Nevaeh finger combs and braids Katherine’s hair while Taylor paces, and all the questions come pouring out: Where do we do this? When do we do this? How do we do this? Who do we do it for? How do we get the word out? How do we not get caught getting the word out? How do we keep it secret? How do we keep out creeps? How do we not get caught setting up a burlesque club on campus? How do we find/make costumes? How do we build sets? How do we choreograph a burlesque act? How do you take your clothes off without falling down? How do we pull this off in, like, under a month? Sparkles?

Taylor looks over my shoulder at the list. “Well, those are very good questions,” he says.

“Yes, that’s why we asked them,” I say.

Katherine raises her hand. “The answer to the last one is ‘yes.’ Or ‘a lot.’ The sparkles question,” she reminds us.

“Good point,” Taylor says, and reaches down to grab the pen and circle that one.

“Okay, well, make research and choreography numbers one and two on the list,” Nevaeh says. “We need those done yesterday. But item three should be ‘Where do we do this?’” She pauses. “I wish I had a hair tie,” she says, surveying the fishtail braid she’s created in Katherine’s hair.

“I think we want to keep it way small,” I say. “Easier to find a spot to set up. And safer that way. More exclusive too. Not more than twenty people a night, three shows.”

“A hundred bucks a ticket,” Nevaeh says, nodding.

“I did the math right!” I’m pleased with myself. Six thousand bucks. “Is that too much?” I ask.

Nevaeh snorts. “Pocket change to most kids.”

I grimace at that. Of course it is. And then I am struck with a thought. “No, we have to make more than that. I can’t take all the money.”

“That is the entire point!” Katherine says.

“We’ll see,” I say, and they’re all groaning at me.

As for location, it needs to be somewhere we can set up fast and easy, gives us enough room for us and the audience, and is easy to sneak people into and out of.

In our heads, we’re seeing a tiny trickle of students slipping out of their dorms, sneaking from building to building. Sliding silently across the campus and through basement doors or back entrances, to a darkened room full of twinkling fairy lights and shimmering cloth and gauzy veils and velvet pillows—and the smell of incense to cover up the smell of dank basement, Taylor adds.

“Gross, Taylor,” Katherine says.

“Accurate,” he says.

But we can spin magic up out of anything, we’re pretty sure. As we brainstorm a list of possibilities, from basement common rooms to storage rooms to groundskeepers’ buildings, it starts to feel real.