All right, here we are,” Flynn says, and the car stops.

I pull the cooling mask he brought me off my eyes and look through the windshield, but it doesn’t clear much up. All I see is a big, windowless building that says Hot Lips on the side in screamingly pink neon.

“Where’s here?” I ask, totally baffled. “Is being a stripper really my only option if I can’t go to the ball?”

“The Hot Lips Lounge is a classy establishment, thank you very much,” he says. “And congratulations, girl, after weeks of asking you’re finally about to meet Thomas.”

And now it all makes sense. Flynn’s new boyfriend Thomas moonlights as Charlize LaCroix, one of the most in-demand drag performers in the kingdom. Or, at least, that’s what Flynn says. I’m not really up on the drag scene, to be honest.

“Wait,” I say. “Am I borrowing a dress from Thomas? I thought you said he was six feet tall and a former linebacker.”

Flynn grins at me, opening his car door.

“He is, and every inch of that body is glorious,” he says. “But if I know one person who can work his magic and get you looking right for this ball, it’s him. You coming, or what?”

I follow Flynn into the Hot Lips Lounge without another word. The bouncer at the door nods at Flynn, and then we’re inside.

On stage, there’s a woman — well, a drag queen — strutting back and forth and lip synching to a song I’ve never heard before, but the crowd is going absolutely insane for her.

And honestly, it’s impressive. I think I’d die of stage fright if I had to do anything like that, and this queen not only has stage presence, but she’s an amazing dancer. In five-inch heels.

Flynn leans over to me.

“That’s my boo,” he says proudly, and my mouth drops open.

“She can do anything she wants to me!” I say.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting on an overturned milk crate backstage, and Charlize LaCroix is leaning one elbow on a vanity, looking at me.

“She cut your dress up and bleached it?” she says, her red lips an O of astonishment. “That’s not just overkill, she sounds like a straight-up psychopath. What on earth are you still doing there, girl?”

I open my mouth to go into the whole ‘legal custodian’ thing, but Flynn cuts me off.

“I’ll explain it later, but I’m with you there,” he says, standing behind me, arms crossed. “I’ve told her a thousand times, she can come sleep on my couch until she figures something out instead of babysitting two grown-ass morons and living with the Wicked Witch herself. But right now, we’ve got to get her to this ball. She’s already an hour late.”

Charlize looks at me thoughtfully, tapping one long fake red nail against the countertop.

“I’ll have to see if I can borrow a few things,” she says. “You’re not exactly my size or my skin tone, sweetheart.”

“If you can’t, it’s no big—”

Charlize just laughs.

“Who said can’t?” she says, standing. “You’re gonna leave here looking like the finest piece of princess-to-be ass that Prince Grayson has seen in his damn life. Let me change outta this mess and I’ll get started on you.”

Charlize takes her wig off and plops it onto a mannequin head, then grabs a pile of clothes and walks behind a screen.

“By the way, when the wig is on I’m Charlize, but when it’s off I’m Thomas,” he says. “Plan your statements accordingly.”

Flynn chuckles as Thomas’s sparkly red dress flops over the top of the screen, followed shortly by hose, a bra, garters, a corset, and undergarments I don’t even recognize.

After a moment, Thomas walks out in basketball shorts and a Tremaine’s Diner t-shirt, pulling his fake eyelashes off. It’s a little strange to see a huge, in-shape guy still wearing lipstick, blush, and more eyeshadow than I’ve owned in my entire life, but I go with it.

“All right,” he says, eyeing me up and down. “Stand up, give us a twirl, and tell me your measurements.”

* * *

There’s a pinprick in my back, and I gasp.

“Sorry, sweetie,” Thomas murmurs. “Almost done. Flynn, can you hold this any tighter?”

My new dress tightens around me, and I hold my breath. It’s a surprisingly understated dress for one I got from a drag show, but it’s blue, shimmery, and when it moves it catches the light in a way that makes my breath catch.

They haven’t let me look in the mirror yet, though, so I’ve got no clue whether I look normal or like I’ve been dressed by a drag queen.

“All right,” Thomas finally says, releasing my dress and stepping back. “Time to turn around.”

I do.

Then I gasp, both my hands flying to my mouth, because I look amazing in this dress. I don’t know whose it is or where Thomas found it, but it fits me perfectly — or at least it does now, with a line of safety pins going up my back.

It’s shimmery blue, the front low cut enough to show just a hint of cleavage without going overboard. It hugs my waist, dips low in the back, and somehow makes my butt look incredible.

I just stand there, open-mouthed, staring at myself.

“Well, how fabulous am I?” Thomas asks, grinning, arms crossed over his chest.

“So fabulous,” I breathe. “How did you do this?”

“I told you he was magic,” Flynn says.

“Baby, you said that?” Thomas asks.

“You know I did.”

They kiss quickly while I stare at myself, still blown away. As someone who hardly ever wears make up and only owns two skirts, I can’t believe I’m actually looking at myself in the mirror.

“The prince ain’t gonna know what hit him,” Thomas says. “But there’s one more thing.”

Panic stabs through my heart. My makeup’s done, my hair is up, and I look way better than I ever have in my life.

Thomas disappears again, and I trade a glance with Flynn.

“What’s the one more thing?” I ask.

He looks me up and down.

“Shoes, girl,” he says. “You can’t go in there barefoot.”

Thomas comes back into the dressing room, then steps up to me and holds out a pair of shoes.

Shoes is an understatement. These are something more than shoes, because every millimeter except the sole is totally covered in sparkling white crystal. Every time they move they shine like a disco ball, and my mouth drops open yet again.

“These are all I could find that might fit you,” he says. “Women’s size seven isn’t too common among drag queens.”

He’s got a point. I take the shoes, put them on the ground, and step into them, praying.

They fit. Perfectly. They’re not even too high, and they stay on my feet even after I take a few steps, carefully holding my skirt up.

“I think we did great,” Flynn says to Thomas.

“I think maybe we should get to go to the ball just to see how great we did,” Thomas says. “Give me ninety minutes and Charlize LaCroix can be in attendance. Though she’d probably steal the prince away for her very own, so scratch that.”

He winks at me. I’m just grinning like an idiot, because even though this ball is probably stupid and the prince won’t look at me twice, I’m really excited to get my way despite Livia.

“Thanks, guys,” I say. “I don’t know how I can return the favor.”

“Return it by leaving that witch behind and sleeping on my couch,” Flynn says.