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Anthony to bag the tiger,” Marcus called out.
    There was a cheer of approval from the other guys. Anthony scrambled out of the shower and shook the water out of his hair. He looked around for a towel. Before he could find one, the guys started yanking his clothes off. Anthony tried to fight them off, but in less than three seconds he was down to his jock.
    What the hell was going on? Anthony stared around at the guys. They were all laughing and grinning. “Very funny,” he muttered. He stalked over to his locker and opened it. Empty. Except for a ballerina costume.
    “You’ll get your clothes back when you’ve bagged the tiger,” Marcus told him between snorts of laughter.
    “What freakin’ tiger?” Anthony demanded.
    “The sabertooth in the assembly room,” someone answered from behind him.
    “Crap,” Anthony said under his breath, picturing the big plaster Sanderson sabertooth on the assembly-room stage.
    “Hey, we’ve all done it,” McHugh said, slapping Anthony on the shoulder.
    “In this?” Anthony used two fingers to pull the pink satin leotard out of the locker. The leotard had a friggin’ tutu
    attached to it. All Anthony could do was look at it in horror.
    “Yeah, in that,” McHugh answered.
    “It took us almost a month to get the tutu back from McHugh,” Sanders related. “He thought he looked sooo pretty in it.”
    “It’s either wear that or go home in your jock,” Marcus said.
    Anthony let out a low curse, then started to yank on the shiny leotard. It kept sticking to his skin, and it was too small, but he finally got it over his body.
    “You just need one more thing,” Ellison said. He pushed his way up to Anthony and carefully placed a rhinestone-studded tiara on his head.
    “Make that two more things,” Marcus said. Anthony backed away when he saw what Marcus held in his hand.
    “No way,” Anthony protested. But Marcus was already using the bright pink lipstick to paint Anthony’s mouth.
    “Okay. You’re done. Now go get it and bring it back here,” Marcus ordered.
    Anthony squared his shoulders and headed out of the locker room-what else could he do?-trying to ignore the snickers from the guys and the knowledge that almost half his butt was hanging out of the leotard. To his relief the gym was empty. He trotted across the hardwood floor of the basketball court, his bare feet squeaking, then cracked opened the door leading to the hallway and took a peek. Empty. Anthony let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Okay, this is going to be no big deal, he thought as he started down the hall, running this time instead of trotting, not pausing even when the leotard crept high enough to give him a massive wedgie. He wanted to be done with this little assignment and safely back in the locker room before anyone saw him.
    He pushed his way through the caf ’s double doors and skidded to a stop, almost blinded by a dozen flashes of light. Camera flashes. Crap. Anthony blinked, and a cluster of smirking cheerleaders and pom-pom girls came into focus. A rush of heat flooded his face. He was freakin’ blushing. Crap, crap, crap.
    The longer you stand here, the more of a look they ’re all going to get, he told himself. He locked his eyes on the auditorium stage. It looked about ten miles away. It’s not going to get any closer if you don’t start moving, he thought. The only thing was, when he started moving, all the freakin’ girls were going to get a good look at his butt cheeks. Not like the leotard exactly hid much up front. That realization got Anthony moving-to a chorus of catcalls from the girls. He wouldn’t swear to it, but he was pretty sure that one of them pinched him, and he definitely felt a pom-pom shake its way down his back.
    What felt like half an hour later-but was actually probably more like half a minute-he was up on the stage with the plaster Sabertooth balanced in his arms. At least the thing was big enough to keep all the critical front