Rites of Spring Break (Part 2)
By Beryl Greenfield

Dana Diamond, a sheltered teenage homeschooler, is looking to experience "the real world" at a sleep-away debate camp. When he mistakenly boards a bus full of co-eds headed for spring break in Miami, he finds himself thrown across the gender divide and into the middle of a bacchanalia beyond his wildest imaginings.

-.-.-

This was it, Dana thought as he lay half-awake on a massive bed in an unfamiliar room. His life was over. The events of yesterday were not, as he'd so desperately hoped, the product of some awful fever-dream. Instead of boarding a bus to his debate camp in Little Rock, he had taken one going to Miami. Within half an hour of arriving, he had lost all of his money (and his painstakingly-assembled debate notes) to a mugger. Worst of all, his would-be guardian angel, Celia "CeCe" Caine, thought that he was a girl – and she had treated him to a remarkably thorough makeover!

Indeed, Dana couldn't help but dwell on how feminine his appearance had become. The hotel had installed mirrors all over his room, including one (Why?) on the ceiling above the bed. Everywhere he turned, he saw glimpses of his swishing blonde bangs, his arched eyebrows, his smudged but distinctive makeup, his shiny blue fingernails – Dana could hear in his head what his father would say if he saw Dana now, as clearly as if Dr. Diamond were really there:

"Not a word out of you, now – what I see with my own two eyes tells me all I need to know. You've thrown in your lot with the most decadent and depraved that this world has to offer. All these years I've toiled away, trying to impart the Truth of the Gospel to you, and you go and toss it by the wayside like it was trash. Someday, I pray maybe someday you will get right with God again, but until that day I will not suffer a sodomite or an invert to live under my roof. Now go."

He knew his mother would say nothing, but her look of dismay would hurt worse than anything she could say. No, there was no way Dana could go back home looking as he did now. He needed some time to make things right, get back to normal. Cut his hair, clean off the makeup and nail polish, buy some boy clothes... there was so much to do.

But, oh heck, he'd pushed it out of his mind, he didn't have any time to spare: the camp must have called his parents when he didn't show, they must be out of their minds with worry right now, maybe they'd even filed a missing persons report! He had to call home right away to let them know he's okay. What would he say? What could he say? Dana couldn't lie to them – but he couldn't tell the whole truth, either. Okay, he would say that he'd gotten lost on his way there, but he'd found a place to stay. He was safe.

Dana dug through his purse (no, this wasn't his purse, boys didn't have purses, this was just a purse that CeCe had bought for him) and spilled a heap of random junk onto the bed. At last he found the iPhone in its silvery case.

His father insisted on an old-school rotary as the sole phone in the Diamond household. He called it a demonstration of humility and austerity, but it also helped him to further restrict and monitor the family's contact with the corrupt and sinful outside world. Consequently, Dana had little experience operating modern push-button phones, to say nothing of cell phones. But after a little fiddling around, he managed to figure things out.

He dialed home. An automated message told him the number could not be reached and reminded him to include an area code. Shoot! That's right, he was calling 'long distance.' He dialed again and listened nervously to the ring tone.

"Hello, this is the Diamond residence."

"Ummm, hello Mother."

"Oh, hello Dana! I wasn't expecting you to call at this hour. How are you? How is camp? Is everything all right?"

"Uhhhhhh..." His mother didn't sound at all worried – she thought he'd made it to camp! Somehow the camp hadn't informed his parents of his absence. In that case, maybe it was best not to worry her? He didn't have to lie. He would just avoid complicating things by explaining. "Uh, um, yes, I'm fine... um, a little homesick, I guess. Um, just calling to let you know I'm okay."

"That's good to hear! Everything is just fine here as well. I hope you enjoy yourself at camp, meet some nice people. Do make sure to call if anything's the matter."

"Yes, uh, I will. Thanks, Mother. Bye, I love you."

"I love you too, Dana. Bye now."

If his parents didn't think he was missing, then that changed everything. Maybe Dana could salvage this mess after all, so that they never had to learn how terribly he'd screwed things up at first. He could call the camp and explain that he'd gotten waylaid but was on his way. Then he could still make it there for the rest of camp.

That plan would require dealing with CeCe somehow, explaining that he had to leave immediately. Dana couldn't lie to her, either – but he dreaded the thought of revealing that he wasn't who she thought he was: not a fellow undergraduate, not even a fellow woman! If only there was some way to excuse himself without going into all the embarrassing details...

He couldn't think of anything off the top of his head. He couldn't think very clearly at all: he'd woken up with a throbbing headache. Dana went to the adjoined bathroom and scrubbed off the makeup as best he could. The cold water woke him up some, but the headache persisted. Surely CeCe had some aspirin he could take?

-.-.-

Stepping out into the suite, Dana was bombarded with sensations. Broad daylight streamed in from the windows, so he had to squint at first. The smell of bacon wafted over from the kitchen space. A go-cart racing game was projected onto the wall, and cheery chiptune music piped out of the speakers. Instead of CeCe alone, three other people were with her in the suite, everyone facing away from Dana. Two were on the couch, intent on the video game. The other was kneeling on a barstool, hunched over the bar. CeCe was in the kitchen, busying herself by the stove.

"–and I mean, if Dada's already gettin' dusted then why the fuck not, y'know?" Dana caught a snatch of conversation from one of the people on the couch.

The other person on the couch said something in reply but Dana missed it. The third stranger had his full attention now: she dismounted from the stool and stretched unhurriedly, tossing back her hair and shaking out her hips. She wore a black velvet dress that hid nothing of her generous figure and black leather boots that laced all the way up to her knees. Her hair was a violent magenta falling halfway down her back.

A Bible verse, one of his father's favorites, sprang to mind for Dana. "If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell." Hell had never felt closer to Dana than it did now, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Zenon, please, you know I must take sugar with my coffee! Haven't you seen me before in the most frightful states without it? Why, I become positively anemic at times." She sniffled as if she had a terrible cold, though her silky voice showed no signs of an illness. She rolled back her shoulders and turned around.

Her face was the very picture of ease and focus. She held the world as if it were a soap bubble in her hand, something she could explode at any time. Eyelids hooded, blackened and beglittered. Lips a bruised purple, quirked: probing, examining, evaluating. Her skin was as porcelain is, flawless and brittle. Her hair wasn't half what he'd expected, being almost fully shaved into an undercut on one side.

Her eyes were her eyes. They could be no-one else's; they were hers alone to claim. They were not all that dissimilar to black holes: once you crossed a certain line, not even the speed of light could save you. She was in every way perfect.

"Look what the cat dragged in," she said, sardonic and self-satisfied.

CeCe turned and broke into a grin as she saw Dana. "You're up!"

Dana nodded, his eyes fixed right around the stranger's collarbone. Hanging right above her cleavage was a golden emblem that Dana recognized as the Rod of Asceplius, a serpent entwined around a staff. A small ruby served as the snake's eye.

"Hope you slept well," CeCe continued. "I like just got up myself, so it's not like you've missed much, like I'm just starting breakfast now. You like pancakes? We got plain, blueberry, chocolate chip–" The third stranger sniffed emphatically and cleared her throat. "Yeah, yeah, I was about to get to introductions, hold onto your fucking high horse. Girls, this is Dee Dee; Dee Dee, these are my girls. The two losers over there are Zenon, Zee for short, and Exie–"

"E-X-E!"

"–right, EXE, Exie, Ex, E – or if you prefer, 'you humongous nerd' – she'll know who you're talking to. Exie's the blue cueball over there," one of the two had an extremely short buzz cut, dyed glow-stick blue, "while Zee is–"

"The one getting her fucking ass kicked in Kart!"

"–Zee is our resident redhead." The other of the two had her curly, coppery hair piled up in a high bun. She gave Dana a quick smile and a wave before turning back to the game.

"And then like, this impossible motherfucker over here is Dahlia, or Dolly or–"

"–No, Celia my dear, you can call me Dolly because I am, after all, just your plaything, to use and abuse as you please." She blew a smirking kiss to CeCe. "But this little one – come closer dear, so that I may have a better look – this darling child should show some respect for her elders." Dana stopped a few feet away from Dahlia, barely able to breathe. Even though he was still taller in his stocking feet than she was in her boots, he felt as though she was towering over him. "Dana dear, I expect you to call me Doctor Starr, or Doctor. Doc, perhaps, once we've gotten to know each other better, mmmkay? I will consider any other form of address to be most disrepectful. Understood?"

"Yes! Um, yes Doctor Starr."

Exie guffawed. "Come off it with that 'doctor' shit, dude: you don't even have your fucking bachelor's."

"Why, Liora my dear, you are the absolute last person I'd think would pay mind to silly little things like degrees or certificates! True, I may not be 'licensed to practice' in the strictest sense. But you cannot deny I know as much or more than most M.D.'s about the intricacies of psychopharmacology. I'd say I am exceptionally well-qualified to diagnose all sorts of imbalances of the body, mind and soul."

She turned back to Dana and pressed a gleaming black nail into the middle of his chest. He noticed that the gel pads were no longer sitting evenly within his bra, and he started to sweat. "For example, I can tell at a glance that our delicate Dana here is dangerously 'deflated.' She is suffering from a dire deficiency of 'bubbly.' If left untreated, Dee Dee runs the risk of becoming irreparably dour and dull."

Dahlia turned to the bar, picked up two glasses filled with orange juice and handed one to Dana. "I prescribe eight ounces of mimosa, to be adjusted at her physician's discretion." She clinked her glass against Dana's and raised it to her lips. "A toast, then! To Dom Pérignon, a man of God, a man of Science and, at the end of the day, a man of the Good Life."

After yesterday's schnapps debacle, Dana knew he should be careful about drinks he didn't know. But all he could think about was Dahlia's cocksure smile, her entrancing gaze. In all likelihood, he would have drained a cup of hemlock had she handed it to him.

The mimosa tasted like orange juice with fizz mixed in. Dahlia downed all of hers in one go. Dana took a bigger gulp than he meant to.

"Fuuuck, like at least when you're drinking you shut the fuck up for once in a while," said CeCe, getting chuckles out of Exie and Zee.

"If you don't like the sound of my voice, Celia dearest," Dahlia shot back, "you need only gag me, you know." CeCe let out a half-strangled laugh. All of a sudden there was a lot she needed to do with the pancakes.

In the blink of an eye, Dahlia mixed another mimosa as if out of muscle memory, or magical means. Then she began roving around the suite and gesturing demonstratively. "I will take that as permission to keep running my mouth, then. 'I shall begin with our ancestors...'"

It was remarkable to Dana how smoothly she could flow from one topic to the next, from the Peloponnesian War to the cultivation of olives to the global distribution of calcareous soil to the chemical composition and creation of pearls. She moved from one topic to the next with little outside prompting; the other three seemed to be only half-listening to Dahlia, talking amongst themselves and throwing a joke or a jab her way every couple minutes.

Even though Dahlia spoke with greater precision than CeCe, she was much more difficult for Dana to understand because of the sinuous and solipsistic bent of her musings. That didn't stop him from listening with rapt attention, of course.

"Breakfast, bitches!"

Zee and Exie finished their game and gathered at the bar to eat. Dahlia, however, was still on a roll. She swept into the kitchen area and swiped some pancakes straight off the griddle. CeCe swatted her on the bottom with the spatula, eliciting a yelp. Dahlia continued pacing around, rambling on, stopping now and then to stuff her face with pancakes. Her orbit looped back through the kitchen a few times to grab more pancakes and top off Dana's mimosa.

"Don't even fuckin' bother with Dada right now, dude," Zee told Dana. "When she's on a come-up, you can't tell her shit about shit."

Breakfast proved to be an effective distraction from Dahlia. The pancakes were a slice of heaven, fluffy and buttery and full of fresh blueberries. The bacon was as crisp as it can be without burning. CeCe accepted his praise graciously, saying, "It's NBD, Dee Dee. And there's like a lot more coming, so chow the fuck down! You're skinny as shit as it is."

Exie snickered. "You're like such a mom, CeCe-TV."

"Damn straight! And if you stay out past sunrise again, young lady, I will not hesitate to ground your ass."

"Aye aye, cap'n." A pause. "We are gonna get shit rolling tonight though, right? Start cracking the packs, all that?"

CeCe pursed her lips and glanced over at Dana. "Yeah... well like, I dunno, like I was thinking we'd have more of a low-key night to start, y'know?"

"There's no time but the present, if you ask me," interjected Dahlia.

"See but I didn't ask you, Dolly."

"It is Saturday, is it not?" Dahlia continued, undeterred. "When all the pretty party people are out and about? I simply cannot conceive of a night better suited to our purposes. Why, even if we kept strictly to best practices, we could easily clear a quarter of the–"

"–Dee Dee, honey, can you do me like, a mega huge favor?" CeCe broke in. "I like totally spaced on this, um, this letter I was supposed to give to someone. Can you take it over to him right now? Please please please? He's in the hotel, like it wouldn't take long." Dana nodded. "Great!" She pulled an envelope from a bookbag sitting on the counter and handed it to him. "He should be in room 237. His name's Ricky. And like, if he's not in, just come back, okay?"

"Okay!"

-.-.-

Dana knew that she was just trying to get him out of the room so she could speak to the others in private. He didn't mind it, though: after all, he had only just met CeCe yesterday, while the other three seemed to be good friends of hers. He wasn't sure why they needed their privacy. But if CeCe didn't want him listening in, then it would be rude (not to mention ungrateful) to pry.

Also, the errand gave him time to think about his own plans for the day. Dana realized he need to call the camp as soon as possible. Somehow, either they'd neglected to note his absence yesterday or they'd failed to communicate it to his parents. But now that camp was underway, they could realize their error at any time.

The camp calling his parents now would needlessly worry them: it would also tell his mother that he hadn't been entirely truthful in their recent conversation. He hadn't told her anything untrue – it was just a little lie of omission, really. He was only trying to protect her! Still, Dana felt a pit of discomfort growing in his stomach.

"You one of CeCe's girls?" The man answering the door was shirtless and shining with sweat. He was also at least two heads taller than Dana and built like a linebacker. Even though the man looked relaxed to the point of catatonia, Dana still felt intimidated.

"Ummmm, yes?" he squeaked. "Is, um, is Ricky here?"

"In the flesh. CeCe just called, said you got something for me? A 'letter,' maybe?"

"Uh, yes, here." Dana handed him the envelope.

"I got something for her also." Ricky gave him back a much thicker envelope. If this too was a letter, Ricky sure had a lot to say. "All right then. Thanks, babe; tell CeCe I say hey. See you around. Or not."

-.-.-

When Dana returned to the suite, whatever conversation they'd been having was over. CeCe was back cooking up a storm. Exie and Zee were deep in their video game. Dahlia stared out the window while she smoked a cigarette. As he entered, Dahlia turned and gave him the oddest smile. Dana blushed and looked away.

"So, um, Ricky says hey. And uh, he gave me this, for you."

CeCe gave Dana a bracingly tight hug. "Thank you so, so much Dee Dee! You've been such a huge help. There's loads more breakfast shit on the bar now, so have at it!"

The spread was so good, Dana almost forgot he had an important question for CeCe. "Umm, I was wondering if, uh, you knew somewhere I could access the Internet? I need to, um, look some things up."

"Well like, there is your phone, for one: I got you a data plan last night, remember? Though I guess you were, like, zoning pretty hard by then, hehe. And like, using the net on a cell fucking blows anyway, right? Can't see shit. But no, yeah, my laptop's like, on the bed in my room. I'll go log in, and then you can have at it."

-.-.-

Dana spaced on the name of the camp, but a search for "little rock debate camp" turned it up. Brightheart: Tomorrow's Leaders, Today. The flashy photo montage that usually opened their homepage had been replaced with an unadorned letter. "Dear Brightheart community..."

At the end of the letter, he wasn't sure if he was more shocked at the camp being abruptly shut down or at the director being "held under suspicion of the possession of improper materials." What did that even mean? The phrase was ominous but extraordinarily vague – Dana supposed it was the sort of euphemism he would have learned to use had he attended the camp.

Whatever it meant, it meant he couldn't slip away to Little Rock. Dana either had to return home or he had to stay with CeCe and her friends. He had nowhere else to go. And he couldn't go home as he was now, but he couldn't stay here as anything else.

Dana felt stuck, then, in what some of the unsaved might liken to Limbo. According to his father, the idea of a place in the afterlife in between Heaven and Hell was a Papist deceit, spread by the "Liar of Rome" to lead people away from salvation by faith in Christ alone. Either you lived with the Love of the Lord in your heart and ascended to Heaven, or you lived devoted to sin and fell into the fires of Hell, to be tormented for all eternity. There was no 'in-between.'

Dana knew that everything his father had taught him was drawn from the Word of God Himself and so was true and right. Nonetheless, Dana knew now that there was something to the notion of Limbo. He felt torn, neither here nor there.

He had surely strayed from the simple piety of his home life. Deuteronomy 22:5 minces no words: "A woman must not put on men's clothing, and a man must not wear women's clothing. Anyone who does this is detestable in the sight of the Lord our God."

Was he therefore utterly estranged from God's love and guidance? Dana held close the Word of the Lord in his head and his heart. So long as he can still turn to Christ for succor, was he truly bound for Hell – even among all these unsaved women? (Kind, thoughtful women, but unsaved nonetheless.)

Yes, he needed to go back home, but how? And when? The very thought of shopping for men's clothes or asking for a male haircut was daunting to say the least, looking as feminine as he did. And all of that would have to come after explaining his sudden departure to CeCe. There seemed to be no way to fix his predicament without revealing himself as abominable to someone he respected.

Truth be told, Dana didn't want to leave just yet. Was that so wrong, given all the obstacles in his path? And... he had only just met Dahlia, (or Doctor Starr, rather.) But he felt certain she had something to teach him, something he couldn't learn at home. The Lord chooses peculiar instruments, does He not? Was it really so queer to want to hear what she had to say?

"So yeah dude, we're packing a kief bong, y'know, if you want in," Exie announced, breaking Dana's reverie.

"Ummm, what?"

"If you wanna smoke? Or like, get knocked off your ass, I mean – not 'smoking' in the traditional sense of the term, TBH. But whatever, right?"

"Ohhh! Oh, uhh, no, um, I don't smoke. Um, sorry?"

"Haha, no, I feel you dude: shit can get intense, for sure. Carry on then." Dana followed Exie out anyway, since he no longer had any reason to stay in CeCe's room.

Everyone was sitting on the couch in front of the projector – everyone except CeCe. She was at the bar, smoking a cigarette with one hand and drumming her fingers on the counter with the other. Dana sat a few seats down from her to avoid the smoke.

"So, like, Dee Dee... we did collectively decide to go out clubbing tonight. Um, what d'you think?"

"Umm. What do I think about, uh, clubbing?" He pictured them all brandishing cudgels – no, that couldn't be what she meant.

"Yeah, like do you like to dance? Like, there's for sure some sweet spots, like some killer DJs and shit. They're not all gross, y'know, like we know where to go where it's more chill."

Dana watched as Dahlia held her lips up to a tower of ice and drew an immense white cloud into her lungs. Her look in her eyes as she sank back into the couch and exhaled was like nothing he'd ever seen.

"Uh-huh."

"You think so? Like no, I'd love to go out with you, for sure, er, like go out to party, I mean... so if you're down, then hell yeah!"

"Buuuuuut..." drawled Zee, who had been listening to the whole exchange.

"But like, yeah... like that just means we've got some other shit to do today, right? Like, fuck, I'm not hiding Dee Dee in my fucking purse, that's for fucking sure."

"Celia dear, you won't hide hardly anyone in your fucking purse – I think it's terribly unfair." Dahlia was sprawled over the couch, eyes closed. Exie, who had been nursing the bong for some time now, broke into a tremendous coughing fit. It sounded as though she were losing pieces of lung.

"Mmmmmhm. But like, for serious: Exie, you're gonna need to move your ass in the next couple hours. Like, you are our ID guy, right? Right?"

"Uhhhh? No, yeah, yeah Ce-D-Ce, you know it! I got IDs for days, dude. Eons, even."

"Okay, cool. Great. Fucking terrific. Like, fuck, you silly fucks have just smoked yourselves senseless so like, I won't even fucking bother. Dee Dee, you maybe wanna take a walk, to talk and shit?"

"Not at the same time, one would hope." This was from Dahlia.

"She's got jokes, ladies and gentlemen!" CeCe ground out her cigarette on the bar.

"Actually just ladies, right?" Exie.

"Eh, I wouldn't say we're all ladies, dude." Zee.

"Confirmed." Dahlia.

"Yeah, yeah, you're all blazed-out bitches, my fucking mistake. Dee Dee, if you want some air, I'm heading out."

-.-.-

Dana had never seen CeCe angry in the brief time he'd known her. He wouldn't call her mood wrathful, per se – she was nothing like his father on his bad days – but seeing her usual bubbliness replaced with prickliness was worrisome.

"I mean it's like, fuck, I don't give a shit if they wanna get blasted into space, or like, if she wants to stuff a brick up her nose or whatever, right, but like they also wanna go clubbing and work the –" CeCe paused to take a long drag from her hand-rolled 'cigarette.' "– And dance all night and shit? I mean, we do need some time to prep, right, all that? It's like, fuck, it's like herding kittens who like just ate a whole fucking bag of catnip, y'know?" CeCe blew a few globes of smoke into the air without breaking stride.

"Must be frustrating?"

"Yeah, no fucking kidding! But like still, I love my girls to death, like I'd take a bullet for any of them, real talk – they're just huge pains in the ass sometimes. And like no, they're all super loyal – which is so fucking rare – and like scary smart, too." She took another sharp pull from her spliff. "When they're not faded as fuck – which like, let's be honest, isn't gonna be too fucking often these next couple of weeks. Still, they've got good instincts even when they are fucked up – and like, that's also rare as all hell."

Dana nodded and murmured and commiserated with CeCe as she kept venting. She cooled off quickly, but a cloud of concern lingered over her features. All of a sudden her eyes flashed with recognition. She stopped and tugged on Dana's arm.

"Hey, Dee Dee, that is like my favorite store ever across the street there! Let's take a look at their shit, you feel me?" He shrugged and followed her into the store. "Apoplexia" was its name. Its window display featured a mannequin version of St. Sebastian, bound to a post and shot full of arrows. Instead of Sebastian's usual loincloth, the mannequin wore a gray sarong patterned with cat eyes.

The store's interior layout took after the window display's example. All throughout were platforms where mannequins suffered exquisite torments lifted from classical myths, Dante's Inferno, and the Inquisition. The displays were so realistic – well-defined muscles on the mannequins, fake blood seeping from their wounds – that Dana couldn't help but feel a little nauseated. CeCe, on the other hand, was in heaven, darting with glee from one display to the next.

"Ohhhh my god, I like have to have this!" The garment in question resembled a military jacket that had been savaged by wolves and then patched back together with a grab-bag of cloths, furs and leathers. The mannequin had its feet encased in a glass box filled with taxidermied rats. Dana couldn't judge the jacket's aesthetics, but it managed to look quite comfortable in spite of the mannequin's plight.

CeCe soon found a jacket in her size and had it boxed up. Then she turned to Dana with a gleam in her eye.

"So yeah, there's like gotta be something in here for you, am I right?"

"Umm, sure! But, uhh, I don't know... you um, you got me enough nice things already–"

"Dee Dee, you're a sweetheart, like really, but listen to me: a girl cannot have 'enough' clothes. Sorry, but that's the law. I don't make the rules, I just enforce them, and in this case that means you're walking out of here with something cute, 'kay?"

"Okay..." Dana wanted to avoid ending up with even more women's clothing. But CeCe was just now returning to her usual cheery self – he didn't want to stress her out by arguing. And to be honest, her tone of voice didn't suggest the possibility of an argument. "Umm, maybe something small, though?"

"If you'd prefer that, then like, sure – they've got tons of dope accessories and shit."

CeCe prowled around the store with Dana trailing behind. Suddenly she stopped by a mannequin hanging upside-down by one leg.

"Oh wow, like these socks would look fucking perf with that one skirt you got, right? The gray checked one?" Dana made a noncommittal noise, looking at the mannequin out of the corner of his eye. The thigh-high socks were pure white at the bottom, but a midnight-purple dye oozed down from the top. They looked as if a glistening ichor was leaking onto them. Since the mannequin was upside-down, the ichor appeared to defy gravity by flowing upward.

The stockings were certainly disturbing, but that wasn't why Dana was reluctant to give the mannequin a good look. Apart from the thigh-highs, all the mannequin wore was some very racy black lingerie. Dana recalled CeCe buying him some underwear last night that was scarcely more modest. He struggled to push the thought out of his head, only to find it replaced with an image of Dahlia in similar attire – even worse! He felt himself stirring in a place he knew he shouldn't be.

Dana was so preoccupied with the struggle for his soul that he raised little objection to CeCe's other 'must-have' discoveries. In addition to the stockings, Dana left the store with a pair of fingerless blue-velvet gloves and a headband sporting miniature goat horns. CeCe contented herself with the jacket and a necklace with a barbed-wire pentacle.

-.-.-

Back at the suite, the other three had put up a movie on the projector. Dana and CeCe entered just as Tommy Lee Jones was chasing Harrison Ford through a sewer and over a waterfall. Dana recognized neither actor, but the tension of the scene was clear enough. Nobody said a word as Harrison Ford plunged into the churning water below. Then Dahlia began laughing uproariously, and (Dana felt) rather inappropiately. A man's life was held in the balance, no? As it turned out, Harrison Ford survived his leap of faith to face further trials.

"Alright, y'all seem a little more focused," CeCe said as the credits rolled. "So like, maybe you can resolve this issue we have with an ID, EXE?"

Exie nodded in an almost mechanical way. "You're talking to an ID expert here, TL-CeCe. Like, dude, y'all need to step the fuck back while I get to work, all right?"

Zee and CeCe exchanged a look that Dana couldn't decipher. Then Zee pulled Exie up off the couch and led her over to CeCe.

"Okay, like Zee, I think we really need you to like, calibrate the lighting and shit for Dee Dee's photo? So like, just go along and help with that, 'kay?"

Zee gave CeCe a secret smile and prodded the other two out into the hallway. She acted as a sheepdog, guiding or goading Dana and Exie over to a different hotel room. As they entered the room, she placed a reassuring hand on Dana's shoulder.

-.-.-

"Okay! Okay dude, here's how it's gonna happen: you stand by that wall next to the TV, and I'll go get my camera. Cool?"

Dana didn't have time to nod; Exie had already disappeared into another room. Zee laughed as though an anticipated amusement had exceeded her expectations. Then she led Dana over to the space Exie had indicated.

"She's off an addy from that 'bathroom break,' so just humor her, 'kay? She gets kinda wired-up, but it's no big." Dana knew Zee was trying to set him at ease, but her unnaturally blasé tone of voice only set him on edge.

"All right, Dee: look at me like I'm a dead dog." Exie was pointing an alarmingly large camera at his face. "Or a dead cat, or a bird or lizard or like whatever. Just, just look at me like the whole world seems like kind of a shit proposition, okay? Okay? Got it?"

Ever since he'd woken up, Dana had been wondering whether the world wasn't all it's made out to be. Apparently his expression satisfied Exie, because she grinned while she snapped perhaps three dozen pictures of him in quick succession.

"Yeah no, that's it, fuck! Like... fuck! You're really fucking making me feel like I'm working at the DMV here, dude – this is truly some great shit right here." Exie turned and plugged the camera into her laptop. "Yeah, like I feel like I could fucking fuck around on the rest of the ID, like all these shots are institutional as shit! Like, shit!"

"All right now, dude, let's not liken Dee Dee to an inmate or anythin', y'know?" Zee said.

"Or like, a loon, or any number of things, really–"

"–Yeah, yeah, the mind boggles: let's get this fuckin' shit pressed and printed though, right?"

"Haha, like don't even worry, dude: the file's already sent. I'm a motherfucking pro, y'know?"

Suddenly Exie fixed Dana with a dead serious gaze. "And you're straight, right – like you don't strike me as a narc, y'know?"

"Ummmmm, no? No, I'm not, uh, I'm not a, um, a narc?"

"Narc? Like, you do know the term, dude? 'Federal narcotics agent?'"

"..."

"Or like, a snitch? Fuck. Like, fuck – Dee, let me put this real fucking plainly. Have you ever seen something that wasn't, like, strictly on the level?"

"..."

"As in: 'oh my, this is something a person could get arrested for!' An activity of that sort."

"..."

"Like no, of course not. I get it: you're a good, God-fearing Christian, like I can see that. But that doesn't mean that you have to talk when you don't have to talk, right? Like I mean, 'render unto Caesar,' all that shit?"

"..."

"My understanding has always been, like – there's a world of difference between heaven and earth, right? Anyone has to admit that."

"..." Dana agreed, but Exie seemed to be taking that fact in an unusual direction.

"Like okay, okay, look: you'll have to take my word for this, but – once upon a time, I was a very sweet, very respectable Jewish girl."

"... Jewish?" Exie hadn't seemed at all Jewish to Dana. But then, her blue buzz-cut had distracted from the rest of her features.

"Yeah, haha, like I was gonna meet a nice Jewish boy at college, a future doctor or lawyer of course, and I was gonna marry him, and I was gonna give birth to a buncha brilliant, beautiful Jewish babies." Zee was smiling and shaking her head.

"Ummm..."

"And then what happened? Well, Dee, then I met Zenon, and she introduced me to her two best friends."

"CeCe and Dahlia?"

"Haha, no – good guess though. We didn't meet 'til freshman year. No, I mean Mary Jane," here Exie mimed hitting a joint, "and Sappho!" and here Exie gestured by spreading her middle and ring fingers apart and licking her tongue through the space between them. Dana wasn't familiar with the gesture, but it did seem rather lewd.

"Ummm, like the poet?"

"Yeah, yeah, Sappho was a poet, dude – and what else?"

"Um. A teacher?"

"Aaaand..."

"Um. Uh. A corrupter of youth?"

Exie snorted and glanced over at Zee. "Haha, yeah, how does that shit sound on your headstone, ZeZe? 'Hottie, genius, corrupter of youth.' Not bad, right?" Zee looked to the floor and shook her head. "No, dude, like she taught me how to fuck, y'know?"

"... ... ... ... ... So, um. You're... uh, you're um, you're... gay?"

Exie shook her bright-blue, close-cropped head in disbelief. "Uhhh, yeah? Like uh, are you that kind of Christian? 'See no evil, speak no evil?'" Zee gave Exie a hard look. "Er, I mean, like, no, like whatever dude, it's whatever, like no – like I totally see why CeCe would be down with you." Zee gave Exie a look of pure ice. "No, I mean – um, no really, it's totally like, whatever. Really."

"... ... ... Um, so CeCe–"

"–No! No actually, like: look, dude, like we did not even talk about this, all right? We never in fact discussed anything of this sort. Like, for real, if you were to talk to CeCe right now, you would not mention the words 'gay' or 'homo' or, uh – 'lesbian,' 'dyke,' 'fag,' 'queer,' and so on, like any of those. Uh, that is unless you wanted shit to get real fucking uncomfortable." Exie had quickly closed the distance between her and Dana. Her breath was hot and dry on his face.

"... Yeah um, okay, sure, of course! Of course."

"Ex gets a little chatty when she's had her candy, but it doesn't really mean anythin', y'know?" Zee said in a chilly tone.

"Um, sure... I mean, I don't even know what you're talking about." Dana truly didn't, and now seemed like the right time to admit it. If they were as close to CeCe as he thought, wouldn't she already know they were gay? And hadn't CeCe told him yesterday that she wasn't homophobic? She had seemed a little flustered by the idea, but still... Dana couldn't make head or tail of the situation.

"Great! Like, what is love, really? I mean, fuck, forget it, your ID's on its way, so let's just drop it, right?" Exie squeezed Dana's shoulder pretty darn hard.

"Hey, it's almost 6:00 now – let's fuckin' eat, right?" said Zee. Just then, Exie's phone erupted into a ringtone that Dana failed to recognize as the Nyan Cat song.

"Yello? Yeah! No yeah dude, you know it: I'm the motherfucking man. Oh? Yeah, sure, see you there." Exie hung up the phone. "Lol, you and CeCe must be 'synced up,' dude: she just asked us to meet her at the hotel restaurant."

-.-.-

The dinner was mouth-watering, but Dana had a hard time enjoying it. After that talk with Exie, he was left with no illusions about his understanding of CeCe's circle: he didn't have a frickin' clue. They had their own private history, their own slang, their own in-jokes and their own unspoken rules. He was nothing but an interloper – and given his patchy knowledge of the secular world at large, he had about as much hope as a Martian of coming to understand them. Sitting at a table full of people talking and laughing, Dana felt hopelessly alone.

Dahlia had poured him a glass of red wine from one of the bottles at the table. He didn't want to put himself even more out of place by refusing the wine, so he just sipped at it while the others finished glass after glass. His church had already given him diluted wine for Communion, so he half-convinced himself that this wasn't too big of a transgression.

A question had been nagging at Dana for some time. When the dessert arrived, (a superb chocolate tiramisu,) there was enough of a break in the conversation for him to speak up.

"So, umm, about this ID...?"

"Oh, yeah dude: I never really explained, did I?" Exie grinned, then glanced over at CeCe. She shrugged, so Exie continued. "Yeah, so it's like, how do we get one printed so quick? Well, heh, you could say 'I got a guy.' Except I don't know if it's a guy, or a girl, or like even a dog or whatever. You know about the Deep Web?" Dana shook his head. "Haha, like that's kind of the point, right? Okay." She clasped her hands together.

"Like, think of the internet as an iceberg. You've got this little part poking out the top: that's the Surface Web, the shit anyone can see, the shit being indexed by Google and shit. But like then you have this huge chunk floating underneath: that's the Deep Web. No indexing, no nothing. That's where all the real juicy shit's going down. And a shit-ton of totally boring shit too but like, shit, that's life, y'know? You gotta have a buncha coal to make diamonds, or whatever." Exie paused to take a swig of her wine.

"Okay, so like I can see you wondering: how do you find any of this shit if it's not on Google? Well, there's like a buncha different approaches, but my personal favorite is..." Exie descended into a technical discussion that was way over Dana's head. He nodded and smiled as she rattled on; the other three seemed to be doing the same, also taking the opportunity to drink more or to swipe some of Exie's neglected tiramisu.

"... and so that's how it's delivered without any, like, 'actionable' paper trail tracing back to the printer or the purchaser." Exie took a deep breath. "Pretty fucking cool, right?"

"Uhhhh, yeah, yeah, sure! But... I was actually wondering more about why I need this ID than about how we're getting it." The rest of the table chuckled, Exie excepted.

"Ohhh... really though, dude? But that's like, a much shorter explanation. Shoulda just stopped me." Nobody believed that Exie could have been stopped once she'd gotten rolling, not even Exie herself. "Well, uh, anyway–" Exie finished her glass. "–to answer your actual question, it's like fairly straightforward: the clubs wanna cover their asses."

There was a long pause, as if Exie expected that to resolve the matter. Then, seeing that Dana still did not understand, she elaborated. "Like, okay, suppose that the authorities have arrived. Some illegal shit just went down, and the po-po are there to investigate. Or maybe they just felt like showing up. And like, now suppose a sizeable percentage of the clubgoers have no ID or like, fucking shamelessly bogus ID, or else ID that suggests they should not be on the premises at all. That's gonna look pretty fucking bad, right? Like, there's no amount of money you can hand off to make that go away." Exie filled up her glass again.

Dana wasn't sure he was following. "So then... you need to get an official club ID to get in?"

"Exactly, dude, it has to be super 'official.' Like it has to be 'club certified,' so to speak. It's not getting your ass on a plane, but like, it'll pass the sniff test, and it'll come fast if you've got the right connects."

"And who is Liora, if not Little Miss Connects?" Dahlia mused. "Why, they should call you 'Connect Wh–'" She was stifled by CeCe's hand over her mouth.

"You should chill on the wine for a while, don't you think, Dolly?"

Dahlia pouted theatrically, then nodded. "I do believe this one was something of an off-year for Bournogne, anyway." The rest of the dinner passed in relative quiet.

-.-.-

"If we're gonna go out tonight, we're doing it right, all right?" CeCe lit up a spliff as soon as she stepped in the suite. "By which I mean, doing it big, y'know? Like I know y'all are fierce as fuck every night of the fucking week, but like, I mean battlegear here, you feel me?"

"Loud and clear, CeCe," said Zee. Dahlia threw a mock salute. Exie just shrugged.

"'Kay, leave your bags with me, go get your shit sorted then head back here, right?" The three handed over their purses (or backpack, in Exie's case,) and left the suite. CeCe took the bags into her room.

"All right, Dee Dee, let's fucking do this thing!" She all but flew from her door over to where Dana was standing. Somehow she managed to finish, ash and dispose of her spliff in a baggie while in transit.

"Ummm, what thing?"

"Like, getting dressed to go out? I mean like, hehe, we didn't buy all that shit just to look at it, y'know?" CeCe took him by the arm and led him into his bedroom. Then she pulled open the walk-in closet where his wardrobe was stored.

"Ohh, of course, but um... isn't what I'm wearing now okay?" Dana knew that people got dressed up to go to parties and such, and he imagined 'clubbing' was much the same. But he was more than a little nervous about what CeCe might pull out of that closet.

"Dee Dee, honey, like no of course you look super cute as is, but like... okay, as your self-appointed stylist, it falls upon me to explain." She lit up another spliff; Dana didn't have the faintest clue where she'd pulled it from. "You can't wear just anything clubbing, right, like it's a different scene en-fucking-tirely than just wherever. If you don't come correct, you get wrecked, y'know? Or like, worst case is you don't even get in the fucking door."

Dana looked a little stricken, so CeCe put a hand on his shoulder. "But like no, if you and the club have an understanding, then like that's never a problem. And we do, so like don't even worry about that, Dee Dee. My point is, almost everyone else in the club did have to stand in line, knowing that they could get turned away. So like, everyone's game is turnt up way past maximum, y'know? Which means, if you wanna look like you fucking belong there, your style's gotta be lethal, you feel me? Like, 'the fuck is a warning shot, bitch?' That kinda look, right?"

Dana was losing track of her again. You had to dress intimidatingly stylish, was that it? He doubted he could intimidate a grade-schooler, to say nothing of a club full of ultra-hip people. CeCe did not seem concerned. "Look, Dee Dee, just chill, it's all gonna come together great. With all the sharp shit we got and your killer looks, like you're gonna be a motherfucking monster out there, trust me." She smiled at him, the same beatific grin that had set him so at ease when they'd first met on the bus. It didn't quite quell his worries now, but he felt compelled to smile back.

"All right, like my first instinct is we go in on one of the throwback dresses, y'know?" CeCe was on the hunt, pawing through the closet. She was also smoking her third or fourth spliff; Dana was starting to feel a little woozy from all the secondhand smoke. "Like, this one here would look fucking perf for a psycho-Lolita look, but like, at least for tonight we can't go that route."

She gave Dana's shoulder a squeeze. "Don't take this wrong way, Dee Dee, but like we're gonna need to bust our asses to age you up some, y'know? Like, again, the clubs will all know us so it's NBD, like really, don't worry, but like – if you don't even look legal, that kinda brings us some unwanted attention, you feel me?" CeCe took a long drag from her spliff, then looked Dana straight in the eye. "And like, it's not like I'm going to make this a thing or anything, but if you want to level with me, great. Dee Dee, are you eighteen?"

Dana was not. A couple months ago he'd reached his "Sweet Sixteen," though at the moment it was turning out to be anything but. "Ummmmmmm... no?" he whispered. He felt himself tearing up – this was the closest he'd come to admitting that he wasn't at all who she thought he was.

"Shhhh, shhh, honey it's okay," CeCe said, gently rubbing the back of his head. "I don't think any less of you just because you're a little younger, y'know? You're still like, really cool and really smart and all, okay Dee Dee? It's so not even a thing to me. Okay?"

Dana sniffled and nodded. He felt a little better, even though he knew she wouldn't be anywhere near as understanding if she found out he was also male.

"Like, that being said though, let's make one thing clear, 'kay?" CeCe gave him a kind but firm look. "I don't want to mom on you, but like, I'm gonna mom on you for this one thing: don't go chasing after boys tonight, all right?" Dana almost laughed aloud; chasing after boys was the absolute last thing on his mind. "I mean it! This is so not my joking face here." CeCe ditched her spliff and took hold of Dana by both shoulders. "Look: you remember last night, I swore I wouldn't let anyone hurt you? I was not fucking around then, Dee Dee. I will join my mother in the cold-fucking-ground before I see that happen to you. D'you see where I'm coming from now?"

Dana nodded, feeling terribly torn. On the one hand, he was moved far more than he could say that she would value his life before her own. On the other, did he even deserve such protection? She hardly knew him! And almost everything she thought she knew about him was a falsehood he hadn't had the courage to correct. He wasn't cool, or smart, or even a girl – he was just some stupid kid who had taken the wrong bus. If CeCe knew who he really was, she would turn him away in an instant. But so long as she didn't know, he knew he had nothing to say against what she felt.

"Okay then, we're understood. Like okay, I'm not saying don't dance, or don't have fun or whatever, but just like – keep it casual, y'know? Like the clubs are so not the place to be looking for like, an 'all right' guy, right? But also like, on the flip side of that – if a guy is creeping on you, come to me immediately. I will blow his fucking balls off." A pause. "Again, no jokes. I don't do jokes. And I mean, I'll be looking out for you anyway but like, please, you need to let me know when something's shady, okay?" She paused, then grinned. "Enough heavy shit though, right? Let's get you looking fucking fatal, you feel me?"

Dana had a boatload of feelings floating around, but chief among them was pleasing CeCe. If she liked how he looked, wouldn't that go a little ways toward repaying her for taking him under her wing? He would have to disillusion her soon enough, but maybe he could make her happy for just one night? (The smallest, worst part of him was curious to know how he might turn out. But of course, that played no role whatsoever in his decision to go along with her.)

-.-.-

"I think this might be the one." After five minutes of browsing the closet, after several dresses already considered and discarded, CeCe thought she had the one. 'The one' was a take-off on the archetypal '50s housewife dress. It was collared and polka-dotted, with buttons down the front and a flared skirt.

There the similarities ended, however. The dress was the murky, menacing blue of an ocean trench, polka-dotted black. The polka dots themselves appeared normal toward the middle of the dress, but the pattern started to glitch as it approached the hem and the neckline, fuzzing and smearing across the dress like a television set losing its signal. Nearing the edge, the very fabric of the dress began to dissolve, fraying from a solid cotton into a tangled lace, and from there into a ragged fringe of sheer muslin. It was as though the dress was being eaten alive from the outside.

"Um, okay?" Dana took the dress from CeCe and headed for the bathroom.

"Cool, but like, you don't have to go anywhere, right?" CeCe said, the slightest edge to her voice. "Like I mean, we're both chicks and we are both straight, so like we don't have make it weird if we see each other, y'know?" Oh no, Dana had completely forgotten! He was acting as though he were a heterosexual man with a heterosexual woman, as though he needed to guard both his dignity and her modesty. But as things stood between them, they were both heterosexual women. So in fact it was as natural as anything for them to change in front of each other. Even so... he wasn't sure he could keep up the pretense in such proximity.

"But wait, like... no, I mean it's whatever, right, like I don't give a shit! I was just saying you don't have to walk all that way, y'know, that's all I was saying. I mean, whatever, right?" CeCe had started by gesturing with emphasis, but she cooled off towards the end. Then she picked up again. "Ohhh, fuck, like I mean, of course – if you're self-conscious about your body or like, your–" here CeCe made a cupping gesture in front of her chest, to symbolize breasts. "–then like, don't be, honey! Like you're still super hot, right? I mean, hahaha, that's just my totally fucking disinterested straight girl assessment but like, yeahhh, any guy would be lucky to have you, y'know?" She blinked, chewed her bottom lip and continued. "Though like, not tonight, remember? No guys are getting at you 'cause like, that's gonna end up totally terrible, you hear me?"

Dana nodded. CeCe seemed to be getting a little agitated over this whole issue, so perhaps it would best if he did change in front of her. But if she noticed his, um, his thing, then it would be all over. What was he to do?

"Umm, yeah, no, uh, like it's no problem! But ummm, I do have to go use the bathroom, okay?"

"Oh! Yeah, sure, sure."

Dana left the dress on his bed and headed into the bathroom. He truly did have to pee, so he relieved himself. Now, he had a little work to do.

Okay, if he pulled his stuff all the way back like this, and pulled his underwear from the Twins all the way up like this, how did that look? Flat in front, good, good, and in back... um, not exactly right, but CeCe wouldn't be looking too close, would she? He didn't know how to do any better, so he pulled up his shorts and stepped out into the bedroom.

CeCe now had a glass of cranberry juice in one hand and yet another spliff in the other. "All right, Dee Dee, here's the thing – we should get your stuff sorted, um, up top, before we see how it looks, all right?" Dana looked at her blankly. "Yeah, like, all I'm saying is, um, like... if we want you looking legit, like as in, uh, legal, y'know, then like, ideally we want to show a little happening, um, up there, that's all." Dana looked at her blankly. "Okay, like: can we tape up your tits, is what I'm asking?"

"Ummmmm..." Dana looked at her blankly.

Dana had no idea that his boyish (read: soft) pectoral muscles could be drawn together to form something approaching a woman's cleavage. Then again, he had no idea he could be mistaken for a college girl and dragged into a drugged-out vacation, but that seemed to have happened despite all his expectations.

The dress fit him well, once the tape was secure and the gel pads were smooshed into place. Dana almost didn't recognize himself even as he was reflected through about a dozen mirrors. Was that him? 'Him' almost didn't make sense in this context. But in that case – well, no time to consider that now.

"I like think we have a winner!" CeCe had a look of absolute satisfaction on her face, one that Dana had rarely seen as of late. "There's like a lot more to do but like, we're definitely on the right fucking track, y'know?" It was all Dana could do to nod; CeCe was on her sixth or seventh spliff and her third glass of cranberry and vodka. He had the most remarkable headache.

"All right, like we should shower, then!" CeCe said. "Ummm, I mean like, you should shower, and like I'll go take care of my own shit or whatever."

Dana nodded. He hadn't showered all day, somehow: he was honestly disgusting, if he thought about it at all. All the smoke that had soaked into his skin wasn't helping matters. And he felt most peculiar in this dress. It would be easier to have it off for a while.

-.-.-

"Okay great, like just let your hair air-dry or whatever," CeCe said after wrangling his 'breasts' into place for the second time. "Okay, so like I left the tights and the shoes on the bed. The MJ's are really low, like two inches, so you'll be fine. Oh and um, Zenon'll come through soon to do make-up, and like, she is a fucking master – like, for real, like she's Michelangelo and your face is the Sistine Chapel, right? She will take it to that level, see if she doesn't. ...Ummm, no though, not to freak you out or anything, Dee Dee, just... let her work, y'know? She cannot underwhelm you."

-.-.-

"All right, I conferred with CeCe and I think we have it sorted," Zee said as she laid her palette out on the counter. "The guidin' light here is 'impersonal.' Imagine you've met an android, maybe a cyborg, y'know, some kind of human-robot amalgam. And this robot is super expressive by design, right, but due to the limits of technology they're also real stiff and eerie, y'know? So you can't tell from their expression whether they're a good robot there to serve your every whim, or a bad robot waitin' for you to let down your guard before they fuckin' end you. Basic 'Blade Runner' shit here. But the point beyond that is this: you don't even care if they're good or bad, you're too fascinated by this 'impersonal personality' on display, this person coated in impersonality – it's a persona that's foregroundin' the very act of impersonation, y'know?"

Dana had never heard Zenon speak more than two sentences at a stretch, so this geyser of words took him by surprise. He thought he understood the content of her words well enough: the purpose behind them, however, was way beyond his grasp.

"So then you're, um, making me up as a potentially killer robot?"

"Look at this way: anyone you've ever met could be holdin' a deadly grudge against you, right? So we're just bringin' that all-too-human reality to the surface with this face. And when you mix the self-cannibalizin' housewife motif into the equation, then we start to look toward a tragicomic readin' of the heteronormative script, and we start, uhh – I mean, fuck, you don't want to hear all this theory shit. I'll just sum it up, then? We're embracin' the inanimate, or rather the receptive, or rather, um, the tension between the 'settled' space of the make-up and the 'unsettled' space of the face. The powder stays in place or it doesn't, but the face is always already mobile, as in mobilizin' against itself. We're recognizin' the perpetual self-effacement of the face, you feel me?" She let out a sharp breath. "I mean, fuck it, forget it. I'm no good at explainin' myself."

Dana felt he was following the 'what' of her words. But the 'how' and 'why' still remained elusive. How was she translating all of that into the products she applied to his face? And why was that the appropriate theme for his make-up? And also, actually: what in good grace was the heteronormative script? Dana thought back to Una and her peculiar fairy tale. He concluded that cosmeticians were a curious breed, far beyond his comprehension.

"All right, gold." Zee appeared satisfied with Dana's face.

Dana stepped up to one of the room's many mirrors to get a better look. He supposed he saw how the make-up followed from all that abstract talk earlier. The impression it left on the viewer was certainly one of 'impersonality.' The foundation was very even and flat, with just a touch of plasticky sheen to it. The blush was flashy but unconvincing, trying and failing to inject warmth into an unfeeling surface. Similarly, the contouring around his cheeks and temples aimed to accentuate the humanity of his bone structure. But instead his face appeared hollow, as if it had pressed out of a mold. His eyes were sharply defined by a deep blue eyeshadow close to the color of the dress. The strategic application of white eyeliner helped to make his eyes 'pop,' quite literally – they looked as though they could be popped in and out of his sockets at will.

The overall feel of his face was very 'Uncanny Valley.' Dana resembled a sultry sexbot who might or might not be programmed with femme fatale protocols. His natural facial expressions were as genuine and open as ever, but that only served to heighten the viewer's sense of ambivalence. Dana felt a heady mixture of attraction and repulsion as he stared at his reflection.

"Okay... um, thanks?"

"Later, then." Zee was already ready to go out, Dana realized, with her darkly distinguished mouth and her iron throne of a dress.

All Dana had left was to don the tights and the shoes. Like the rest of his ensemble, the tights were unusual, though in a more understated way. They were transparent, so his legs looked almost bare. But they were shot through with a pattern of hairline cracks. His legs seemed to be threatening to shatter, like they could crumble to dust at any moment. It was a little touch and go pulling them on, but he'd gotten some practice last night. If he could do it sloshed beyond belief, he could do it (mostly) sober.

Dana wouldn't say he felt 'drunk' exactly. He'd had hardly a half glass of wine at dinner. But he couldn't say he felt altogether himself, either. Dana had dismissed it earlier as a headache from the smoke, but it was much more than that. He felt more alert, not in the sense of having more energy or focus, (as he did with caffeine,) but rather of being tuned into features of his environment that had escaped his notice before. Cross-sections of fabric patterns, the negative space between two pieces of furniture, the hollow of an abandoned glass: all these scenes had been before his eyes the whole time, but he had never paid them any mind. Now they felt essential to him.

The shoes were gleaming black Mary Janes with a silver buckle. With two-inch heels, they were reasonable by comparison to many other shoes, but that was little consolation to Dana. He was sure he'd soon fall and make a fool of himself. And what if he actually did adjust to the heels – wouldn't that be the final emasculating nail in the coffin of his manhood?

Even standing alone in his room, Dana could feel the heels changing the way he related to his body, shifting his center of gravity and altering his posture. Dressing like a woman was one thing, but holding himself like one and walking like one was another thing entirely. Could he ever get back to the way his life used to be? No, no, of course he could: none of this really meant anything. This outfit was just a surface appearance, after all; he was still a man underneath, right? (But what if the man that he'd thought he was was just a surface appearance as well, and what if nothing lay underneath? Woah.)

Surface appearance or no, it was undeniably effective. There was no trace of his former self in his reflection. Nothing hinting at masculinity, for one. He had also been 'aged up' rather well. The casual observer would suppose him to be at least eighteen or nineteen, though probably no older. "Dee Dee" was a youthful-looking late teen, trying for twenty-one but not quite getting there – but also trying for sexy and passing with flying colors.

The dress was not outrageously revealing, nor was it flaunting his curves. (Apart from his false chest, he didn't have any.) Its allure was due to its suggestiveness. Only a sliver of cleavage rose entirely over the neckline, but a good amount more was only half-concealed by the outer ring of irregular lace. The same principle held for his legs: the entire hem reached down to his knees, but the edge of the solid cotton stopped four inches farther up his thighs. Even more tantalizing was the dynamism created by the transition from cotton to lace to muslin. One could easily imagine that process continuing, the material dissolving from the outside-in until it was more a negligee than a dress, or until it disappeared all together.

Likewise, his make-up relied upon its ambiguous proposal to the viewer: Dee Dee might or might not be looking to snap your neck, but you were all but guaranteed a good time before that happened. And wouldn't it prove all the more satisfying if she had in fact been biding her time all the while, just waiting to seize the moment and your neck? In reality, of course Dana was as docile as a lamb, (a lamb with a contact high, at that,) but the onlooker had no reason to reach that conclusion.

All told, his ensemble took elements that were chaste and wholesome (the domesticity of the Stepford dress, the blandness of androids, Dana's chastity and wholesomeness) and twisted them into anything but. The outfit was less foward than many he would see throughout the night, but its intentions were clear enough all the same.

Dana could think of more than a few words that his father had for women dressed in a similar fashion, none of them pleasant.

But Dana hardly thought of his father. He was more concerned about the words that the others might have for him. Well, the words of one in particular: Dahli– Doctor. (Dana sensed he wasn't on familiar enough terms to call her Doc just yet.) How would she take his new look? Would she even notice him at all, or ignore him as she'd done for most of the day? What would he say to her? What if she asked him to dance? (People did that at parties, right?) He didn't know how to dance! And wearing these gosh-darned heels, he was sure to fall on his face as soon as he tried. Maybe they could just... stand near each other, instead?

-.-.-

When Dana finally mustered up the courage to come out, he found the others standing together on the suite's dancefloor. A large circle had been chalked onto the floor, circumscribing a five-pointed star. CeCe and the others each stood just inside the circle at one of the star's points.

Exie whistled. "Damn, dude. Killing it."

Dahlia gave him one of her cryptic smiles. "Indeed. Our dear demure Dee Dee looks quite the daredevil now." Dana shivered. Her smile was the absolute best he'd ever seen. Hands down, hers took the gold, no question.

Dahlia was a vision. A black latex dress clung to her body as though a machine had sealed it onto her. Her heels were impossible. Five or six inch stilettos? Standing in his Mary Janes, his knees felt weak just looking at them. Her face was a placid mask. Her eyes betrayed her intense focus, but the rest of her features suggested complete vacuity. It was an unsettling combination.

"Um, so what is all this?"

"Oh, Dana dear, this is just a lovely little team-building exercise our Celia likes to lead us through. Perfectly innocent, I assure you." Dahlia's face revealed nothing. Her eyes promised everything.

"Fuck, like if you're gonna sass me, Dolly, can it at least wait until after?" A pause. "See, Dee Dee, it's like this: I've got this quick, uh, this quick ritual I do before we go out, like, just to help keep us safe, y'know?"

"... ... Ritual? Um, like–"

"–She's a witch, dude." CeCe shot a sharp look over at Exie. "What? It's true!"

"She's a good witch though, Dana," Zee explained. "Only healin' and protection spells, none of that hexin' stuff."

"She has the only hex she'll ever need on her hip." Dahlia had a way of muttering that was easily understood by everyone in earshot.

"Dolly, hush!"

"Here's how I look at it, dude," Exie said, beckoning Dana closer. "If your Book's right, then this is all like a buncha bullshit and can't harm anything, right? And like, Jesus will be waiting to swoop down and drag your ass up to Heaven either way. But if there is something to all this Earth Mother shit, then like maybe you saved your ass big-time by going along with it. You feel me?"

"Pascal's Wager for witchcraft, essentially," Dahlia put in.

"Ummmm..."

The rest of the group had linked hands with each other. The point of the star where Dana was meant to step in was between Exie, linked with Zee, and Dahlia, linked with CeCe.

Was Dana going to pass on holding hands with Dahlia, no matter how blasphemous the occasion? No chance in hell.

-.-.-

CeCe beamed at him as he joined the circle. Then she began to recite a lengthy Latin passage from memory. Dana recognized it as Latin from his studies, but he couldn't translate it. His father had forbidden his mother from teaching him Latin, since it was almost exclusively the domain of pagans and Papists. He had however been given a good deal of Greek to aid in his Bible studies.

Dana's thoughts drifted over to the witch of the Odyssey, Circe. As the host and captor of the waylaid voyager Odysseus, she did everything in her power to lure him away from fealty to his wife and home life, without success. Of course, the comparison was silly – who could mistake CeCe for Circe? Although.... CeCe had twisted her bob into two blunt braids on either side of her head. So both CeCe and Circe could be fairly called "the nymph with lovely braids."

'Nymph' was perhaps pushing it for CeCe, now that he thought about it. She was no doubt captivating, but 'nymph' suggested a vulnerability that just wasn't there. CeCe was wearing the patchwork jacket she'd found at Apoplexia over a sleek black dress. A slit ran up most of one leg, the top of it obscured by the length of the jacket. She wore dark purple combat boots over torn-to-[frick] fishnets. Three chunky chains hung around her neck: one was the barbed wire pentacle, another was a silver triangle and the last was a golden circle. Her make-up was severe: a deathly pallor, heavy rims of black around her eyes and a lipstick the color of coagulating blood. Despite all the morbid signifiers, CeCe's face was so animated that there could be no doubt she was very much alive and ready to [mess stuff up.]

She wrapped up the recitation, nodded, and dropped her hands from Zee and Dahlia. The others did the same. What had all that been about, anyway? Dana looked closer at the center of the circle. Five crystals were gathered at the center, bound together by twine (or was that hair? Couldn't be.) They were each a different color: green, black, white, blue and red. How odd. However, as Exie had reminded him, it meant nothing in the end: no miracles could be performed without God's intervention.

Yet Dana couldn't deny that he'd felt a slight charge run through his body as CeCe finished with her ritual. He felt closer to the others, more 'in sync' somehow – that had to be just a trick of psychology, however.

CeCe looked over at Dana and smiled. "Yeah, um... like if you wanted to say a prayer or something, like ask Jesus to keep an eye out or whatever, that'd be totally fine too."

"Oh, umm, no... I don't make requests of God through prayer. My fath– erm, and that is because it's arrogant to presume to know how things should turn out. God's Will ensures that we live in the best of all possible worlds."

"Mmm, yes, that is a classic line of reasoning," Dahlia said, her eyes flashing with interest. "But are you familiar with Russell's critique of Leibniz, on the grounds of–"

"–Dada, are you fuckin' serious right now?" Zee cut her off. "We are not gettin' into a fuckin' theological debate: this is spring break, right, we're supposed to be havin' fun!"

"Oh, I find theological debates to be tremendous fun, Ze–"

"–Yeah but like, if you'd think about literally anybody besides yourself for once in your life, dude," Exie broke in, "there's fucking clearly a net loss on fun here."

"Sure, if you're using a crude utilitarian calc–"

"–Dolly. Shut. The fuck. Up." A pause. "Thank you. Then, if we're done here, I'd like to say a few words before we roll out." Another pause. "First off: for fuck's sake, pace yourselves. Like, there's loads of time to get blasted after you've seen who you have to see or whatever. And that goes for all of you but like, Dolly?" CeCe's eyes bored into the side of Dahlia's head. "Cuffs are like so not a cute look in this context, you feel me?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Dahlia's expression was indeciperable.

"Second, trust your fucking instincts. If you think something's shady, it's shady. Do not hesistate to come to me or text me, clear? Tonight's more low-key than usual, but like, that doesn't mean don't be careful."

"This ain't our first fucking run around the block, y'know, CeCe-CP?"

"But it bears repeating." A pause. "All right, that's all then. Let's fucking tear this city's shit apart."

-.-.-

Dana knew about limousines in the abstract, but he never expected to ride in one. He certainly never expected to ride in one sitting next to the most beautiful woman he'd ever met or hoped to meet. Doctor sat on one side between CeCe and Dana; Zee and Exie sat on the other. It was oddly quiet in the car, considering all the fuss earlier.

"Ohh, fuck dude, I almost forgot! This is for you." Exie pulled a small envelope from her backpack and handed it to Dana. Inside was an ID card with his face (well, Dee Dee's face) on it. The card resembled a New York driver's license. It gave his name as "Mary M. Davidson," his age as 21, his sex as "F," and his address as in some town he'd never heard of. All the other information was remarkably spot-on, given that Exie hadn't measured or weighed him.

"Ummmmm..." Dana now understood why Exie had been grilling him earlier: though the ID looked legitimate, it was a fake through and through – and that was wrong!

Then again, the same could be said of Dana himself right now. But, no, this was different: the ID was illegal! He was just, um, he was just "detestable in the sight of the Lord." Not to mention the source of utter shame and disgrace to his father and mother, should they ever find out about all this. The fake ID was starting to pale in comparison, the more he thought about it. Dana wanted nothing more than to stop thinking about it, but he couldn't. He was stuck in a spiral, imagining all the disgusted reactions of his parents, of people at his church, of people he didn't even know but had read about in books. He was a massive fraud and it was only a matter of time before it all came crashing down on his head–

Dahlia put her hand on his thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Relax, Dana dear. You look great. No-one is going to question you."

All his stress and fear and worry drained away, as if she'd opened a valve in the back of his head. She thought he looked great? And no-one was going to question him? She really thought he looked great?

"Ummm, th-thank you." A pause. "Uhh, y-you look great t-t-too, umm, D-Doctor."

A small smile. "Thank you, dear."

"Yeah, so like, put it in your wallet and forget about it," Exie said. "Tonight most of the clubs probly won't even ask for it."

"Ah, and like we're here!"

-.-.-

Dana wondered if there was an adjective for something so gaudy that it wrapped back around and became classy again. He could think of no better descriptor for the club. It was a black building rimmed with fountains and decorative columns, with a massive slab of neon stacked on top. Four people who radiated wealth were the only others at this entrance. Dana saw there was another entrance farther down the street with a long queue in front of it.

The group ahead of them was escorted into the building by a flashily-dressed man. CeCe identified herself to the bouncer, showing him her driver's license. (Also a fake? Dana wasn't sure he wanted to know.) Finding her on the list, the bouncer nodded and waved them through. They were in.

Dana was in shock. If the exterior had been over-the-top, the interior was full-blown sensory overload. The club was cavernous, streaked with neon on every possible surface and filled to the brim with people dancing like their lives were at stake. Perhaps that wasn't far from the truth: the bass blasts shaking his bones felt life-threatening enough to Dana.

"Wild, huh?" CeCe spoke into his ear. "So like, you wanna go dance? Or um, like maybe just take it all in for a while?"

"Ummm, I don't want to dance, uh, right now." Dana had avoided any mishaps in his heels by walking slowly, but he didn't want to push his luck. He still might have considered dancing if Doctor Starr was nearby. But she, Exie and Zee had already disappeared into the crowds.

"Yeah no, like I'm not really there yet myself. I was gonna just chill at our table, okay?"

"Uhh, all right?"

Dana followed her up some stairs to a roped-off section overlooking the main dancefloor. CeCe flashed her ID at a second bouncer and swept past without waiting for him to confirm her identity. There was a good handful of open tables, but CeCe knew the one she wanted and made a beeline for it.

"What do you want to drink?" There were several bottles of alcohol chilling on ice on the table, as well as a cooler on the floor. CeCe poured herself a gin and tonic.

"Ohhh, um, I don't – I mean, I don't feel like drinking tonight, um... sorry?" He was going to say he didn't drink. But after the wine, the mimosa and the schnapps, CeCe would know that to be false.

"No, like I get it, Dee Dee, you did go pretty hard last night! You want a Coke or something, then? Like when I'm taking a break, I just sip on a chaser, no-one can tell the fucking difference, right?"

"Um... sure!"

Dana wasn't sure what you were supposed to do in a club if you weren't dancing. If CeCe and the other people in the VIP section were any indication, the answer was sit, drink and look out upon the people who were dancing. Conversation was hindered by having to shout everything you said, but some of the other tables were trying their best. Several groups of more or less inebriated men came by their table to make a pass, but CeCe had perfected a look that turned away even the most booze-befogged among them.

All except one, anyway. A man who could barely keep upright asked if he could watch while CeCe and Dana made out. She stood up and gave him a small but sincere shove on his shoulders. His friends decided to lead him back to their own table.

"Ughh, it's like always the same fucking shit with guys, like – if you're two chicks who don't want to hang with their sloppy asses, it like must be because you're huge homos, even if you're so obviously not, right?"

Dana nodded, feeling a little uneasy. He had told CeCe he wasn't gay, which was surely true. But he had no interest in men, and he was very much attracted to women. If you believed, (as CeCe did,) that he too was a woman, then that orientation would in fact qualify him as a 'huge homo.' But it wasn't like that, was it? He'd lived his whole life dedicated to the Word of God. Dana had no idea how he would even begin to explain all of this mess to CeCe.

Apart from the noise and the neon, this club was the perfect venue for people-watching, Dana realized. There was always someone new, some little scene to pick out of the writhing mass of bodies. While the view as a whole was chaotic, it was all unified in a different sense by the insistent thump of the beat.

Dana wouldn't have believed it when he first entered the club, but he started to feel numbed, aloof, almost lulled into a trance by all the over-stimulation. The world around him no longer registered as a series of moments filled with a set of objects; it all began to blur. One song flowed into the next, one arrangement of colors and shapes flowed into the next: there was nothing definite to single out any one part of the flow. It was almost peaceful, not despite but because of the great blooming, buzzing confusion before him.

-.-.-

All of a sudden Dahlia, Zee and Exie were at the table.

"We're cool?" CeCe asked. "No problems? All right, let's roll out then."

They were leaving the club already? It hadn't felt to Dana like they'd been there very long. Then again, he'd sort of lost track of time. Were they were going back to the hotel now?

No, now they were going to the next club. Dana wasn't sure what he'd expected when it came to "clubbing," but it wasn't this. The same routine was carried out at the next club: Dahlia, Exie and Zee dispersed into the crowds immediately, while CeCe sat with Dana in the VIP section and surveyed the scene. In under an hour, they were leaving the second club and onto the third. That process was repeated two more times – at each club they left two or three bottles of expensive liquor completely untouched. After the fourth club, CeCe decided they should head back to the hotel to freshen up. She and Dana weren't in need of any freshening, but the rest were a little worse for wear.

Back in their hotel room, Dana asked why they were rotating through these different clubs so quickly. CeCe explained that when the group felt like a club was "dead," it was time to move on. Dana asked what made a club "dead" but he couldn't follow CeCe's answer.

"Anyway, like with this last club we're for sure done driving around," CeCe added. "This place is always live as fuck, and the DJ tonight is like, absolutely bonkers. She's like savage, wild, I mean like axe-murderer levels of insanity here, you feel me?" Dana nodded, resisting the impulse to gulp.

"Oh, like a couple things before we go, right: these will like make dancing a little easier than in the MJ's." CeCe had a pair of black flats for him to put on. "And this will make dealing with guys a little easier." She slipped a ring onto his left ring finger. Dana's eyes widened over the size of the rock: it dwarfed the ones in his crucifix and studs. "Like, guys'll still try and shit, but if you wave this in their face most of 'em should fuck off."

"Umm... it's so big?"

"Haha, like yeah? It's supposed to catch the eye, like to convince guys they don't have a fucking chance with you. Oh! But like, it's zirconium, Dee Dee, it's like actually super cheap, so like don't even worry if you lose it or whatever. Just a decoy, right?" She gave his arm a squeeze.

-.-.-

Zee had changed both her dress and her shoes, Dahlia just her shoes and Exie, as best Dana could tell, had only put on sunglasses. No, she also carried a different bag, as did the other two. Her demeanor was different, too – making excited gestures, talking Zee's ear off. Zee for her part had gone the other direction. She moved little, spoke little, did little except nod. She had a smile on her face as if the whole world was giving her a hug.

Dana always had a hard time reading Doctor Starr. Now that she too had donned sunglasses, it was all but impossible to figure her out. She said nothing. Dana swore he heard her grinding her teeth, however. Was she angry, anxious maybe? Why?

The night's final club startled Dana by how subdued it looked. A stark fluorescent sign hung over the entrance. If not for that, the building could be mistaken for any old warehouse. Well, the waves of bass coming from within were also a tip-off.

The clubgoers in the queue more than off-set the club's drabness. People at the previous clubs had been well-dressed, but in a generically wealthy way. The people here were less wealthy but more resourceful. Or perhaps they were just as wealthy as those others, but they had adopted a style that appeared less wealthy and more resourceful – it's hard to say. They looked like creatures of the night who had crawled out of some niche of a fashion magazine.

There was only one entrance to the building. When CeCe stalked up to the bouncer, his face warmed with recognition. They greeted each other and shook hands, then he waved all of them through. Dana felt the bouncer was looking especially at him as they passed by, scrutinizing him for cracks in the facade, but nothing came of it.

The club was dark. The others had been soaked in neon; here it came in dabs and splashes. Miniature light shows appeared throughout the complex, but most of the ambient light came from the clubgoers themselves, whether with clothes, gloves, bracelets, or, in a few cases, hair dyed to react to blacklight. The lack of light only complicated an already irregular arrangement of walls – unless you left a trail of breadcrumbs, you would soon lose track of where you had entered the club. The DJ's mix was a spooked animal: its synths pristling to drive away a threat, baring its teeth with sampled screams echoing from every corner, all of it goaded forward by a rasping bassline.

Zee and Exie soon disappeared in the labyrinthine sub-segments of the club. Dahlia and Dana hung around CeCe, waiting to hear what she would do.

"Ehh, like I think this is still an opener – I dunno, I think maybe I'll drink more and then go out there."

"No objections," Dahlia said. They found the bar quickly within the twist of rooms. CeCe secured a table nearby by speaking with its previous occupants: Dana couldn't imagine what she could have said. She went to the bar and brought back a gin on the rocks for herself, a scotch neat for Dahlia and another cola for Dana.

-.-.-

"Of all the juke joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine." The gravelly voice came from someone walking over from the bar. It belonged to a short fellow with a pondscum-green mohawk, a nose-ring and a bow-tie. CeCe's jaw dropped like a rock as she turned to look at him.

"Ohhhh my fucking god: Eve? Is that you?"

"Actually, I'm going by Adam." A beat. "Hah, just fucking with you. My name's Devon now." He walked up and held out his hand. "Really, CeCe, it's been a while: how've you been?"

CeCe leapt off her chair and swept Devon up in a close embrace. Then she felt self-conscious and stepped away. "Like, holy fucking fuck, I can't believe it's you! I mean, wow. You look, like, so different. Umm, like I mean, you look great!"

"Hah, I feel great! I've started lifting a little, y'know, now and again." A beat. "You look lovely as always."

"Hehe, well like, y'know, I've been holding it down. Going to school, getting it done, all that shit."

"Right, right, cool. And you've met someone nice, I suppose – someone to tame your wild side?"

"Ahhh, well... no, like there's no-one serious. Like there's some pretty boys and all, but they're all dumb as shit. It's just fuck 'em and dump 'em, pretty much."

"But of course! You would need a little more going on upstairs." A beat. "I myself have had a hard time finding someone who really gets me, y'know–" Dahlia burst into an awful coughing fit; Dana suspected it wasn't entirely genuine.

"Oh, like fuck, I'm sooo rude right now. Eve – um, I mean Devon, sorry: these are my girls, Dahlia and Dee Dee. Girls, this is Devon, an old friend of mine."

"Charmed, I'm sure." Devon pulled up Dahlia's hand to kiss it; Dahlia looked about ready to spit in his face. Then he did the same for Dana.

"So, Monsieur Devon, what is it you're doing these days?" Dahlia's silky voice sounded as though a tanker of crude oil had been spilled over it: toxically unctuous. Devon chuckled, cleared his throat, and leaned over toward CeCe. He whispered something in her ear.

"Um, yeahhh! Hey girls, like do you mind if E– uh, if Devon and I step out to somewhere more private? We've got a lot to catch up on."

"When Devon is such a catch, Celia dearest, how could we mind? Please, do go." Dana found even Doctor's normal tone of voice a little unnerving. But after hearing her like this, he was praying for a return to normalcy. Neither CeCe nor Devon took any notice, however. They each gave a quick wave and disappeared into the crowd.

"Ummmmmm..." Dana wanted to say something to calm Doctor Starr down, but nothing came to mind. He didn't even know why she was angry! She seemed to dislike this Devon guy (girl? guy.) But why? They had only just met, and he had been perfectly courteous to her – a little overfamiliar, perhaps. Whatever the reason, she was still livid even after Devon had left. Her knuckles were bone-white from gripping her glass; Dana was worried she would shatter it.

"Please, Dana, excuse me for a moment." Dahlia downed the rest of her drink and stalked over to the bar. She ordered three shots of whiskey and knocked them back in quick succession. When she returned to the table, she wore a fearsome smile. "I'm going to go powder my nose, dear: perhaps you'd like to join me?"

Why would Dana want to accompany Doctor to the restroom? He didn't have to go himself. Well, actually... maybe he did. Dana had been avoiding going to the restroom all night. He knew he looked unquestionably female right now, but still: what if someone found him out? A man in the women's restroom was an unforgivable offense, was it not? He could never live it down.

For the second time in two days, his bladder decided things for him. He hadn't relieved himself in hours, and if he didn't soon he would wet himself: arguably worse than being clocked as a man. Anyway, if he was quick, hardly anyone would see him, right? Dana followed Dahlia into the restroom.

Like the rest of the club, the restroom was dark and half-devoured. Graffiti sprawled over every surface; the sinks looked like they'd seen some [stuff.] Dana feared the toilets would be similarly abused. Instead they were unassuming and functional, and after a small struggle with his dress he got in and out of the stall with minimal fuss. He didn't have to think about sitting to pee – he always sat to pee, never supposing there was anything unusual about that.

When he went to wash his hands, he saw Dahlia had set a small mirror on the counter. She was chopping and scraping at a white powder on the mirror, straightening it into two clean lines. Then she pulled a dollar bill from her purse and, with the simplest flick of her fingers, rolled it into a tight tube. It took only a few more moments for her to lean over the mirror and vaccuum all of one line up her nose.

Dahlia sniffled, smiled and turned to Dana. "If you would?" she said, holding the rolled bill out to him.

"... ... ... No! No, no, um, no thank you, Doctor?"

She shrugged. "More for moi." She disposed of the other line just as easily.

Dana's mind was reeling. Doctor Starr was a cocaine user?! She couldn't be, she just couldn't – but the evidence was right before his eyes. It didn't make any sense! His father had shown him pictures of people who used cocaine: they were all wretched, hollow-eyed, emaciated ghouls. All it took was one hit and the drug became your life: nothing else was important but chasing the next high.

Doctor didn't look anything like the people in those pictures. She was far from skeletal, for one; she was also beyond beautiful. What's more, she was by all appearances living a life that wasn't only about cocaine. She had friends, she was going to college, she had hopes and dreams... The cognitive dissonance was almost more than Dana could bear. Could his father have lied to him about cocaine? Why? And if he had, what else might he have lied about?

Dana stood, stunned, in the restroom until Dahlia yanked him outside. Then she made a beeline for the dancefloor. Dana found that his mouth had been totally sapped of moisture. He returned to their table and drained the rest of his cola in one gulp.

-.-.-

The number one rule for clubbing or bar-hopping is never leave your drink unattended. This rule is important enough to bear repeating: whenever you go to a club or a bar, never leave your drink unattended, not even for a moment. If you do leave your drink unwatched by accident, throw it away. Do not drink it – dump it. The reason being, there are people in this world who believe they are entitled to the bodies of anyone they choose. They are willing to use any advantage to take what's "rightfully theirs." Until every last one of these evil fucks has been stomped into the dirt, it is not safe to leave your drink by itself.

Dana's neglecting to take that precaution did not make it his fault that he was dosed with rohypnol. Nor can we blame his parents, since they never expected him to be put in a situation where such a warning would be needed. CeCe and her girls knew Dana was something of an innocent when they took him clubbing, so they could be held partly responsible. Still, the rule is so fundamental that it's no surprise it escaped their mention. But in the end, the only person we can justly blame for the incident is the pathetic sack of shit who spiked Dana's drink. He will remain nameless.

-.-.-

Dana joined Dahlia on the dancefloor, shuffling awkwardly nearby while she flailed around and ground herself up against anyone and everyone except him. About twenty minutes after that, his memory faded to black.

-.-.-

-.-.-

-.-.-

Author's Note:

First, (though this should go without saying,) I'd like to reassure the reader – since Dana (Dee Dee) is explicitly underage, there will be no explicit content involving him (her.)

Second, for my own amusement I made a playlist for each member of CeCe's crew. I have posted them online at the following links.

CeCe: http://8tracks.com/beryl_greenfield/cece-s-fuck-off-rap-mix
Dahlia: http://8tracks.com/beryl_greenfield/dahlia-s-danse-macabre-mix
EXE: http://8tracks.com/beryl_greenfield/exe-s-aminals-mix
Zenon: http://8tracks.com/beryl_greenfield/zenon-s-wavecore-mix

Unless your musical taste happens to coincide with one or more of the characters, you won't find the playlists to be enjoyable in and of themselves. They might still be of interest as another way of getting into the characters' heads. (With the caveat that you learn nothing definite about people from the music they listen to.)