“No pressure,” Taylor says, “but we have only weeks to figure out how to look good when we rip off our clothes.” He pauses. “Okay, a lot of pressure.”

The Angles deposit deadline is near the end of the month, which I know, which is why we are rocketing full-speed ahead.

“Tomorrow,” I tell them. “I’ll have an idea by—”

“Breakfast!” Taylor says.

“Taylor!” Katherine says.

“Dinner,” I say, glaring at him.

“Dinner,” he agrees.

“Hey, we watched all those YouTube videos. Maybe do something inspired by one of them?” Katherine says to me as we haul up the rest of the stuff to pay, and I am carefully not saying anything! At! All! about her exciting revelation.

“Steal an act?” I say to her.

“Borrow!”

“But I want to do something brilliant, genius, groundbreaking, amazing,” I tell her, a little joking but I realize absolutely kind of not.

“All art is theft,” Taylor says, and Nevaeh starts arguing with him.

Because the whole burlesque club idea was mine in the first place, I haven’t told them that part of my problem is my hesitation about this whole naked-skin, audience-looking-right-at-me thing. It’s my problem to get over, this fear that when I invite the audience to enjoy me, they’ll say check, please, because they’re mad I’m fat.

Die mad, I think, straightening up.

“No matter what you do, it will be brilliant,” Nevaeh says then, hoisting an enormous plastic bag over her shoulder. “We’re not here because we’re average and ordinary, right?” She waves back in the direction of campus. “Honestly, I can’t wait to see what you decide on. No pressure.”

“Remember, Carmen Go basically totally said your boobs were made for burlesque,” Katherine reminds me. “You can’t let her down.”

“No pressure,” Taylor says.

“Okay, none of you are allowed to talk any more,” I say. “Get out; get out.” The door chimes and chimes again as we tumble back into the cold, staggering under our bags.

Fluttery indecision is not my brand. I go for what I want. I admit to myself that I want to be captivating, and sexy. And nothing is off-limits for me.

I slam the trunk of Nevaeh’s car shut. I’m fat and gorgeous. I’m going to be filled with inspiration any second now.

Sexy postal service worker, I text the group the next afternoon, as I wait for history class to begin. I am not filled with inspiration. Since breakfast this morning, all three of them have been bugging me about what I’ve decided on for my act. I haven’t come up with anything yet, but I believe in last-minute flashes of genius.

A dairy cow, I type. An accountant.

Taylor is kind of into the giant-robot idea, but generally their horrified reactions keep making me laugh.