too—keeps him guessing. But maybe we could make it a bit more open-ended?”

You paused, fiddling with the string on your hoodie, as you mulled it over. “Open-ended how?”

“Like, give him a reason to reply back, something he has to respond to. Or make it sound like we’re already planning to be out somewhere and he should, you know… join us,” Liam offered, his hands gesturing dramatically.

“Good idea,” you nodded, feeling a spark of confidence. “Maybe I could say something about wanting to grab a drink later this week? Something like, ‘You’re lucky you didn’t miss out on a night out with us. Drinks sometime this week?’ It’s casual, right? Like, if he’s interested, he’ll go for it.”

“Perfect,” Liam grinned. “It’s flirty without being over the top. And ‘us’ makes it sound even easier for him to say yes, like it’s no pressure.”

You nodded, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves as you crafted the message. You thumbed over the keys, pausing before you hit send to re-read the text.

Glad you think so. Drinks sometime this week?

It felt bold but approachable, confident but not overwhelming. It had to work.

Without another thought, you tapped send.

The two of you stared at the screen, the sent message glowing back at you with that mocking “just sent” timestamp. That’s when it hit you both—you’d replied instantly, within just a few minutes of his text.

“Oh no,” you whispered, suddenly gripping your phone tightly. “We replied way too fast. That looks so ****.”

Liam’s eyes widened in shared panic. “Wait, wait—no, it’s fine! Maybe he’ll just think we were already on our phones or something. Like… it’s casual! It’s no big deal, right?”

You buried your face in your hands, feeling the heat of embarrassment flood through you. “Or he’ll think we’ve been staring at our phones waiting for him to text, which, you know, we kind of have been!”

Liam grimaced, then shrugged in an attempt to comfort you. “Look, we’re in too deep. There’s nothing we can do about it now. Besides, maybe he’ll just see it as enthusiasm? That we’re excited?”

The words didn’t quite convince either of you, but you **** a smile, trying to stay optimistic. You could only wait now—wait and hope that the quick reply didn’t scare him off, that he’d see the message for what it was: a simple invitation, an open door.

The minutes ticked by, the scent of cold takeout filling the room as you both fell into a silent vigil over the screen, praying for those three dots to appear, hoping for any kind of answer.

As if the universe wasn’t already having enough fun at your expense, the next text that buzzed on your phone wasn’t from Marcus—it was from Michelle, and she was definitely not in a waiting mood.

I need you here at the sorority house in the next hour. Charlotte is coming too.

Your stomach dropped. The thought of going to the sorority, especially in such short notice, was not the “victory lap” you’d imagined for the evening. But Michelle’s tone left no room for negotiation, and with Charlotte’s approval still hanging in the balance, you didn’t have the luxury of saying no.

Liam watched as your face fell. “What? What happened?”

You sighed, waving your phone. “Michelle wants me to meet her… and Charlotte’s going to be there too.”

Liam’s eyes widened. “As in right now?”

“Basically,” you mumbled, mentally running through what little you had to wear. “I don’t have much that’s... well, sorority-material.”

“Well,” Liam said, shrugging, “I guess we’d better make do with what you have. But you’ll want something that doesn’t scream, ‘I threw this on five minutes ago,’ right?”

You exhaled and stood, facing the tiny, basic array of clothes you’d somehow cobbled together over the last few weeks. The assortment was painfully limited: mostly simple, comfortable pieces that leaned more “casual” than “chic.” Yet if Michelle wanted something cute and polished, you’d just have to figure it out from the pile.

With an uncertain glance at Liam, you sifted through the drawer. You pulled out a plain white blouse, a soft fabric that looked a bit wrinkled but would probably smooth out if you were lucky. “I mean…this, maybe?”

Liam tilted his head. “That could work! It’s kinda simple, but with the right stuff, you can make it look cute.”

Nodding, you paired the blouse with the only somewhat decent skirt you owned—a dark, mid-thigh skirt, simple but at least better than jeans. It had a slight stretch, making it more comfortable, but it had a high-waist cut that you hoped would give it a more polished look.

As for the underlayers, you figured you might as well keep things that felt… confident. Your underwear was a plain black lace set. It was basic, but at least it gave the impression of effort, and the faintly lacy pattern made you feel just a bit more put-together. You slid into a matching black bra—another semi-functional, semi-pretty piece with a slight push-up. It made you feel a little more pulled together.

Liam waved a hand toward your face. “Now, makeup. You got this?”

“Uh…” You bit your lip, eyeing the tiny collection of products you’d gathered. You weren’t exactly a makeup pro, and most of what you owned was minimal—lip gloss, mascara, a touch of blush, and maybe a light eyeshadow. Nothing too wild, but maybe that was enough.

With a shaky hand, you applied a thin layer of blush, trying to add just enough color to avoid looking like you’d spent all night poring over textbooks. Then you lightly dusted your eyelids with the softest shade you had, a light brown that hopefully added a touch of warmth to your eyes. A bit of mascara to open up your gaze, and then you applied a thin layer of clear lip gloss for a hint of shine.

“Okay,” Liam said, leaning forward for a better look. “You did it! It’s… actually really cute.”

“Thanks,” you said, adjusting the blouse collar nervously. “I guess that’ll have to work.”

You stepped back, giving yourself a final once-over in the mirror. The ensemble was plain, yes, but there was a faint sense of… femininity to it. The white blouse against the high-waisted skirt, the hint of lace beneath, even the small gloss on your lips—they all combined into a look that felt surprisingly soft and almost delicate. It wasn’t loud, or the flashy confidence you might imagine in a real sorority girl, but it felt... presentable. You could only hope Michelle and Charlotte would feel the same way.

Liam gave you a thumbs-up. “Alright, you’re ready. Go show ‘em what you’ve got.”

Taking one last deep breath, you stepped into the hallway, phone in hand and heart racing. Michelle had made it clear: this meeting was crucial, and if Charlotte’s approval was anything like Michelle’s demand for “effort,” you knew this was going to be a make-or-break evening.

The cool evening breeze was supposed to calm your nerves, but each step toward the sorority house felt like walking into a lion’s den—completely unarmed. The image of Michelle’s no-nonsense text loomed in your mind, but something else more terrifying hit you all at once: You didn’t have Hermes’s spell.

You froze mid-step, nearly stumbling off the sidewalk. The spell—Hermes’s little trick—had been your secret weapon, the only thing that could turn your nervous, awkward self into Luna, a person capable of keeping up with Michelle’s expectations. Now, without it? It felt like being thrown into the deep end without knowing how to swim.

“Crap,” you muttered under your breath, barely stifling a full-blown panic. “What am I going to do?”

You took a deep breath, then another, trying to focus. You don’t need the spell you told yourself. You can do this without it. You just have to act like Luna. A simple enough thought, right? Only, the problem was that acting like Luna was anything but simple.

You glanced down at your outfit, feeling the strangeness of the feminine getup more keenly than before. The soft lace against your skin, the skirt brushing against your thighs, the gentle pull of the bra—without Hermes’s magic, this outfit was all you had to work with. You couldn’t just “be” feminine—you’d have to act the part, think like Luna, somehow reach down inside and pull out every ounce of that feminine energy.

“Right, okay, okay. So how did Luna act?” You could hear yourself muttering under your breath as you walked, mentally grasping for any memory, any hint of that persona you’d so easily slipped into with Hermes’s help. When you were Luna, there’d been an ease to it, an almost **** flow of flirty confidence that just… fit. You’d leaned into it then, only now realizing how much you’d relied on that spell to make everything feel effortless.

As you walked, you tried mimicking that sense of confidence. You adjusted your posture, squaring your shoulders and arching your back just a little. You **** a soft smile, even though no one was watching, and focused on keeping your stride light, graceful.

“Think like Luna, think like Luna…” you whispered to yourself, hoping the repetition would somehow make it feel more natural. But it was like trying on a costume without really knowing the role you were supposed to play. You were putting all the pieces in place, but it felt hollow, like an impression of something you didn’t fully understand.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, despite the panic buzzing through you. Here you were, trying to channel a feminine side you never asked for, all because of a goddess’s curse that had tangled you into a web of bras, skirts, and makeup. A small part of you burned with resentment, annoyed at how girly you felt—and how much effort you were putting into acting the part just to keep afloat.

Alright, you told yourself, if I have to act like Luna, let’s try to get into her head. You straightened your posture, focused on making eye contact with the imaginary people around you, and let a flirtatious smirk play on your lips. You lifted your chin a bit, trying to project an air of confidence that felt miles away from what you actually felt. But you **** yourself to walk with a bit of a saunter, just enough to give off that “put-together” look Michelle would expect.

With each step, you tried practicing a few lines under your breath. “Hi, Michelle, so glad you texted,” you whispered, only for it to sound way too chipper. You tried again. “Hi, Michelle, looking good as always!” But that came out far too… eager. Too ****. You had to seem casual, as if it was all second nature, like flirting and banter was as natural as breathing.

You took another breath, adjusting your skirt as you walked, feeling it swish around your thighs in that soft, unfamiliar way. The sensation was… distracting, honestly. You couldn’t believe that girls walked around like this all the time, that they could just ignore that constant sensation of fabric against their skin, the pinch of a waistband, although you were already used to the faint tug of a bra strap. It made you too aware of your own body, and now with every step, you felt painfully conscious of how different you looked.

“Alright,” you whispered, steadying yourself again. “What would Luna say?”

As the sorority house came into view, you **** yourself to keep breathing, to keep your head high. Michelle and Charlotte would expect you to be poised, collected. You had to play the part of someone who belonged there, someone who fit right in without a second thought. But as you approached, the nagging feeling that you were an impostor—an awkward guy in girl’s clothes—kept creeping back, tightening around you like a vice.

You glanced at your reflection in a passing window, feeling a surge of both pride and discomfort at the person staring back at you. The outfit looked decent, even a little cute, but it was you wearing it, the guy who still couldn’t believe he’d been thrust into this wild, cursed situation. You adjusted your skirt again, focusing on keeping up that graceful walk, trying to imagine yourself as someone with the poise and confidence of a real sorority girl.

“Here goes nothing,” you muttered to yourself as you approached the front steps. With one final deep breath, you pushed aside the self-doubt, **** a smile onto your face, and gave yourself the mental pep talk you desperately needed: If you have to be Luna to get through this, then so be it. Channel her, own it, and don’t let them see you sweat.