There’s no excuse for what I did the night before the frat party. Yes, I was stressed. I was frustrated. But deep down, I knew it was a bad idea, and I did it anyway.

  Things were tense after my confrontation with Karl. He and Nick were still seeing each other, in their quasi-boyfriend retionship I totally didn't care about at all, and that meant he continued hanging around the dorm. He kept up his condescending faux-friendly act in front of Nick, but his disdain for me was very clear. I tried not to let it bother me. I was used to people resenting my presence and I could give a crap how Karl felt about me. Still, it was draining, even if I got some satisfaction from knowing how mad he would be if he found out that I was sharing a bed with Nick every night. Obviously it was the exact opposite of romantic, but Karl would flip his lid if he knew. That was pretty funny.

  Other than that, things weren't going great. Miel was still busy all the time, with whatever mysterious task Kermit had her working on. She had also started a new project with ACORN, pnning and organising a massive fundraiser concert on campus. I offered to help, but she showed me some of what she was working on, and it was all spreadsheets and paperwork, getting approvals from the school and budgeting and comparing quotes from vendors, and I couldn't wrap my head around any of it. Hell, I could barely keep up with my own business csses anymore. So Miel worked on her projects with her smarter friends, and I barely got to see her at all. I still spent time with my other art and ACORN friends, but Miel was my best friend and I resented having her snatched away from me. Also, Jess and Shawnee were even more lovey-dovey after our slumber party, and it was starting to irritate me. They were cute, but it was a frustrating reminder that the only person I had hooked up with in college was fucking Nick.

  I had been thinking a lot about what I wanted. Yes, I needed my own room, so I could have the space to figure out my identity. But that wasn't gonna happen for a while. So in the meantime, what did I want? Setting aside any questions of whether I was trans or gay or anything else, what did I actually want to do right now?

  There were two things. The first was that I wanted to feel pretty. I liked my new clothes, and I liked wearing makeup, but I still felt like I could go further. I had been painting more, and I always felt frustrated when the piece I was working on wasn't living up to the potential it had in my head. My own appearance was the ultimate example of that. I was pretty, for a guy, for a twink, for a femboy, but I knew I could be prettier if I just had the chance.

  The other thing? I wanted to have sex.

  It seemed like everyone around me was doing it. Nick and Karl, Jess and Shawnee, that bass pyer at the rock show for sure had gone home with someone. Meanwhile I was almost nineteen and still a total virgin. I hadn't even kissed a guy yet! I kept waking up with Nick spooning me, and sometimes I just stayed there for a while to spite Karl. Sometimes Nick had morning wood, and feeling his cock pressed up against me, digging into my butt with just a few yers of fabric separating us… it was definitely stirring up some thoughts.

  I knew what I wanted, but pursuing it was still scary. I was still adjusting to being openly gay, and I wasn't sure I was ready to be totally out-and-proud. If I actually had sex with a guy, there was a risk he could tell someone, and the news would get back to my dad. If I went out in public in a dress, someone could take a photo, and my dad could end up seeing it. There was no way I would be able to talk my way out of either of those things. I had barely managed to get away with wearing leggings.

  So neither of my goals seemed like they were in reach at all, and I got more and more impatient and frustrated, more and more feeling like I was trapped, more and more desperate to feel some kind of release, and after a few weeks it all built up too much, and I acted on my worst impulses. That night, when Miel was busy, and Nick and I were home alone, and we had both had a few of our stashed Lucy beers, I gave in to temptation and did something I knew was going to have resounding, potentially catastrophic, consequences.

  I cut my bangs.

  ***

  “Oh, shit,” said Nick.

  “Don't be a dick!” I said, like I hadn't just spent the st ten minutes frantically saying the exact same thing over and over as I stared into the mirror in horror, “It looks good!”

  “It looks…” Nick began, but I gred at him so hard it almost left a mark, and he changed course quickly, “I mean, as long as you're happy.”

  “I am!” I snapped.

  I was happy. Or, at least, I had been happy, for that one split second it took to snip my scissors. And then I looked in the mirror, at the somewhat girly, extremely intentional haircut I had just given myself, and I felt like my heart was going to explode.

  A haircut was not like clothing. It wasn't even like makeup. A haircut was about as close to permanent as it was possible to get without, y'know, actually doing something permanent. I was stuck with these stupid bangs for the next couple of months. If my dad decided to visit again, he was going to see me like this. I was aware of that possibility, but it felt vague and unlikely until I actually did it, and then all of a sudden it felt terrifyingly certain. And then I realised I had a way out: I could just cut the rest of my hair short, too. Somehow that felt even worse.

  So I had spent ten minutes hunched over the sink quietly swearing and trying not to throw up, until I finally figured out a solution. I was going to stop looking in the mirror and walk out of the bathroom and just not think about it at all. A perfect pn, which Nick had immediately ruined.

  “So is this, uh,” he gestured his hand vaguely, “Like, does this mean something, or…”

  “No!” I felt my face go red, “It's just for a costume!”

  Nick tilted his head, “A costume? Is this more Kermit Tsu shit?”

  “Ugh, no,” I said, “Stop trying to guess what's going on in my life, you're not good at it.”

  “Fucking excuse me,” Nick said, “I got my own shit going on, I never said I was interested in what you were doing anyway.”

  I huffed and crossed my arms. Nick’s “own shit” was just doing research for a marketing assignment. He had borrowed a bunch of actual library books for it, like the dork he was. I had the same assignment, and I was going to start working on it soon. Totally. For sure.

  “You're always interested in what I do,” I said, “That's why you hang around here all the time, instead of doing your work at the library, or at your stupid boyfriend’s pce.”

  “We’re still not…”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” I rolled my eyes, “Your stupid not-boyfriend’s pce, anyway. You're obsessed with my interesting life, and my schemes, and all the cool stuff I get up to while you're running in circles and reading boring books.”

  “The only reason I even noticed you cut your hair is cause I know it means the sink’s gonna be a fucking mess again,” Nick said, “You know we don't have a–”

  “We don't have a fucking maid, I get it,” I smirked. This was an annoyingly common refrain, but tonight it was unintentionally amusing. “You can stop whining, I cleaned up after myself. You're welcome, by the way.”

  “Great, thanks, you're a real hero for cleaning up your own mess,” said Nick. He set his books aside and sighed, “So?”

  “So?”

  “So what's the costume? You've been standing there smirking for the st five minutes, clearly you wanna tell me.”

  “It's a surprise,” I said airily, “Perhaps you'll get to see it before I go to the party tomorrow. I know you like perving at my outfits.”

  “I don't perv!” Nick said, “But if you're fucking flouncing around my bedroom in short skirts all the time obviously I’m – fucking whatever. What party?”

  “You're not invited,” I said, “My friend Mateus is in a frat, and they're having a costume party tomorrow night. So you and your not-boyfriend can have the room to yourselves.”

  Nick scoffed, “Generous of you. But I'm good, actually. My buddy Cameron’s frat is having a party too, so Karl and I are going to that. Pretty sure it's a costume party too, actually. Anyway, it’ll probably be a lot cooler than yours.”

  “Please,” I sneered, “Like I want to go to any party you're gonna be at.”

  We gred at each other for a moment.

  “I mean it's definitely the same party, huh,” Nick said.

  “Why wouldn't it be?” I sighed.

  I climbed into bed, and Nick paused at the dder.

  “Hey, uh, I was meaning to talk to you about something.”

  I peered over the edge of the bed, “So talk, moron. Like you’re not used to running your mouth all the time?”

  “Yeah, it’s just,” Nick shifted uncomfortably, “So with the, uh, the girl’s clothes and stuff. I don’t have a problem with it or anything, it’s just… you know how Karl is kind of, uh…”

  “An asshole?” I suggested, “A huge asshole?”

  “Protective,” said Nick.

  “A huge protective asshole?”

  Nick powered through, “So, I figure, uh, he probably wouldn’t be psyched to know that, uh, that you’re dressing the way you’re dressing, like, right now.”

  I raised my eyebrows. I was wearing a cute little sleep set, that showed off my smooth slender legs and a glimpse of my tummy. It wasn’t actually all that girly, to be honest. But it was pretty revealing.

  “Is he worried you won’t be able to help yourself?” I said, “You’ve told him how much you love checking out my ass, and he thinks you’re gonna go crazy and start jacking off in front of me again?”

  “Come on, dude,” Nick grimaced, “I haven’t fucking told him about any of that stuff, alright? It’s in the past. And I don’t talk to him about you, fucking, y’know, dressing up. I figure that’s your own business.”

  “It is,” I said icily. Deep down I was grateful, though.

  “But I just figure maybe it’s not, uh, appropriate,” Nick finished weakly.

  “Well, that was a fascinating conversation,” I said, “Absolutely zero fucking way am I changing any of my behaviour to appease you or your shithead not-boyfriend. I like dressing like this, and if you’ve got a problem being around me you can go sleep in the hall or something.”

  Nick sighed, “It’s just that–”

  “I’m gonna dress the way I fucking want!” I snapped, “I don’t care what you or Karl or anyone else thinks! Okay! I’m doing what I want!”

  “Then why don’t you dress like this outside the dorm?” said Nick.

  “Because it’s scary, idiot!” I said. I lifted the corner of the bnket, “Now are you coming to bed or what?”

  Nick shrugged, “Well, I tried.”

  When I woke up in the morning we were spooning again, and I can’t deny I felt a wicked satisfaction about it.

  ***

  I met up with Shawnee and Jess the next day, and they were very supportive of my new hairstyle. Well, Jess gently insisted that I let her even it out a bit, and add some yers, and do a bunch of other things that I wasn't sure where she had learned considering herself and her girlfriend were both practically bald. But I couldn't deny that it looked a lot better when she was finished.

  I asked if they were going to the party that night.

  “It sounds fun!” Shawnee said encouragingly, “I hope you and Mateus have a great time! We already had pns, unfortunately, so we’re going to have to miss it this time. Maybe we’ll go to the next one!”

  “I would rather kill myself than go to a frat party,” said Jess.

  “That too,” Shawnee admitted.

  I wasn't too upset that they were gonna miss the party. I had big pns, especially for my costume.

  Because it was a costume party, right? Which meant everyone would be dressed up, in silly costumes, just for fun. So that meant I could also dress up, and as far as anyone knew, I was just doing the same thing.

  That was the cssic ruse, in a whole lot of the (admittedly not super realistic) stories I had read online. My night probably wouldn't end quite as… climatically, but there was a chance! I mean, Mateus would be at the party, and he was gay. There might be other guys there who would also be into me. The idea of hooking up with a gay guy while dressed as a girl didn't exactly feel perfect, but then maybe there were bi guys, too. Or maybe even, possibly, a straight guy would see me, and think I was so hot that he wouldn't even care that I was a guy. Some straight guys liked femboys, after all. I had seen that online. Anyway, at the very least, I was going to achieve one of my two goals. I intended to be pretty as hell.

  That was going to require some work.

  “Hurry up Nick!” Nick chanted from outside the door. God, sharing a bathroom was really killing me these days, especially now that I was wearing makeup on a daily basis. He cpped his hand against his chest and repeated, “Hurry up Nick!” Cp cp cp, “Hurry up Nick!”

  “Can you stop?” I yelled, “You are literally acting like a fucking child!”

  “You've been in there for like an hour!” he yelled back, “Fucking hurry up already! You’re gonna make me te!”

  “This is not a new development!” I replied. I misted my face with setting spray, “You know it takes me a long time to get ready! If you didn't pn around that, it's not my fault!”

  “I shouldn't have to pn around you in my own room,” Nick grumbled.

  I rolled my eyes. Nick was wrong about that (it was my room, and I should always take priority) but I had probably spent long enough in the bathroom, obsessively touching up my makeup. But it was important I got it right. I had gone for something much more involved than usual, with dramatic eyeliner and dark red lips and even contour, which meant if I did a bad job it was going to be way more embarrassing. But I had done well, I was pretty sure, unless I was totally delusional. I just had to trust that I wasn't. I took a deep breath, fluffed my hair a little, and adjusted my boobs.

  That's right. Boobs.

  I told you I had big pns.

  I bought the breast forms online. I was pretty sure the Great Oaks mall didn't have a boob store, and even if they did I would've been too anxious to actually go inside. It took a bit of research (and some very uncomfortable time spent looking at online stores with words in the title I really didn't want to think about applying to me) but as soon as I tried them on I knew it was worth it. Seeing myself in the mirror, in my costume, with the new haircut Jess gave me, and the actual swell of could-be-real breasts under my dress… for about ten minutes I couldn't even form a coherent thought. I just stared at myself, turning side to side, admiring the curves of my body, grinning like an idiot.

  And then Nick started yelling and I had to snap out of it and do my makeup before he started punching the drywall or something. Still, it was a nice moment while it sted. Something to think about, for sure. After the party.

  I double-checked my costume one st time, making sure my headpiece was on straight and my skirt wasn't riding too high. I smirked to myself. Okay, it could ride a little too high. Nick was gonna be the first person to see me all dressed up, and his reaction should be very fun to watch. I straightened my back, grinning a little at the way it thrust out my boobs, and then opened the door.

  “Oh, this pce is a mess!” I tutted, “Someone should clean it up!”

  “It's not a fucking mess, I'm literally using this shit,” said Nick, who was sitting at the desk, fucking aroud with a roll of tinfoil.

  I pouted, “You were supposed to say “We don't have a maid,” idiot.”

  “Well, no shit, we don't,” said Nick, “Why are–”

  He finally turned his head and his jaw dropped when he saw me.

  “Ta-da,” I twirled on the spot, letting him see my costume in all its glory. I was pleased to see the awestruck expression was still on his face when I finished my spin. Nick wasn’t good for much, but he was great for a quick self-esteem boost.

  “Holy shit,” Nick said.

  “Do you get it?”

  “Holy shit, Nick,” he said again.

  “But do you get it?” I arched an eyebrow, “It’s like an inside joke, y’know? Because of how you always say–”

  “You can’t go out like that,” he said.

  I blinked, “Fucking excuse me?”

  “Yeah, Nick, you can’t fucking go to the party like that,” he said, with an infuriating tone of certainty. Like it was in any way his fucking decision to make.

  I crossed my arms (fighting down the little thrill I got from feeling the way it squished my breast forms together) and gred at him, “Okay, Nick, not that it’s going to affect my decision in the slightest, but do you want to expin why the fuck you thought that was an appropriate thing to say?”

  Nick looked at me like I was an idiot, which might have hurt a little if it was coming from anyone else, particurly a person who wasn’t halfway through wrapping their arm in tinfoil.

  “Have you ever been to a frat party before?” he asked, “Or any party that wasn’t some fucking bck-tie ga?”

  I frowned, “Obviously. I did have friends in high school, you know.”

  “Sure, your fucking private school psychos,” Nick said dismissively, “When you would get together and exchange business cards and eat caviar or whatever. At fucking real parties, adult parties, you can’t just show up in a dress like that and expect everyone to be cool.”

  “Oh, whatever,” I said, although admittedly I did feel a squirm of nervousness in my stomach. I had never been to a frat party, but I had a certain image of them, from movies and the like, and I was aware they weren’t famous for being a safe space to explore your queer identity. But this wasn’t a movie. “Mateus invited me, and he’s cool, and he’s gay. And you and Karl are going, and you two have your, you know, bel-agnostic MLM retionship. It’s not exactly an RNC fundraiser.”

  Nick narrowed his eyes, “Have you been to–”

  “Not the point,” I had. They weren’t fun. “Look, I’m not an idiot. It’s a costume party, okay? I’m in costume. And it’s literally an inside joke, okay? It’s funny.”

  “Nobody else is gonna get the joke,” Nick pointed out, “You walk into that party, all anyone is gonna see is the spoilt bitch from business css, dressed like a slutty maid.”

  I blushed and looked at the ground as I anxiously twisted the toe of my little bck kitten heel into the carpet. I had put a lot of effort into my costume, and a fair amount of my father’s money, too. I wanted to make sure that I found a maid costume (“uniform” was a bit generous) that matched the one from my fantasies, not some cheap Party City polyester junk that would make me look desperate and gross. I wanted something fttering, and cute, and, okay, maybe a little sexy. And, after a semester of hanging out with Miel, I wanted it to come from an ethical company, not some fast fashion sweatshop. I thought the costume I ended up with was perfect, a cute little bck dress with just the right amount of fre and frills, a matching white apron and headpiece, and shoes and lingerie that I had bought separately to make sure they were just right. And then there was all the work I had done with my makeup and hair and boobs, and for a little while I had really thought that I actually made kind of a pretty girl.

  But Nick was right. I was just Dominic Lane wearing a stupid, perverted costume.

  My shoulders slumped, “Fine. I’ll take it off, if I look that stupid.”

  “I didn’t say you look stupid, dumbass,” said Nick, “I’m just saying, you can’t show up to a frat party dressed all sexy and expect everyone to be cool.”

  I looked up sharply, “What?”

  “There’s gonna be a bunch of drunk frat guys there,” Nick pointed out, “And, y’know, you’re all, fucking, small and pretty, and…”

  “Oh my god,” I said, “You think I might actually get some action at this party, and you’re fucking jealous.”

  “No I’m not!” Nick said, way too defensively, “It’s just… y’know, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Cause of. Y’know. Safety.”

  I scoffed, “This again? Fine, you can walk me to the party. Since you were so helpful when we met that guy in Batesville.”

  Nick sighed with exasperation, “Fuck, you’re so fucking stupid. I can’t believe you dressed like a slutty maid.”

  “I dressed like a regur maid,” I said sternly, “You’re the one projecting sluttiness onto it.”

  “Is that how your maid dresses?”

  “When she goes to a costume party, maybe,” I shrugged. Luisa was pretty young and cool, I was sure she had worn equally risque costumes in her spare time. I felt a little warmth in my heart at the idea that I might have something in common with an actual girl, especially someone as cool as Luisa.

  “Fuck it, whatever,” Nick muttered, “Just give me a minute.”

  He returned to wrapping tinfoil around his right arm. I tilted my head, curious.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, “Is this for your costume?”

  “Uh-huh,” he grinned and held up his hand. His prosthesis was now fully covered in shimmering metallic silver. “Check it out.”

  I gnced up and down his body. He was wearing jeans and a button-up with a few too many buttons undone, showing off his chest. As far as Nick went, this was bck-tie formal, but besides his foil-covered arm there was no sign of a costume.

  “I don’t get it,” I said.

  “Duh,” he grabbed a pair of sungsses off the desk, flipped them open and put them on. He grinned at me, “Sexy Terminator.”

  “What?”

  “Terminator!” he gestured at his arm again, like it was obvious, “The one from Terminator 2, y’know? The liquid metal guy.”

  “That guy didn’t wear jeans, he was, like, a cop,” I pointed out.

  “Yeah, sick, let me just grab my spare cop uniform from the dresser,” Nick scowled, “Unlike you, I gotta work for my money. I’m not spending a hundred bucks to dress up like I have a job.”

  That made me a little angry, mostly at the implication my costume only cost a hundred bucks.

  “Well, are we going, or what?” I said.

  “Give me five minutes,” Nick said, “I gotta shave.”

  I groaned, “You couldn’t have done that earlier?”

  “Someone was using the bathroom for the st fucking hour!”

  “Well, hurry up already! You’re gonna make me te!”