“I look like a rhinestoned lawn gnome.”
“You lookincredible,” Brandt wheezes with laughter. “I’ve never been so confused in my life.”
At that moment, the locker room doors swing open again—and McCormick walks out in the buncostume, looking resigned. Stiles struts behind him proudly in the hot dog suit, tossing condiment packets like confetti.
Everyone turns. Brandt chokes on his root beer.
Jax starts slow-clapping. “Character development.”
“You switched?” Nash calls. “What happened in there?”
“We had a conversation,” Stiles says stiffly.
“A negotiation,” McCormick adds.
“An identity crisis,” Stiles finishes. “We’ve reached... an understanding.”
“Now he’s the bottom,” West mutters.
“I AM NOT—” Stiles starts, but Valor—Nash’s black cat in a tiny bat costume—leaps onto the scoreboard and yowls like the drama queen he is, and the music shifts to “Somebody’s Watching Me,” and the moment is lost.
“Why does the cat have a better costume than Brewer?” West asks.
Across the court, Rhett saunters in as Scarlett O’Hara, full hoop skirt, corset, and a parasol for no reason. Riggs is beside him as Rhett Butler, already regretting his entire life.
“I swear to God,” Riggs mutters, pulling up his suspenders. “I told him we’d goas a couple, notas the couple.”
“You lookdashing, sugar,” Rhett drawls, adjusting his hoop skirt.
“You look like a sexy Civil War ghost,” Brewer says to Rhett. “Your mama would be proud.”
“Iama sexy Civil War ghost,” Rhett replies.
Someone spikes the punch. Someone else tries to dance with the skeleton in the bleachers. Jax poses in front of a fog machine and makes helicopter noises until West throws a basketball at him.
The gym smells like fog machine, popcorn, and humiliation. “Ghostbusters” starts playing again on the cursed playlist.
Pharo poses next to a mummy cutout like he’s on the red carpet. Jax salutes him with both hands, middle fingers out. The fog machine short circuits and someone screams for no reason.
“…Do you think we just accepted our roles?” Stiles asks.
McCormick shrugs. “Honestly? I’m okay being the meat.”
Stiles sighs. “Then I guess I’ll just… wrap around you.”
“I always knew you were clingy.”
Stiles throws a mustard packet at his face.
Margaret Anne, who’s dressed as Rosie The Riveter, a WWII pinup girl meant to inspire the women left at home alone while their men were sent off to war, holds a megaphone to her lips—it might be part of her costume?---and shouts, “Time for our dance-off!”
Riggs tries to beat feet but Rhett grabs his suspenders and snaps him back.
The room erupts. A chant starts in the bleachers: “DANCE! DANCE! DANCE!”
Margaret Anne’s gaze zero in on the Bitches like a heat-seeking missile. When no one steps forward willingly, she starts recruiting people in her sweetest smile. It’s impossible to resist her.
ROUND 1: Pharo vs. Jax
