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looked better than it had in years.
    After leaving a note for Andrew, putting the food in his fridge, and cleaning up, Sawyer agreed to go to Rachel’s place and help her out with her plan—which wasn’t going to work. Rachel didn’t seem to want to hear that. At her place, Rachel had dried Sawyer’s hair and it fell around her shoulders in soft, shiny waves. Her lashes were long and dark, with the help of very black mascara, and a swipe of dark shadow. The leather cupping her breasts, nipped in at the waist, and hanging in a super short Tinkerbell-style skirt made her look like an extra in “The Rocky Horror Show presents Peter Pan.”
    Rachel came up behind her. “You look great.” She adjusted the skirt so more of Sawyer’s thighs showed. “Now you look amazing.”
    Sawyer folded her arms over her chest—a fricking boob shelf, more like it, but it hid the scars—and the leather-cropped jacket that came with the dress strained at her shoulders. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
    “It’s one date,” Rachel argued as she played with her purple spikes. “You don’t even have to do anything. Just sit there and look hot.”
    “Just what I’ve always wanted,” Sawyer muttered. “To be someone’s arm candy. By the way, what is it with you and leather? I’m wearing half a dead cow right now.”
    “It’s so sexy. Primal. And it looks hella hot.”
    Sawyer laughed. “I didn’t know people said ‘hella’ anymore.”
    A smile curved Rachel’s lips, painted a deep violet that almost matched her hair. “You’re in the south now. The usual rules don’t apply.”
    The saleslady hovered around the corner like a moth, waiting. Rachel told her they’d take the leather contraption—she called it a dress —and said Sawyer would wear it out. And the shoes. God, the shoes. They were gorgeous. The kind of shoes Alannah wore every day. Impractical as hell, though they made anyone’s legs look incredible. Deep red and a little metallic, like the paint on a red sports car and just as flashy. The shoes had a fairly high heel and black felt underside. Sawyer had never been the girl who went gaga over shoes, but for these, she’d eat a plate of bugs or a moldy pig snout. Or both.
    Rachel paid while Sawyer argued about the price. In the end, Rachel got what she wanted: Sawyer trussed up, looking like someone else, ready for a date. A date . The words felt foreign. Technically, she had gone out on dates before, but they were set up by her parents at the club, or dinners out at the Hamptons with sons of her parents’ friends. Society dates didn’t count.
    They agreed to take Sawyer’s car to a little club near the university that had live music. Rachel left hers in Sawyer’s building parking lot. During the drive, Rachel sat with her hands twisted in her lap as she stared out the window, or checking her hair and makeup, and readjusting her many necklaces.
    Sawyer parked in the back lot, in one of the few spots left, under the cover of trees. “Here we are.”
    Rachel dropped her head between her knees. “I think I’m going to puke.”
    She shook her head. “Rachel, you’ll be fine. If she doesn’t like you, then it’s her loss.” Sawyer shrugged.
    Almost ten minutes later, Sawyer and Rachel stepped through the doors of The Vault, a small restaurant/music venue. Inside, the music drowned out voices. Most of the crowd’s attention was glued to the band on a small stage at the back of the dimly lit space. Stranger’s heat seeped through her dress. Sawyer shrugged out of the cropped jacket and fanned herself. Pretty soon she’d start melting and all Rachel’s hard work would go to waste.
    Rachel scanned the crowd, looking for the girl she hoped to make jealous. Sawyer still thought the plan sucked, but Rachel was sweet, even though the Purple Punk Princess did grate on her nerves. If pretending to be on a date with Rachel worked, and she was forced out of her comfort zone, then Sawyer