“Why not?”

“Because I'm incognito. I don't want to be the token girl at an all-boys school. Sounds like a hell of its own making.” I don't even mention the fact that someone might possibly be trying to, you know, murder me or whatever.

“Put those on, we'll throw on some makeup, and a wig, and nobody will even notice. They'll be drunk and stoned by the time we get back to the party anyway.” She raises her brows at me, but I'm skeptical. For good reason, too. If I walk into that room and more than one guy recognizes me, word could get around school … “Oh, come on!” Selena yanks me forward, dragging me over to the one of the mirrored dressers that line the wall, and making me sit in the chair.

“Where are we supposed to get a wig from?” I ask, but she’s already reaching into a box on the floor and pulling out a pair of Styrofoam heads with wigs on them. One has long, flowing red curls, and the other’s a short, dark look with straight cut bangs.

“The drama department has dozens of them,” Selena says, holding them out to me like I’m supposed to pick between the two. “We always bring a couple with us, in case of a serious hair emergency.” She rolls her eyes, and I smile. I've missed having a girlfriend around to talk to. My heart clenches when I think about Monica, but I shake it off. It wasn't just that she cheated with Cody (although that is sort of a big deal), but it was the way she treated me, too.

She forgot my birthday, she was never willing to take a minute out of her day to talk to me, and then when I did question them about their affair, she acted like it was my fault. I wish she'd call and apologize, and I’d just forgive her, and we could move on.

But that's never going to happen, is it? Life never works out nice and pretty like that, does it?

“One time,” Selena continues as I grab the red wig, and she leans down to put the other away, “my friend Bethany caught her hair on fire during a fourth of July thing, and well, there was a singed bald spot on one side …” She trails off, grabbing a clean towel from a stack on the bottom bunk of the nearest bed. Selena towel-dries my hair, and then puts a net on to hold the tangled strands back from my face.

I'm fully expecting the wig to look like, well, a wig. But this is no cheap Halloween store find; I think it might be made of human hair. Sort of creepy if you think about it, but … when she puts it on, carefully adjusting the little wispy pieces in the front, it looks so good that I gasp.

“Told you,” Selena purrs with a little grin. “You look like Jessica freaking Rabbit.” She curls the long red strands over my shoulders, and then reaches down for some foundation. It's a lot paler of a color than I'm used to, but I guess I don't exactly have much of a tan anymore. “So, which one of those beautiful Student Council boys are you crushing on?”

My cheeks flush red as she covers up a few small, stupid pimples, and then goes in with sparkling silver shadow, black liner, and mascara.

“None of them,” I say, which is totally a big, fat lie. “All of them,” I finally add with a sigh, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “I don't know. Most of them still think I'm a guy …” I trail off, and glance over at her as she picks through a series of lip liners, choosing a much darker color for me than I'd normally go for. “Um, about my being a girl and all …”

“I won't tell on you,” Selena says, smiling at me with her red, red lips in the mirror. “We all have our secrets.”

She finishes up my makeup, and then ushers me into the bathroom to change. The dress she's given me is freaking gorgeous, like something I'd have found in Monica's closet. It's got this low-cut V in the front, showing off the breasts I've been trying so damn hard to hide. It hits me about mid-thigh, making my short legs look long and lean.

The dress is made of this matte black material that pairs perfectly with a sparkling black belt that Selena wraps around my waist.

“How are you in heels?” she asks, offering up these delicious stilettos with a little zipper detail on the front, and a silver heart charm that reminds me of Ranger's key.

“I'd consider myself a bit of a … well, not Miss J level,” I admit, referencing the fabulous runway consultant on America's Next Top Model, this gorgeous guy who walks in heels better than any woman I've ever seen, “but I'm like an advanced level student. I can totally handle those.”

“Perfect.” Selena passes me over the shoes, and then gives me some jewelry to put on. After she's finished, she cocks her head to one side, grins, and nods. “Oh yes, Miss Charlotte, I think you're ready.”

“Not quite,” I say, reaching into the front pocket of my hoodie and pulling out my spare glasses. The lenses are a bit scratched, but the thin silver frames with the little rose details on the corners will help keep me disguised. I always carry around an extra pair, just in case. Not being able to see is the worst.

Selena holds out her arm, and I take it, letting her lead me back to the dance.

I can only pray that I don't run into the Student Council … or if I do, that they don't recognize me.

Sounds like a long-shot, but … I'm tired of dressing in ugly hoodies and sneakers. For the first time in a long time, I feel pretty, and it has nothing to do with the makeup or the clothes. Maybe I'm actually starting to get my confidence back?

One can only hope.

When we walk in the door, the lights are low, the music soft, and the administrators are biting their nails trying to keep couples from dancing too close, or making out in dark corners. Pretty sure there are couples outside doing worse things, but it is what it is. Watching adults try to stem the flow of teenage hormones is hilarious.

Folks, it's a losing battle. Be honest, educate, and provide a safe place to talk. That's all you can do. Stop shaming us: if you give us the tools and the unconditional love, we can figure out the rest.

Dad doesn't notice me when I walk by. Like, maybe he would if we were to have a full-on conversation, but it does boost my confidence a bit, knowing that nobody will be able to immediately pick me out of the crowd.

I make my way over to the refreshments table, picking up a lavender cupcake with one of the fondant flowers on it. My brows go up when I realize it's the one with the broken petal. It's literally the last one of these cupcakes left on the tray. What sort of coincidence is that?

“Homemade,” a snarky voice says from behind me, and I spin around to find Ross staring at me, one hand on his hip, his eyes narrowed on me. I know right away that he's recognized me from across the room. What in the actual fuck? “Hello Chuck.”

“Are you like a wizard or something?” I murmur, leaning in close to him and praying he's not about to run off to bark a warning to his masters. I've already got one crazy psycho stalking me. A whole school full of potential weirdos on my ass? No thank you. “How did you know it was me?”

Ross sighs, and pushes his hair back with a special, little flourish.

“I sort of figured it out from moment one. Honestly, it's only because nobody expects it that they haven't noticed yet. I'm a gay man, Charlotte. I like boys. And you,” he waggles a pointed finger up and down in my direction, “are no boy.”