“Yes,” said Wynonna, still nodding. “Still interested.”

“Great!”

“Go check yourself into rehab already. I need you to get out ASAP.”

“Okay!” said Roscoe, like this was the happiest day of his life. Which it probably was.

“Guys!” said Wynonna, turning back in the passenger seat. “Wanna see my new house?”

She was smiling so wide, it couldn’t possibly be genuine. Except it was.

After calling our parents, letting them know where we were—and emphasizing where we were not: aka jail—we kind of fell asleep at Wynonna’s new house. The living room was filled with every pillow and blanket Roscoe owned, stacked into a soft, lulling mountain in a corner. The quantity of bedding was truly staggering. Like, did he swap them out every day or what?

At the end of the tour, the four of us just sort of unraveled into it.

Didn’t wake up until late afternoon.

Even I, the broken sleeper, had sunk into an impenetrable sleep. When we woke, it was a collective awakening. We were a tangle of bodies in the den, and when one of us moved, it sent ripples across the labyrinthine human network.

Suddenly, Imogen shot up and exclaimed, “Prom!”

That caused the rest of us to splinter and unravel. We scrambled to our feet in an aimless frenzy.

“What time is it?” I said.

“Four forty-five!” said Imogen.

“WE HAVE TWO HOURS TO GET READY?” said Wynonna. She slapped her face with both hands like she was Macaulay Culkin.

“Two hours and fifteen minutes,” said Imogen. “It’s not exactly plausible, but it’s possible.”

“Wait, wait,” said Holden. “Getting ready in two hours and fifteen minutes isn’t plausible? What are you doing? Training forest animals to follow you around like Disney princesses?”

Wynonna rolled her eyes. “I hope you and Imogen start body-swapping. Then you would know.”

“Please don’t wish that on me,” said Imogen.

The girls demanded we drop them off at Imogen’s house first. Apparently, Wynonna’s dress was already there. They had planned this. From there, Imogen told Holden and me that we could take her car.

The suits were at my place. We had planned this. We hopped in Imogen’s car and drove.

Silently.

Holden cleared his throat awkwardly. “Can I ask you something?”

I didn’t think Holden had ever asked if he could ask me something. He usually just skipped straight to the “asking” part.

I nodded suspiciously.

“Do you think I’m”—he hesitated—“gay?”

“Oh!” I said.

“Because I think I’m just a little gay,” said Holden—anxious, vulnerable. “But before you go getting weirded out, it’s not that I have a thing for you, per se. It’s mostly just Wynonna in your body.”

“Hey, Holden, it’s—”

“I mean, mostly I just have a thing for Wynonna, period. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a thing specifically for Wynonna when she’s you.”