“Guys, how many times do I have to expin it?” the gamemaster groaned, “The rules are simple! We go around the circle and everyone takes turns drawing a card. Whatever card you pull, it determines who drinks, what game you have to py, what rule you have to follow, whether or not you create a new rule, whether that rule applies to the specific game you just pyed or to the overarching game as a whole, and whether or not you draw from the bonus deck and if so how many cards you have to draw! Any questions?”

  The gamesmaster was the frat brother in charge of the drinking game we were pying. He was a bespectacled senior wearing a bck hooded jacket. He had also been wearing a geometric bck face mask, but he had to take it off when he tried to expin the rules the first time and everyone yelled at him that they couldn’t understand him. He had expined the rules again three times without the mask and it wasn’t helping.

  “What does a six mean again?” someone yelled out.

  “Six is for chicks,” said the gamesmaster, “All the girls drink!”

  “What about seven?” said someone else.

  “Seven is for Kevin!” the gamesmaster groaned, “Come on, guys!”

  “What the fuck does that mean? All the Kevins drink?”

  “All the guys drink, cause Kevin is a guy’s name,” he said, “This is common sense.”

  “How about Ace?”

  “Ace is for face,” the gamesmaster announced, “Because you will face off with another pyer in a round of beer pong.”

  “Wait, what happens if we pull an Uno Reverse card?”

  “I think I know this!” an angel with smeared lipstick piped up, “It means the order changes direction!”

  “Wrong!” said the exasperated gamesmaster, “Uno Reverse is for You So Perverse. Whoever drew the card has to share their dirtiest secret, and if we decide it’s not perverse enough…”

  “...they have to drink?” someone guessed.

  “No! They have to face off in a round of flip cup!” said the gamesmaster, “Were none of you paying attention?”

  The circle erupted into chaos again. I shook my head and turned to Michael, who shrugged sheepishly.

  After he rescued me from the bathroom, Michael had walked me around the party for a little while, showing me around the house, expining the lore behind all the stupid fratty decorations on the walls. I asked him about the political meaning behind throwing plungers at a picture of the Dean, and he confirmed that there was none. One of the brothers stole a portrait of the Dean from somewhere on campus, and they just liked that he had a big shiny bald head, which was really satisfying to stick a plunger to.

  It was nice at first, feeling Michael’s arm wrapped around me, letting him take the lead, feeling small and cute and feminine. He even introduced me to some of his friends. I went with “Nikki” again, which was really getting old. It felt a bit too much like I was letting Nick win, and I hated having that hanging over me on what should’ve been such a fun occasion. Maybe that was why Michael eventually started grating on me. He was being very dominant and in-control, which was nice earlier on, when I was feeling insecure, but the more I got my confidence back the more I resented it. It was very patriarchal, as Miel would say.

  I missed Miel.

  Anyway, we had eventually ended up upstairs, and Michael had found a group of partygoers crammed into somebody’s bedroom, and the gamesmaster expining a drinking game. He had been very enthusiastic about us joining in.

  “Trust me, I know it sounds complicated, but it’s really fun,” Michael said, “This guy’s a genius at designing games.”

  “It seems like he just crammed a bunch of different drinking games together,” I said.

  Michael shook his head and patted my thigh condescendingly, “Don’t worry, Nikki. I’ll expin the rules as we go.”

  “Uh-huh,” I muttered. Michael’s hand lingered on my thigh, squeezing gently. He had been touching me a lot, and I couldn’t remember him ever actually asking first. I didn’t want to seem like a buzzkill by pointing that out, though. Instead I said, “I think I’m gonna need a drink to py this game, right? Could you go get me one?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Michael looked around, “I’m sure one of my buddies could…”

  “Aww, but Michael!” I batted my eyeshes at him, “You’re so good at serving me drinks.”

  Michael puffed up his chest a bit, looking proud, “Hey, that’s why they put me on keg duty I guess.”

  “Bleh,” I stuck out my tongue, “That cheap beer is so nasty, though. Do you think you could find me something nicer?”

  Michael frowned, and then a thought seemed to strike him, and he grinned, “Yeah, I’ll get you something real special, Nikki. You wait here for me, okay?”

  “Sure thing!” I smiled, “Chop chop!”

  Michael left the circle and I sighed and wiped my thigh clean of his sweaty handprint. That should take him a little while. If he was going to mix up a cocktail or something, I assumed he would have to go downstairs to the kitchen, or back to wherever the pledges lived, which I assumed was down in the basement somewhere.

  Honestly, Michael wasn’t so bad. Okay, maybe he was kind of dumb, but all boys were kind of dumb. And he was also kind of charming, and quite good-looking, and he definitely wanted to have sex with me. That thought made my tummy fill with butterflies. It would be really, really cool to have sex tonight, to make a guy horny and desperate until he was begging for me to touch his dick, to stroke it, to take it inside me… I shivered. Yes, it would be really cool. But Michael might not be the best choice. He didn’t know I wasn’t a real girl. I mean, not that trans girls weren’t real girls. But I had only been trans for, like, an hour. And I wasn’t even necessarily totally sure that I even actually was…

  Now that I was away from the pumping music, my head was starting to settle, and I was feeling a little depressed. I was overthinking again, obsessing over bels instead of just going after what I wanted. I was trans, I wasn’t trans, whatever. Tonight I was a girl. But I was a girl with a penis, and I wasn’t sure how well Michael was going to take that. Maybe he would be cool with it, but it seemed like a long shot. No, if I wanted to get id tonight, my best bet was to find Mateus and the cool open-minded queer friends I assumed he had. I still hadn’t managed to spot him when Michael was showing me around, but at least now I was upstairs. I scanned the circle, just in case Mateus was sitting somewhere in the room. Michael had been distracting me when I came in, after all. But I couldn’t see any sign of his bearded face. I sighed. Okay, I would stick around until Michael got back with my drink, then make an excuse to leave.

  “So, wait,” said a confused frat brother dressed as a skeleton, “If I pull a jack, I gotta pour some of my drink in the cup?”

  “Nope,” the gamesmaster sighed, “That’s if you pull a king. Jack is for Jack,” the gamesmaster pulled his hair back ft against his head and put on a weird drawly voice, “Like me, Jaaaack. Y’know, Jack Nicholson. So if you pull a Jack…”

  He pointed to the far wall, where a little projector was dispying an old movie, paused on the opening scene.

  “...if you pull a Jaaack, we watch five minutes of The Shining, and every time it’s peak cinema, you take a drink.”

  The bedroom door opened behind me. I turned eagerly, hoping it was Michael with my drink. But instead it was a gaggle of Nick’s track buddies. I recognised James, in his basketball jersey, and a blonde cowgirl I was pretty sure ran long distance. They crowded in the doorway.

  “What are y’all pying?” said the cowgirl.

  “It’s a drinking game,” said the gamesmaster.

  “Oh, sick,” said James, “What are the rules?”

  There was a chorus of groans, and the gamesmaster shook his head, “No way I’m expining this again. You wanna py, just join the circle and figure it out as we go.”

  The runners agreed and piled in, aiming for the gap next to me that Michael had recently vacated. People shuffled out of the way to make room, and I followed suit, taking care so that my skirt wouldn't ride up as I wiggled along the floor. When I looked up I saw that James was sitting next to me. The cowgirl was on his other side, and right next to her was, god damn it, a sullen-looking Nick.

  “Un-fucking-believable,” I muttered.

  “Yo, sorry for squeezing in,” James said, “We’re just tryna cheer up our buddy.”

  I did not feel any sympathy for that, and certainly not any guilt. Whatever had happened between Nick and Karl was not my business and not my fault.

  “Eight!” someone announced, holding up a card. The game had begun.

  “Eight is for great!” said the gamesmaster, “So you’re going to py a great game called Truth or Dare or Drink or Make Up A New Rule!”

  That led to a whole bunch of ruckus, which I tuned out. I fiddled with my thigh-highs, tryna get them straightened out. Ugh, I could see the beer stains on them.

  “Whoa, smells like you had a few,” said James.

  “I didn't ask you, James,” I said testily.

  James tilted his head, “James?”

  “Your jersey literally says James on it.”

  “Oh yeah, haha. I'm dressed as LeBron,” James ughed like that should've been obvious. I gred at him. Why wasn't he wearing a jersey that said LeBron, then?

  “New rule!” the gamesmaster shouted, “Anytime this game passes the Bechdel test, take a drink! Shouldn't make much of a difference considering what a fucking sausage party it is in here!”

  The next person drew an ace and began boriously setting up cups for a beer pong match. The already crowded bedroom was feeling even more cramped. Some of the senior brothers’ bedrooms had ensuites (which wouldn't usually have impressed me, but I was continuing to lower my standards for accommodation) but even with some of the circle crammed in there, we were still pressed for space.

  “Hey, you look kinda familiar,” said James, or LeBron, or whatever his actual name was. “We met before?”

  “Nope,” I said. James had probably seen me on the bus when we went to Batesville, but I didn't want to have that discussion. I pointed to the beer pong set up, where the guy who drew the ace was looking for an opponent. “You should go shoot some three pointers, LeBron.”

  “Oh, hell yeah,” he hopped up eagerly, leaving me sitting next to the cowgirl. Crap. Now I was only one spot away from Nick, who was still scowling sulkily at the floor.

  “Heyyy!” said the cowgirl, “I'm Sienna.”

  “Nikki,” I muttered. Nick snorted and I gred at him, but he still wasn't looking my way.

  “Does this game make any sense to you?” she asked.

  “Not really,” I said, “But I haven't really pyed any drinking games before.”

  The gamesmaster’s head whipped around.

  “Everyone take a drink!” he said.

  “What the hell?” said the confused skeleton.

  “Why?” said the angel with smeared lipstick.

  “I just told you! We got that new rule!”

  “God damn it, dude, this is why your video game didn't make any money,” the skeleton groaned.

  “My game made a ton of money,” the gamesmaster protested, “I just got sued a bunch. C’mon, everyone drink!”

  The skeleton grumbled but acquiesced, and the rest of the circle followed suit. Sienna the cowgirl took a sip of a hard seltzer, and gestured to me.

  I shrugged, “I'm all out.“

  “You can have some of mine,” she offered, then smirked, “If you don't mind swapping spit with another girl.”

  I ughed, “Wouldn't be my first time tonight.”

  Nick looked up, suddenly curious. I ignored him and took a sip from Sienna’s proffered can.

  “Ooh, good for you,” she said, “You like girls?”

  I almost corrected her, when I noticed that Nick was very unsubtly trying to listen in on our conversation. I smirked to myself and shrugged innocently.

  “Oh, I don't know,” I said, “It was pretty fun. But I like guys too. I've been dancing with so many hot guys tonight, which is really nice, cause the st guy I hooked up with was a total loser.”

  “What’s number ten?” said a witch, holding up her card.

  “Ten is for hen,” said the gamesmaster, “Which is like a duck, as in Duck Duck Goose. But our version is called Sip Sip Shot.”

  The witch got up and made her way around the outside of the circle, squeezing against the walls of the crowded room as she tapped people on the head to make them drink. The two guys in the middle of the circle were still pying beer pong.

  Sienna shook her head, “Dumb game. Anyway, you were saying about this loser guy?”

  “Oh yes, he sucked,” I counted out a list on my fingers, “Annoying, naggy, arrogant, no sense of style, not funny at all, total nerd but also really dumb, always smmed the door super hard for no reason…”

  “Ugh, yeah,” Sienna nodded sympathetically, “Sounds like a real jerk.”

  “He sounds cool,” Nick interjected, “Dude sounds cool as fuck actually.”

  “Excuse you,” I said, “We’re having a private conversation.”

  “Oh, this is Dom,” said Sienna, “Dom, have you met Nikki?”

  Nick smirked again at my fake name, and I gave him a warning look. He gred back at me, but before he could say anything, the witch tapped him on the shoulder and he had to take a sip from the brown bottle he was holding.

  “Actually,” Sienna squinted at me, “I feel like I've seen you bef–”

  “Shot!” the witch yelled, bopping Sienna on the head. She made a break for it, and Sienna leapt to her feet.

  “What do I do?” she said.

  “For fuck’s sake!” said the gamesmaster. He held up a bottle of vodka, “Chase her down! If she gets away, you take a shot. If you catch her, you get three immunity tokens! This is basic stuff!”

  The witch was still cmbering her way over people, and Sienna took off after her.

  “There’s no use running, witch!” she yelled, “I’m a marathon runner, I can keep this up all night woops oh fuck sorry shit ahh!”

  She stumbled over a sexy nurse and tumbled into the bathroom and out of sight.

  “Oh shit,” said Nick, “Sienna, you good?”

  “I'm gonna have a little nap!” she called out.

  The witch turned back to check on her, then let out a shriek as Sienna grabbed her ankle. The gamesmaster dutifully doled out her immunity tokens, whatever the hell those were.

  There was no longer anyone left sitting between me and Nick. I eyed him warily. He still looked pissed off, and I wasn’t sure if he was gonna start yelling at me about what happened with Karl. If I was honest, I knew I had kind of fucked up by mentioning the blowjobs. But no way would I ever give Nick the satisfaction of–

  “I'm sorry about what happened with Karl,” Nick muttered, “You didn't deserve that.”

  “Oh,” I said, “Um. Me too. I know I fucked up, talking about the, um. You know. I seriously thought you told him already.”

  Nick rolled his eyes, “Yeah, cause I'm so eager to brag about hooking up with you.”

  “You should be so lucky,” I said airily. Nick snorted. “For real though, I'm sorry if I messed things up with your not-boyfriend.”

  “Guess he's my not-not-boyfriend now,” Nick sighed, “Whatever. Things weren't going great.”

  We sat in silence for a moment, watching a few minutes of The Shining (somebody had pulled a Jack while we were talking). After a while, the door creaked open again. I looked back, and saw Michael, holding a colorful mixed drink in a tall gss. I scrambled to my feet. Whoa. My head was spinning a little as I got up. I was still drunker than I thought.

  “Hey Nikki,” Michael grinned, “I told you I would make you something special.”

  He held up the drink, which was a mottled mix of blue and red and brown. I took it gratefully. I might be drunk, but after sitting next to Nick for five minutes I was always ready for more.

  “Thanks!” I said, “I still have no idea how this game works, by the way.”

  Michael ughed, “Hey, just stick with it. Trust me.”

  “Are you not joining in?”

  “I gotta do some Pledge stuff,” he grimaced, “By which I mean the cleaning product. Someone threw up on the pool table. But I'll be back in like ten minutes.” He winked, “Drink up.”

  He left and I made my way back to the circle, sitting down as delicately as I could with my wobbly legs. Nick stared at my drink, then at me.

  “You're not drinking that,” he said.

  I blinked, “What?”

  “It's not safe,” said Nick.

  I looked at the drink in disbelief. It was a weird mix of colors, sure, but there wasn't, like, a snake in there.

  "Nikki, a guy you don't know just handed you an open drink at a frat party," said Nick, "Don't fucking drink it."

  "Fuck you," I scoffed, "Don't tell me what to do."

  "Are you a fucking idiot?" Nick said, "What if he put something in it?"

  I rolled my eyes, “He did. It's called alcohol. I'm not gonna get roofied, Nick.”

  "Why not?" he hissed, "Because you're Dominic Fucking Lane, heir to the Lane family fortune? He doesn't know that. Right now you're just a dumb hot girl at a college party."

  If it was anyone else, I would've been shocked by the audacity. Instead I was just pissed off.

  "And you think I’m the judgy one?"

  "I'm just saying don't fucking risk it!" said Nick. He reached for my drink. I pulled it away.

  Across the circle from us, a shirtless guy (costume unknown) drew a card.

  “Six!” he shouted, “Chicks gotta drink!”

  “Fucking finally!” said the gamesmaster, “Someone who listens.”

  I raised my drink. Nick was just being a paranoid idiot. Although… maybe part of me was a little nervous. Michael had taken a really long time to make it, and he had been a little pushy before…

  “I'm telling you,” Nick said firmly, “Don't drink it.”

  He grabbed my wrist.

  “Fuck you!” I said.

  I swapped the drink to my other hand, a strategy Nick was not equipped to deal with. He swiped for it with his prosthesis, but I was too quick. I threw my head back and chugged as much of the drink as I could. It was sweet, sour and bitter all at the same time, full of some kind of syrup that was overwhelmingly sugary and yet still not quite enough to drown out the taste of the alcohol.

  I smmed my gss down and turned to Nick triumphantly. He looked horrified.

  Almost immediately, I felt a wave of intoxicated nausea and dizziness.

  “Oh, shit,” I said.

  “You fucking idiot,” Nick groaned.

  “Oh my god,” I grabbed for his arm, but I got the one on his right and my fingers scrabbled uselessly, tearing at the foil wrapped around his prosthesis.

  “Fucking idiot,” Nick said again, but he took my hand and helped me up to my feet, “It’s okay, I got you. You’re gonna be alright.”

  “I’m gonna hurl,” I said. The people sitting near us quickly shuffled aside.

  “Ah, fuck. Actually, that’s probably good,” said Nick. He gnced at the gamesmaster’s bathroom but shook his head when he saw the crowd of people in the way, including the two idiots still pying beer pong. “Okay, come on. We’ll find another bathroom.”

  My stomach roiled. “Quickly, please…” I groaned.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Nick muttered. He helped me out of the room and hurried me down the corridor. There was no sign of Michael, already long gone to clean up someone else’s vomit. Probably another stupid sheltered kid who got too big for his boots. Nick checked through different rooms while I focused on trying to stop myself from throwing up. God damn it. My first college party and this was how the night was gonna end?

  “In here,” said Nick. He hustled me through another frat brother’s bedroom and into the bathroom. I knelt down in front of the toilet, fighting off another wave of nausea.

  “Okay,” said Nick, “So if you wanna make yourself puke, what you gotta do is..”

  I didn’t hear the rest of his advice, because I was busy throwing up.