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Simultaneously panicking and filling with rage, my vision vibrates and goes black at the edges.
Do not give them a reaction.
Do not give them a reaction.
Do not give them a reaction.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
I take out the top and slowly put it on, staying in my current bottoms for the time being. The top is what really steals the show anyhow, I try to encourage myself. What the hell are you gonna do, Lace?
I rummage — as calmly as possible — in my bag for inspiration, ignoring the whispers that are swelling in the hot and humid tent.
An idea hits me. A bold, proud confidence settles over my shoulders. I peek my head out of the tent to find Remi. Thankfully, she is waiting right on the outside like the perfect bodyguard.
“Everything okay?” she asks, looking all enforcer-like with her black hair and dark eyes, hanging out in the evening shadows.
“Some bitch decided it would be funny to bleach the crotch of my bottoms. I need to improvise.”
“If you find out which bitch, let me know?”
“Sure thing. Can you go tell Kris, the DJ, that I need a swap? Have her call me up last?”
Remi nods and walks off, back straight, on a mission.
I turn around and do the same.
