Dirty Angel

"Are you really gonna go through with this?" I asked skeptically.

"Yes, I am," said Scott, in his end-of-discussion voice.

"And what if you're recognized by someone you know?" I said.

"Then I'll simply tell them that I'm doing this to get into the fraternity," said Scott patiently, as if I had been a stupid kid.

He put his high-heeled shoes on, pinched at the hem of the skirt, and fluffed up his wig a bit. He looked just like a girl, which was the assignment for tonight - well, that and waiting on the frat brothers at the keg party.

"You just be careful the frat won't try to get into YOU," I warned him. "You look like a slut."

Scott playfully flipped me the finger and left. I turned my attention back to my English Literature.

"Jane Austen..."

How could he humiliate himself like that? Dress up in drag and put on a wig and make-up! Hell, no frat, no matter how cool, was worth that!

"Jane Austen, author of..."

He made a convincing woman, though. He had a rather feminine face, with big blue eyes and a pouty mouth, and those slim legs... Focus!

"Jane Austen, author of `Sense and Sensibility´, `Pride and Prejudice´, `Emma´..."

He walked remarkably easy in those high-heeled shoes. Perhaps he was used to them..? I put my books aside. There was no use. I couldn't concentrate on homework tonight. I turned on the TV and watched some boring movie about war in a tropical country. I fell asleep midway through it.

* * * * *

I woke up at 4 am by a loud "thump!" at the door. Scott was back. He didn't come in though, and after a few minutes I got up and opened the door. What a mess! Scott was lying on the carpet in the hallway just outside our door, but if he had fallen there or if some of the frat brothers had simply dumped him there, I couldn't tell. Scott's clothes were twisted and wrinkled, his wig hung crooked, and the make-up was smeared out all over his face.