Head to the bar

You stare at yourself in the mirror one more time, captivated by Eliza's body in the purple lingerie. The fraternity ceremony suddenly seems so trivial compared to the opportunity before you. Why rush back to a boring sorority ritual when you could experience a night of freedom in this new form?

Decisively, you unhook the purple bra, sliding it down Eliza's arms. The cool air pebbles her nipples as you admire her bare breasts—perky, with pale pink areolas that contract under your gaze. You shimmy the matching panties down her legs, stepping out of them and standing naked before the mirror.

"Goodbye, ceremony," you whisper, tracing the curves of her waist, the soft plane of her stomach, the gentle flare of her hips.

You tuck the expensive lingerie into your desk drawer alongside the stolen sorority underwear. Your trophy collection is growing nicely. After redressing Eliza in her jeans and sweater, you check the time—10:08. Nathan won't be back for at least fifteen minutes, which gives you plenty of time to slip out undetected.

Back in the hallway, you pull out Eliza's phone and type a message to Vanessa: "Friend worse than I thought. Taking him to campus health center. Don't wait up."

Within seconds, her reply appears: "Becca's going to kill you. Should I tell Madison?"

You respond simply: "Please. I'll make it up to you all tomorrow."

With that obligation handled, a thrill of possibility rushes through you. The entire campus is yours to explore through new eyes, new sensations. You exit the residence hall, the night air even more exhilarating against Eliza's skin now that you've committed to your freedom.

You head toward the campus center, where Thursday night means the Black Sheep pub will be packed with students celebrating the near-arrival of the weekend. The walk feels different in Eliza's body—smaller, lighter, drawing different kinds of gazes from passersby.

The Black Sheep pulses with energy, music spilling out each time someone opens the door. You slip inside, immediately enveloped in warmth, noise, and the smell of beer. The bartender, a tall guy with sleeve tattoos, nods at you.

"Usual, Eliza?" he asks, already reaching for a glass.

"Actually," you say, testing the power of her smile, "I'm feeling adventurous tonight. Surprise me?"

He raises an eyebrow but grins. "Coming right up."

As you wait, someone touches Eliza's elbow. You turn to find a guy you vaguely recognize from your Economics class—Josh or Jason or something—smiling down at you.

"Eliza Morrison," he says with exaggerated surprise. "I thought Thursdays were sacred sorority nights? What brings you to mingle with the common folk?"

"Needed a change of scenery," you reply, subtly leaning into his space, curious how it feels to flirt from this side of the equation. "And maybe some better company."

His eyes widen slightly at your boldness. "Well," he says, sliding onto the barstool next to you, "I'm Jordan. We've had Macroeconomics together since September, but you probably don't remember me."

The bartender sets down a cocktail with a flourish—something pink with a sugared rim. You take a sip, the sweet-tart liquid warming your throat.

"I remember you," you lie smoothly, feeling Eliza's heart quicken as Jordan's knee touches hers. "You sit two rows back, always wearing those vintage concert t-shirts."

Jordan laughs, clearly pleased. "And you always have the answers Professor Wilson is looking for." He leans closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Though I have to say, this Eliza is... different. I like it."

You smile, taking another sip of your drink and considering the possibilities stretching before you in this borrowed body.