“Condiment?” he asks, tossing one at Brandt, who catches it like a bouquet.
Brandt’s dressed as Maverick, all aviators and attitude. West, beside him as Iceman, dramatically bites the corner of his fake dog tags and says, “Talk to me, Goose.”
“Jesus,” McCormick mutters. “We get it, you watchedTop Gun.” He rolls his eyes and strolls toward Nash, who’s nursing a root beer in a skull goblet and wearing a cowboy hat, a cape, and a T-shirt that says,“I’m The Problem, It’s Me.”
“Touch my costume,” McCormick says. “It feelsrealistic.”
Nash, dressed as a pirate skeleton cowboy (it’s unclear), squints at him. “I don’t wanna touch your fucking meat.”
“C’mon, just touch it. Right here. I’m premium beef.” He strokes his mustard stripe obscenely.
“I don’t want to touch it, I don’t want to stroke it, I don’t want anything to do with your hot dog. Next thing you’ll ask me tocradleyour meat. No. Hard pass.”
“Missed opportunity,” McCormick says, tossing a mustard packet at his chest.
Stiles waddles up in a bun costume, arms stuck out awkwardly like a bread-shaped scarecrow. “I feel like a mattress for lonely people,” he mutters.
West chokes on his soda and covers his mouth. “So you’re the bottom.”
Stiles blinks. “What do you meanbottom?”
“Well,” West explains, gesturing matter-of-factly, “he’s the hot dog. He slides his dog into your bun.You’rethe bottom.”
Stiles lookshorrified. “No. That’s not—Mac!We need to talk about these costumes.Now.”
They both disappear into the locker room like someone called a Code Black.
Meanwhile, Pharo struts in wearing an elaborate King Tut costume, complete with eyeliner and gold sandals.
Jax, on his heels, wears a plastic helmet and a windbreaker that saysFlight Crew.
Brandt looks him over. “What are you supposed to be?”
“I’m Pharo. Too cool for school helicopter pilot.”
“You’re just wearing a Spirit HalloweenTop Gun Litecostume,” Brandt mutters.
“No,” Jax insists, adjusting his dollar-store aviators. “Ipilotthe Raven. Guys want to be me. Girls want to ride me. I’m radiating sex appeal and magnetism.”
Everyone stares at him.
“I think it’s just dumb,” Nash mutters, sipping from a Capri Sun he stole from the kids’ table.
Pharo covers his laugh behind his hand.
“You’re just cosplaying as ‘disappointing Maverick,’” West says, agreeing with Brandt.
Jax grins. “It’s conceptual.”
“Yeah,conceptually dumb,” mutters Brewer, who walks by in a wrinkled sexy nurse outfit, unshaven legs, complete with a name tag that saysNurse Bad Decision. His stethoscope is a jump rope.
Tex stops by a snack table before making his way to the group. He’s dressed in Dolly Parton drag, rhinestones and wigs and cleavage for days. He’s got a fake mic and is lip-syncing “9 to 5” like he’s auditioning for a Vegas residency.
Beside him, Mandy’s dressed in matching sparkle cowboy boots, a Shania Twain “Man! I Feel Like a Woman” outfit, complete with mini skirt, big hair, and an attitude. He looks absolutely miserable, but every time Tex eyes him, Mandy beams like the sun is shining from his mouth.
“This is a crime against God,” Mandy mutters, tugging at his neckline when Tex revisits the snack table.
Tex, overhearing him as he returns, throws an arm around him. “Shut up. We’re beautiful. You’re my backup singer, Big Guy.”
