Michael had been stocking milk for fifteen minutes when suddenly, a bright, pimply face stuck itself into the last space she'd been about to fill. Startled, Michael nearly dropped the carton, but quickly relaxed when she realized it was just her co-worker Danny. Making a face at him, she shoved the carton into its place and walked back out into the regular part of the grocery store to meet him.

"I hope you know I almost dropped that, and it would've come from your paycheck," she laughed. Secretly she was pleased, though. It had been a friendly gesture; he felt comfortable enough around her to tease her at work.

Danny threw his hands up in a defeat. "Sorry, sorry! I promise never to do it again. Just …I just wanted to catch you before you left. I don't know if you knew it or not, but there's a, um, Halloween party coming up. At my house. For, you know, just for the people at work. If you wanted to come, that'd be really cool."

Completely oblivious to Danny's intentions, Michael said, "Oh! That's really nice of you, Danny, but I've already got plans. I'm sorry!"

"Oh, well, right," he said with a somewhat pathetic laugh, instantly reverting his eyes to the ground. He was about to walk away before quickly adding, "But—just, if you have even just a minute, or something, that'd be cool, too. You wouldn't have to stay for hours. It's going to be pretty early, like starting at eight, so…"

Somewhat distractedly, Michael said, "Okay, yeah, I'll think about it." And then her shift was over, so she promptly left to prepare to get off work.

Her mistake was casually bringing this up to Taylor the next day, who insisted that this boy liked Michael. Naturally Michael thought this was complete nonsense, but Taylor begged to be allowed to come snoop. This request was shot promptly down, which Michael hoped would end the conversation for good. It did, but only between her and Taylor. To Michael's great surprise, it became the topic of dinner at her house that night.

"So, Mike!" her dad said amiably, passing her a bowl of peas. "Got any big plans for Halloween?"

She had originally planned to say no, but quickly realized that even if her father was out of town, her mom and brother would still be home and notice that she wasn't there. "Actually, yeah. Just a party. One of my friends is having a party."

"Who?" her parents asked simultaneously.

"Just a—um, Dylan. Packer."

Mrs. Madison raised her eyebrows. "Dylan Packer? Isn't she…" And for one wild moment, Michael randomly worried her mother would say, "flamingly gay," but instead she followed up with, "a little older than you?"

"So?" Michael asked innocently, not obnoxiously.

"So it'd be a college party, with college goings-on," her father answered sternly. "I don't like it. I don't think you should go."

"What? No, dad, I have to go!"

"Why?"

"I just have to, okay?"

"No."

"What about your work party?" her mom suddenly said.

"My—" Michael stared at her. "How'd you know about that?"

"Josh Meyer, my co-worker, a.k.a. the father of your co-worker, Danny Meyer. Apparently Danny's throwing a party for all the kids at the A&P, and Josh hinted that the boy would be pretty disappointed if you didn't show up."

It was all Michael could do to keep herself from slumping melodramatically over the table. She did, however, slap both hands to her face and groan loudly through her hands. Her aggravation was not helped when her younger brother teased, "Ooh, Michael's got a boyfriend!" In retaliation, Michael kicked him under the table and said, "Mom, Danny and I just work together! He doesn't like me!"

"Sure, sweetie. But I still think you should go. It'd give you a chance to hang out with your peers in a… well, safer environment."

Michael was about to talk back, but then thought about it for a moment. If she told her mother she'd go to the party, everyone would be satisfied—her parents, Danny, and her brother because he'd have something to make fun of her for. She figured if the PMCA wasn't even going to head to Tiffany Blair's party until ten, she could go to Danny's for a couple of hours. So it was with somewhat gritted teeth but as convincing a tone as she could muster that she said she agreed to go to Danny's party, and everyone seemed happy for a while. Jenna and Taylor thought the entire scenario was hilarious, and Dylan (as per usual) just shrugged and asked where and when she would now be picking up Michael.

Danny was over the moon when Michael told him she'd attend his party, blushing all the way up to his curly golden hair. He told her the only requirement was that she dress up, "which shouldn't be too hard, 'cause it's a Halloween party! Ha, ha, ha!" (Unbeknownst to either of them, Taylor was in the next aisle over and doubled up in painful silent laughter).

She already knew what she had to wear to the Blair party, which Taylor had stolen invitations for. Guys were supposed to dress as lumberjacks or motorcycle riders, and ladies were inexplicably requested to come as Girl Scouts or a famous sitcom mom. Michael decided the simplest thing to do would be to wear a fake strand of pearls, high-heeled shoes (which could be turned into a weapon at any moment), and the '50s dress she'd worn for Halloween a couple of years previously. Voila! June Cleaver. At Taylor's suggestion, Michael also had a plastic cleaver in her bag that actually sheathed a real, smaller one inside it. ("Just to be safe," Taylor said.)

At around 8:30, Michael's mother had just gotten back from taking her brother trick-or-treating, and then gave her daughter a ride to the Meyers' home. Several times on the drive over, she made less-than-subtle hints to her daughter about how she might want to act around Danny; things she might want to say or do to let him feel appreciated. Michael just made non-committal grunting sounds, too focused on the other task that lay before her to really worry about being polite to Danny.

He was a very nice guy, demonstrated by the relative calmness of his Halloween party. Though some of their older co-workers had started a game of beer pong in the basement, there was nothing but innocent fun-and-games on the main floor. The house was decorated mostly with orange and black streamers and little flashing orange lights. There was nothing else to indicate that this was a Halloween party, except for the fact that everyone was dressed up.

Danny, wearing a Dracula costume that was incredible only in its lack of originality, walked over to Michael with a red cup in his hands. "Vould you like some blood?" he asked in a horrifically awful Transylvanian accent. Winking, he added, "Don't worry, it's just fruit punch!"

With a weak laugh, Michael accepted the drink. "Uh… thanks, Danny."

"So! Michael Madison…where'd you say you moved here from, again?"

"Seattle."

"Wow, really? That's insane! You must think we're such a little hick town, ha, ha. How d'you like the high school so far?"

Michael shrugged. She was horrible at small talk. "It's okay. School is school." A painfully awkward silence hung over them for a few moments until Michael forced another laugh. "But Dr. Watts, what is up with that guy?"

The subject of their principal and his assumed insanity got them through another few minutes of conversation, until they were thankfully invited to join in on a game of bobbing for apples. As she watched the red and green produce (fresh from the A&P!) bob in the murky water, Michael realized she had never played this game before—and as she saw a girl's drool slide down her chin into the depths, she vowed that she never would. The partygoers invited their host to step to the front of the line while Michael stepped quickly the back. It was quite amusing to watch people struggle, but there was still such a gross-out factor that when it was Michael's turn about ten minutes later, she shook her head and tried to walk away.

"Aw, c'mon, Michael!" everyone laughed, and Danny pulled her back.

She was saved when someone suddenly spoke up, "Don't you kids know how unsanitary that game is?"

The speaker was a boy with dirty blonde hair, black leather cut-off gloves, a leather jacket with a Harley Davidson logo on the back, and a plaid shirt tied around his waist that matched the bandana on his head. Light stubble was just barely visible on his face, but it was enough to distract people from noticing how smooth the rest of his skin was. The green contact lenses initially threw Michael from recognizing the newcomer as none other than Dylan.

In fact, she only made the connection when Dylan reached out a hand and said, "Mrs. Cleaver? I believe we're expected elsewhere."

As Michael stepped quickly to join Dylan, relieved that she could finally leave this awkward work party, Danny said, "Hey, wait—who're you?"

"I'm Michael's escort for the evening," Dylan answered smoothly. "And you, little man, would do well to forget you ever saw me, because if you tell her parents I've been here, well… let's just say I'd have ways of making your life unpleasant." She turned to Michael. "You ready to go?"

"Y-Yeah, I just need to grab my jacket."

Dylan held up a gloved hand. "I'll get it. Where is it?"

"Um…just on a hanger in the closet, by that door over there. It's the blue one."

Shoulders back and with a confident stride, Dylan headed in the direction that Michael had pointed her. As soon as she was out of earshot, several of the girls who'd been bobbing for apples rushed over to Michael.

"Omigod who is that?!"

"Dude, he is SO cute! Where'd you—?"

"Oh my gawwd did you see his cheekbones?"

"Where'd you find this hottie?!"

"And he's getting your jacket! That's so sweet!"

Dylan came back just then, holding up Michael's jacket, and raised her eyebrows when Danny stepped in front of her. "'Scuse me, little man."

"Wait a second, I think you'd better tell me exactly who you are," Danny said. "This is my party, and you arrive unannounced to take Michael away someplace her parents clearly don't want her to be. You tell me who you are!"

Looking completely unfazed, Dylan swiped the cup in Danny's hand and sniffed it. Her voice was particularly deep and mannish sounding when she said, "Mm… yeah, look. This punch has been spiked, which I will allow to excuse your behavior. I don't need to tell you anything. Michael knows who I am, why I'm here, and where we're going. Nothing's gonna to happen to her, I'll make sure of that. Now. Step aside." She lightly pressed his shoulder.

Danny made the unwise move of grabbing Dylan's arm, and she swiftly shoved him off her, and right into the barrel where they'd been bobbing for apples. Water spilled everywhere, and Danny sat there in the middle of it looking completely stunned. "You don't touch me again, kid," Dylan said, pointing a finger dangerously at him. "And you don't tell Michael where she's supposed to be, ever. If she tells me you've been messing with her, you'll have me to answer to." And with that, she tossed Michael her jacket and led the way out the front door.

Once they were outside, Michael was torn between wanting to hug Dylan and kick her in the shins. "Dylan, what the heck was that stunt you just pulled?"

"What stunt?" Dylan asked innocently, getting into her car.

Michael got into the car as well and hissed, "Why'd you mess with Danny? And say all that stuff about coming to get him?"

"I'm supposed to play your boyfriend tonight, remember?" Dylan said, pulling into the street. "I just figured I might as well start playing the part, and do it right." With a light snort that almost passed for a laugh, she added, "Look, I'm sure Danny's a nice guy, but I just couldn't resist. It was too easy."

"Danny is nice to me, okay? He's one of the first friends I made at work, and now he's going to think I have some psycho boyfriend! He might never talk to me again, Dylan! You…" She sighed deeply, trying to calm down. "You didn't have to be so dramatic."

"Sorry, Mike," Dylan said gruffly, but sincerely. "I know it's no excuse, but I just get riled up sometimes when I'm about to go on a job—especially one like this, where I have to try and get something out of someone through… you know, Jenna-like methods. Puts me on edge. And then I hate that you have to get involved that way, too. It's dumb, but sometimes it's the only thing that works. We have to get information no matter the cost," she added bitterly. A few moments later, she said, "And I'm on my period right now. So I'm just in a consistently bad mood."

Michael almost laughed at that, if only because it explained Dylan's behavior a little bit, but also because it was strangely comical to think of this tough chick as having something as feminine as a period. Dylan shot her a quick but decidedly scary glare, so Michael bit her lip to keep from giggling out loud. Maybe now would be a good time to change the subject… "So, uh, how'd you get that stubble on your face?"

"It's makeup," Dylan sighed. "Jenna's sister put it on for me, she's a pro."

"Ah. Um…but won't it rub off?"

"No."

She waited for further explanation, but Dylan offered none. "You're really early, by the way."

Dylan swerved the car abruptly, but remained utterly calm. "I know. When you told us about this party, you didn't sound particularly excited about it, so I thought you might want to get out of there as quick as you could. Besides, you need time to chill out and adjust before we go to Ms. Blair's." She parked the car suddenly outside a gorgeous, old-looking brick house.

"Where are we?" Michael asked, following Dylan's lead and getting out.

"This is Jenna's sister's place," Dylan answered, walking straight up to the house and opening the door without knocking or ringing the bell. "Jenna's here and she wanted to talk to you before we leave."

Right on time, the busty redhead came sliding down the banister of a staircase that was just to the left of the front door. "Hey! You guys are here sooner than I expected!"

"Michael's work party was lame," Dylan said flatly. "Do you have the strap-on for me?"

"The—oh yeah, go up to the guest bedroom," Jenna said, waving distractedly behind her. "Second door on the left. I've got my collection in the red bag on my bed."

Dylan rolled her eyes and started traipsing up the stairs. "Great. Be right back."

Jenna waited until Dylan was out of sight, then chuckled and put an arm around Michael. "Ah, ha, ha, ha… I am so glad it's her time of the month!"

This was not what Michael had been expecting her to say. "What? Why?" she laughed.

"Because! Oh, honey, you've known Dylan for a few months now!" Jenna giggled, inviting Michael to sit with her on a nearby couch. "I guess you've just never been around her when she's, well, you know, going through nature." Her grin looked as though it was too wide for her face; she patted Michael's arm and said, "We are so lucky it's coinciding with this job, because trust me. Around this time every month, Dylan becomes three things: aggressive, forceful, and horny. I know you probably think she's all of those, or at least the first two, all the time, but it's like magnified when she's surfing that lovely crimson wave."

"Oh…good…?" Michael said.

"Not good. Great. Ah!" Jenna let out a delighted little laugh as Dylan came tromping back down the staircase. "Hot damn, Dylan Packer, you are freaking sexy!"

Dylan rolled her shoulders and then shrugged one. While upstairs, she had traded in the bandana for a dark blue baseball cap, which she wore backwards and somehow made her look more credibly male. A thick watch enclosed in a thicker black band disguised Dylan's right wrist, Just watching her walk over, Michael could tell Dylan had done some careful research and was putting on an extremely convincing performance that was sure to trick a drunk cougar. The slight slouch, the fists jammed in her pockets, the I-could-care-less expression, and the confident saunter to her walk all pointed to a carefully observed masculinity. She paid absolutely no attention to the fact that both Michael and Jenna were staring at her like she was a porter-house steak and merely said, "Where's your sister?"

"Downstairs, getting ready. Head on down, I'm sure she has the time now to finish you up." Jenna turned and winked at Michael as Dylan dutifully crossed the room and went down yet another staircase. "My sister Sally used to be a makeup artist—she and her husband always have the most intense Halloween costumes! Anyway she's supposed to be at a party with him right now, but she agreed to stay and help put the finishing touches on Dylan."

"Ah."

"Meanwhile," Jenna said, taking Michael gently by the arm and guiding her down the hall. "I'm going to fix that dress of yours."

"Fix it?" Michael sputtered as they walked into what appeared to be a small sewing room. "What do you mean?"

Jenna indicated a small changing stall and said, "Take it off, now. I need to adjust it a little bit."

Michael had been with the PMCA long enough by now to know that when Jenna made a statement like this, it was a command, not a suggestion. So she stepped awkwardly into the stall and as she was taking off the dress, distinctly heard Jenna chuckling to herself. "What's so funny?"

"Seventy-two eighty-five."

"What?"

"Seventy-two dollars and eighty-five cents. That's how much Dylan made in tips yesterday."

"Tips?" Michael asked, tossing the dress over the top of the stall. "She's not a waitress, is she?"

Jenna deftly caught the garment and promptly got to work hemming it. "Waiter, to be exact. Nah, she actually does wait from time to time at Communal; Taylor's godfather owns it and whenever one of us needs to make a little cash on the side, he lets us work there for as long as we need to."

"Communal?" Michael laughed. "Isn't there where every woman in town has like, brunch or whatever?"

"Exactly," Jenna cackled. "Only yesterday, it was also the police commissioner's wife's birthday, so she reserved the entire place for dinner—all the staff had to work it. We decided to use it as Dylan's final test run for her guy disguise, and holy hell did she pull it off! She had 'em eating out of the palm of her hand!"

The occasional sound of scissors snipping and sewing machine whirring distracted Michael a bit. "She turned them gay?"

"Well, without their realizing. They thought she was a man! She made more in tips than any other guy working there that day. And then, just to seal it, she hooked up with one of them later. I mean, they just made out, obviously, but the woman still had no idea it was a girl who was Frenching her…"

Jenna was silent for a minute or so, giving Michael's mind time to wander. She thought about Jenna's sister, who was apparently home, and what she was like. This led her to thinking about the rest of the St. Johns family, what they did, what kind of people they were. Had they been accepting of Jenna's sexuality off the bat? After this train of thought passed through her mind, almost without thinking, Michael voiced the question aloud: "Your family knows you're gay, right?"

"Of course," Jenna replied distractedly. "I…I, um, started going out with girls when I was sixteen. We are a very confident, straight-forward clan. I knew what I wanted and that was that." She raised her voice slightly over the whirring of the machine. "There was this girl who was in like, four of my classes, and I was totally obsessed with her. I asked her on a date, she said yes, I introduced her to my family, and my parents were basically like, 'oh. Didn't know you were into that. Well, have fun! Be back by ten.'"

"Wow," Michael breathed. She could no sooner imagine coming out to her parents than walking on the moon, and wondered how on earth a person got to be so lucky as Jenna St. Johns, that they could announce it without a care in the world. "You weren't scared to tell them?"

Unseen by Michael, Jenna shrugged and bit her lip. "I'd faced scarier things." Clearing her throat, she got to her feet and said, "Well! All done here." She tossed the dress back over the stall, and jumped when Michael let out a yelp.

"JENNA! What did you do?!"

"Shortened it and cut off the sleeves."

"I can't wear this!"

"Yes you can!"

"No I can't! No, no, no, no I can't!"

"You'd better at least try it on, or I will come back there and put it on you myself. And trust me, you don't want that."

Quickly weighing her options, Michael unzipped (what remained of) the dress and pulled it on. She could just barely zip it all the way up herself, and just stood there for a few moments, horrified. There was no mirror to show her reflection, but she could tell well enough that this was the most revealing garment she had ever worn: the dress, though still padded with the apron attached, stopped above her knees and no longer had a top. Michael became very self-conscious about her chest, which she was direly afraid would not be sufficient enough to keep the dress from flopping over.

Jenna walked into the stall and grinned wickedly. "Hot. Stuff. Table for one!"

Letting out a piteous moan, Michael sank into a rickety wooden chair by the wall. "I can't wear this!"

"Michael, you listen to me. You will wear this. And you will be fine. You will turn heads. All you need is a boost in confidence! I don't know what your problem is; you are so dang cute and have no idea. C'mere." She grabbed Michael by the wrist and led her to a closet on the far side of the room. "Obviously you'll have to put on a strapless bra; you can look in here," she said, opening the top drawer of a chest in the closet. "You ought to find your size somewhere. Feel free to shut the door for some privacy."

Michael promptly did this, and as she searched for bra that would fit, asked, "Have you decided where you and Taylor will be tonight?"

"Yeah, I meant to tell you," Jenna said. "Since Tiffany lives in a gated community and they are always on their most guarded at Halloween, we'll just be slumming right outside those lovely gates. Besides, we need to be on our toes. Any partying or drinking or effing around would keep us from being on call for you guys."

"I still can't get my head around this," Michael muttered, even though their plan had been set for several weeks. "I'm wearing the most revealing dress I've ever seen, I have a cleaver in my purse, I'm going to a grown woman's mating ritual Halloween dance with a girl in drag, and all for the sake of busting a drug ring." She stepped out of the closet, feeling marginally more comfortable with a garment keeping her in place.

Jenna took her by the wrist and sat her down in front of a large mirror. "I know, isn't life grand?" she sighed with a smile. "Now don't talk for a second," she said, pulling out an enormous makeup kit and flicking Michael lightly on the head when she opened her mouth to say something. "We just need to make sure you can fit in a little easier with that cougar's crowd. You look like you're in high school, and we need to make you at least pass for a college student. Ooh, college! You planning on going, Mike?" she asked, selecting a pinkish lipstick and applying it on Michael.

"Yes," Michael said once Jenna gave her the go-ahead. "Don't know when I'm going to have time to go through applications and stuff, though…"

"We don't run you that busy, do we?" Jenna asked conversationally, now getting out some mascara. "You'll have plenty of time, don't worry. Your grades haven't been slipping while you've been with us, have they? Look up."

"Yeah, no, my grades are still good. Except in science, but that's nothing new."

"What're you taking, which kind of science?"

"Anatomy."

"Really! You know, I've always really dug that stuff. No, I'm serious," Jenna laughed, capping the mascara and searching for some blush that would best suit Michael's skin tone. "I mean, yes, the female anatomy has dazzled me for several years, but I mean I find the actual science fascinating, also. If you ever want any help with that, I'd be too happy to give you a hand."

Michael fidgeted slightly as Jenna hovered over her with some eye shadow, then seemed to think better of it and stood back. "Please just tell me you didn't make me look like a prostitute," Michael squeaked.

Jenna scoffed, "Relax," and turned Michael's chair around. The girl hardly recognized herself, and her expression made this remarkably clear. "My sister's taught me well, hasn't she?" Jenna said, pleased at how well this had come out. "You're lucky you need to stay looking good, or I'd say the chances of my messing up that makeup for you would be off the charts."

As seemed to be her habit, Dylan happened to walk in just at this moment to, for the umpteenth time, save Michael from their leader's advances. "Jenna? That's supposed to be my job tonight, remember?" Barely sparing Michael a glance, she added, "You set to go, Mike? I think we'd best be off." She absent-mindedly offered Michael a hand, which she nervously took, allowing Dylan to pull her to her feet. "Well Jenna, it's been fun. You and Taylor keep your pants on, and we should be contacting you no later than three o'clock." And with that, Dylan led the way back up the stairs, outside Jenna's sister's house, and towards Taylor's old Dodge.

"Nervous, Mike?" she asked after a few moments of driving in silence. She glanced over and saw Michael could only bring herself to nod. "Ah, don't sweat it. My impression is that Tiffany's party will be slightly more upscale than Pete Grossman's was. She'll have a bit more class… which isn't to say it won't, you know, still be more in-your-face than you're used to."

"I'm ready," Michael said steadily.

Dylan nodded. "Okay. Hey, can I ask you something?" There was no response, which she decided to interpret as a go-ahead. "I mean, I've always told you to feel free to ask me stuff, and I've never asked you anything. So I guess I was just wondering what made you decide you wanted to join up with us."

It took Michael a while to collect her thoughts, and she spoke up before really even having done so. "A few reasons, I guess. I have an uncle who's a fireman, and I've always thought he was so cool. I've always just really respected him and his willingness to put his life on the line for other people, for strangers. Ever since I was a kid, I've wanted to do something like that, but the opportunity never really came up until you guys, uh, kidnapped me."

"Hm. You want to help people. That all?"

"Um…I don't know. I have always been a… just a chicken. I never went out looking for trouble or for fun, I'd always be cooped up to myself, just trying to get by. I never would have actively sought out a group like you guys, but when you came and found me, it was like fate coming to my door and telling me I'd better join up. And besides, I really wanted, um… I wanted to… I mean, you guys are the first girls I've ever met who are, you know, into girls."

"Like you are."

"Like me." Then it occurred to Michael to ask, "How come you guys chose me?"

Dylan sighed, clearly not wanting to get into that right now. "There'll be a time and a place to explain all that, Mike. The short answer is that technically, we didn't choose you. It's complicated. All that matters is that you've been successfully assimilated into the group, whether or not you feel competent. You should be proud of yourself for stepping out of your comfort zone tonight. And oh, by the way," she added in a really off-handed voice, "You look very pretty."

The way she said it weirdly made it sound only like an observation, not a real compliment. Michael muttered "thanks," but nothing more. Her heart was beating like mad, no doubt from fear at what lay ahead of them, but also because she couldn't deny that another reason she had chosen to join the PMCA was because she found Dylan so puzzlingly attractive… she zoned out until Dylan spoke up at the next red light they were stopped by.

"See that?" Dylan asked, nodding at the car in front of them. It had a big, bright bumper sticker that read "Don't believe in gay marriage? Don't get one!" "Would be nice if it was that easy, wouldn't it?"

Michael didn't answer, once again limited by her inability to know what to say. She felt a sudden curiosity to ask Dylan whether or not she subscribed to any religion, or whether she believed in God, but Dylan beat her to the punch. Sort of.

The light turned green and they moved again. "Mike, do you believe in Satan?" Dylan asked. Her tone was characteristically serious, indicating immediately that she wasn't trying to be funny.

"Do I…"

"Do you believe that the devil exists? Do you believe there's a force out there in the universe whose sole purpose is to bring people down, and make them screw up?"

"I've…I don't think I've ever really thought about it before." To Michael, the devil was nothing but a cartoonish, horned red man with a forked tail, a goatee, and a spear, surrounded by colorful flames. God was even more abstract, but maybe that's what made Him more believable…

"Everyone spends so much time debating whether or not God is real, or Jesus is real," Dylan said. "And yeah, that's an important question because so many people claim that they only do the things they do or vote the way they vote because it's what God would want them to. But then… nobody asks why wicked people do what they do. Are people born bad, or do their circumstances turn them evil? Or… or is there opposition in all things, which means God must have a wicked counterpart?"

"Geez, Dylan…"

They drove past a group of teenagers on the street—the boys were all smoking cigars, and the girls were dressed slutty enough to be mistaken for prostitutes. One of the guys, dressed in a devil costume, was grinding one of the girls to the apparent amusement of all their friends.

"God, it's disgusting," Dylan muttered. "People—kids—acting that way. It's just embarrassing. Sometimes I guess it's the only way I can handle knowing that people do mean things to each other, they hurt each other and disappoint each other because the devil has a hold on them. I don't think it's fair to ask people if they believe in God and not ask them if they believe in the devil."

"So…you believe in the devil?" Michael asked.

"Yup."

"Then you believe in hell?"

"Hell yes."

Before she could stop herself, Michael blurted out a question that had been haunting her for the last couple of years. "Do you think gay people are automatically doomed to hell?"

"That's a trickier one," Dylan said. "I'm not as sure. I think… I don't think anyone is automatically doomed to go to hell, because that would indicate predestination, which I don't believe in. Nothing is really black-and-white, no matter what religious zealots or anything-goes liberals would have you believe. But I really don't know, Mike. I don't know anything."

A looming silence fell between them, the kind that enters a room after you've found out someone has died. Dylan was wearing her usual serious expression, still the biggest giveaway to her identity when she was so well disguised as a man. Michael tried to figure out where Dylan's monologue had just come from, then began questioning the ethics of what they themselves were doing.

There was a woman who had split up with a drug lord, but didn't feel the need to bring him to justice. She took advantage of young men, taking them away from their girlfriends and enjoying doing so. Now she and Dylan were going to party to deceive her, and who knew what lengths Dylan was going to have to go to in order to accomplish that? But all of it, Michael reminded herself, was in hopes of stopping someone who was doing something far worse.

"This is the street, coming up," Dylan said quietly. "Hand me the invites. And remember, please just act like we belong there. Pretend you're in college, because made up like that, you look it. Don't let anyone take advantage of you, and if anything really bad happens, just find me. I don't care if I've got Tiffany Blair topless and in her bed, if you need my help, keeping you safe is more important than getting anything out of her."

Oh, how badly Michael wished Dylan could've said that more romantically. Instead it was all protocol, and Michael got to wondering if she would ever hear Dylan say anything about someone with any amount of enthusiasm.

She wordlessly pulled the party invitations out of her bag and handed them over to Dylan, who took them and crossed herself before pulling up to the window at the gate.