At first I suspected that the whole thing was an elaborate ruse by Ayrton to rope me into working with Miguel for my showcase, but he couldn't have known that the other guy would be at the cafe that night. And then over the next couple of days I FaceTimed with Ayrton and Aunt Jem and yeah, the poor lady was in the hospital, alright. She'd actually required surgery to repair her shattered knee.

"I'll just head on back for my exams and your show," Ayrton said. "Believe it or not, I do want to see the final result of your hard work."

"That's reassuring," I said with a laugh. "And after that?"

"Summer in Sarasota, baby. Just like the good old days."

That conversation gave me a niggling feeling, like having found each other was only a fluke and we were soon going to go back to our intended status. Away. But I figured I was being melodramatic. He'd be back after the summer and things would continue as usual. I chalked it up to my very real fear of separation, courtesy of two neglectful parents.

Speaking of, having blocked them from my phone worked wonders. I hadn't had any hope that my father would contact me to make amends after months had passed, so on that front it was business as usual. But I was sure it did prevent my mother from reaching out with her machinations again. After that showdown with Miguel, I was sure she would never make the effort to come in person to wherever I was, ever again. It provided a sense of security to me that nobody else probably could understand.

I was officially free from them.

Sure, I hadn't bought my car. It had been a reluctant gift from father after he missed my graduation at Trinity, but he'd made the mistake of putting it under my name. Aside from that, everything else was mine. Since the fateful brunch, I'd paid for all my necessities with the purchasing power of student debt.

The Business Plan final was first. The two nights before handing over our report were spent in my apartment, Miguel and I sitting by the coffee table pulling at our hair and complaining about why we left the bulk of it for last minute.

"What's your excuse?" I asked him after starting on the second pot of coffee that night.

He leaned his head back against the seat of the couch, long legs sprawled out on the floor before him. "I don't know. I've been busy between preparing for graduation and moving away, my porcupine sister acting up because she misses her boyfriend, Bryce and his stupid grudge..."

And Becca. But none of us brought up her name. It would feel weird talking about her while we were alone at my apartment and she was off studying with her friends for her own finals. Things had turned weird between them after that famous coffee date that caused the fight I witnessed Miguel and Bryce have. It was during that date that she finally realized she was barking up the wrong tree for so aggressively wanting to get with a guy whose time in town was ticking. She'd cried on my shoulder about it and moped for days, but I knew she still held on to hope that Miguel would maybe stay longer. To hang out with her.

I brought over two mugs of coffee as the sun set outside the window, and wiggled between the furniture to sit across from him. I kicked one of his legs out of the way so I could cross mine.

"So, where are you moving after graduation?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Back to Canada for a while," he said. "Dad still needs help with the new venture."

"Is that what you want?"

His green eyes held onto mine, but finally he replied, "For now, yes."

The asshole Business Plan teacher had set a deadline for the report of six in the morning. Like he knew that everybody's intention was to pull an all nighter and he was mocking us for it. That last night Becca had returned from her friend's place in the middle of the night and found both Miguel and I in full brainstorming mode. We were both so caffeinated and sugar high, that I doubted we looked like regular people having an intellectual conversation. We probably resembled mad scientists, our clothes dirty with Dorito crumbs and wrinkled, our hairs standing on their ends and our arms flapping around like seals as we tried to get each other's points across.

"No, that wouldn't be the ideal location for a factory," Miguel was saying. "Taxes are much higher than in-"

I tried pleading, "We can't have sustainability if we open another sweatshop, my God!"

Becca retreated from us slowly. "I'm just gonna head over to bed, you guys. Good night."

By the time we finished the report and hit the submit button, the adrenaline washed off of us. Miguel flopped on the couch face down, closed his eyes and was out. I didn't have the heart to wake him up and tell him to go home, when really all the energy I had was spent in dragging myself to bed.

Hours later I woke up to a brown bag with a sticky note sitting on my bedside table. It took me several tries to pick it up, but the note said, Good job last night. I'll be back for the final fitting tonight, but I hope you get some rest in between—Miguel.

Inside the bag were a bunch of pastries that smelled wonderful.

Oh, my heart.

That was all I ate that day. It was the final twenty four hours before the showcase and I was in a panic. I didn't even stop to appreciate when later that night, Miguel came over and took off his shirt in front of me to try on my pieces. I just set out to work, my body so full of nervous energy that I didn't need any more coffee.

Ayrton returned from Sarasota just in time for me to bundle him with bags and equipment and help me cart everything in my car back to campus. He had to be the one to drive because I'd been put through a blender. It was nice to see all my classmates were the same. The room that was designated as the changing area was a war zone. When Ayr and I walked in, someone was throwing a roll of pink tulle across that I had to duck away from to not intercept with my nose. All the best spots were already taken, and I had to wade in through discarded clothes of all varieties to make room for me in a corner.

I clutched Ayrton's shoulders and all but screamed in his face, "I need you to find me my models right now."

Never in my life would I have imagined that a sound so high pitched could come from Ayrton's throat. After all, he hadn't dabbled in singing since high school. But he turned around and made his way out, and it wasn't overly long when he returned clutching the arms of both of my models.

"I found them wandering lost outside the hallway," Ayr reported.

Oh, thank goodness.

Miguel had combed his hair into a '50s dapper man type of look like I'd told him to, and Becca had a full face of make up and waves in her hair like she belonged to that same decade. I gave each of them a hug so tight they probably struggled to breathe.

"Thank you," I told them. Probably about six times in a row. I wasn't counting.

"This is, um, crazy," Becca said with a look of fear in her face. Miguel stayed mum, but I could tell that the feeling was mutual.

I stood up and grabbed both of their shoulders, pushing them towards me. "Welcome to fashion, bitches! Everybody in this room is your enemy, so remember that when you're walking down that runway wearing my designs. Walk like it's your weapon and all of these suckers are your targets, do you understand me?"

Two wide eyed pretty people nodded.

"Great." I let them go and snapped my fingers at Ayrton. "You. Help me get them dressed."

He twirled his index finger until it pointed at the ground. "Here. In front of these people."

I rolled my eyes and snarled, "God damn it."

Of course. None of them had been to something like this before and normal people would get embarrassed by showing too much in a room full of people. I didn't have time to convince them that no one was watching, since every designer was fretting around their own models. I looked around, trying to find scraps or something that Ayrton could help me hold up like a screen, but nothing was in handy. Then I looked down at myself. My navy maxi skirt with colorful buttons all the way down the front would do it.

"Ayrton, I'm going to need your help," was all the warning I gave before I pulled my skirt off and handed it to him. "Unbutton it and hold it up. Becca, you'll be first. Miguel, be a lookout, will you?"

And he was looking, alright. But after snapping my fingers at him he looked back up and turned around.

Becca wiggled out of her sweatpants and I worked at getting her into the first gown. It was blood red, the one with the criss crossing stripes of fabric that gave out a vibe like a gothic, but sexy mummy. I was happy that during the showcase I wouldn't have to describe the concept, because I wasn't great with words.

Someone came by at that moment to recite the order of models, and I found that my guys were going to go around the middle of the pack. That allowed me some extra room to make sure that all the details were perfect, which I was thankful for when it was turn to get Miguel into his clothes.

For his first outfit I had basically used the same concept as Becca's first gown, but adapted it into a man's suit in charcoal grey. Instead of a shirt and vest, it was more of those stripes of fabric that showed skin in unexpected places. I straightened out the clothes as he undressed, and I couldn't help but notice that he'd worn tight black briefs that wouldn't show under the fabrics.

"Oh, thank you for wearing those," I blurted out.

He smirked. "It was these or a thong, but I wouldn't have felt very comfortable with that."

I laughed as he put on the pants I'd designed. Just like with that embarrassing dream I'd had weeks ago, I did design a pair that fit him like second skin. The fact that he was so ripped and filled in the right places was probably going to score me some extra points that would be very unfair to my classmates, but very welcome by me. He stood still as I fitted him with the shirt piece, because it was easy to get tangled in it. I made sure that all the fun bits were showing right, before putting on the jacket piece. It was shorter at the back than at the front, and his back muscles were going to be displayed nicely. I fixed his hair a bit and then looked at my creation.

I kissed my fingers.

I couldn't join them on the line to the runway, because I had to lay down their second and last outfits. I wanted to play with gender stereotypes, and for the second pair I'd flipped the concept. Becca was going to wear the suit now, fitted enough to her body that it was still going to be sexy, but with masculine lines and finishes that I hoped would confuse the audience's sexualities.

Miguel's last outfit was going to be the make or break, though. He was going to close it off for me in a gown. I'd made it so that it was strapless and backless, and there wasn't going to be a doubt in the world that he was a man oozing sex appeal with those crazy Crossfit muscles of his on display. But the gown followed the lines of his torso and flared out into a wide skirt. It had an opening on the side, where his pants clad legs would be visible.

I was so excited to see both of them rocking the stage with these two designs, and because they were going to be last, I'd be able to look at the crowd's reactions from the sidelines.

After they came back from the first lap, we had a lot less time to prepare than for the opening outfits. I had to ask Ayrton to drop the skirt/screen and help me fit Becca into her suit. Miguel hastily picked my skirt back and held it up, but we didn't pay any attention to him.

"Give me the skirt," she said once she was done and decked in her slate grey suit, and this time she held it up as Ayrton and I stripped Miguel down to his skivvies.

Ayrton whistled and said, "Damn."

"Focus!" I snapped, but all it did was make him laugh.

The cream color I'd chosen for this gown contrasted with Miguel's tanned skin. If you asked me, it was a genius selection.

"Fashion tape," I told Ayrton, extending my hand. He placed it on my palm like we were nurse and doctor at the operating table. I taped up the dress to Miguel's pecs, because no one would care for a male nip slip but I would care if my dress crumbled in front of everybody.

That was when I noticed we forgot to put on the pants first.

"Shit," Ayr said when he realized the same. "What do we do now?"

Miguel looked down at himself, but the truth was that I'd made the top of the dress stiff to try to prevent it from crumbling, which meant he had no mobility to bend down.

"Give them to me," I said and once I had them in my hands I kneeled down on bare knees, presenting one pant leg forward. I looked up at Miguel and said, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"Are you serious?" he was on the verge of laughing, but with one nasty look from me he chilled. He had to hold onto my shoulders not to lose his balance as I rolled the pants up his legs from under the skirt. Keep it professional, I told myself over and over as I fitted his pants over important bulges and worked the zipper and button closed. I was well out of breath after I crawled out from under the skirt, and I thought I saw Miguel's face deeper in color, but there was no time to address the obvious awkwardness when one of my classmates started rushing my models back to the line.

I saw them go, a perfectly non-binary looking pair of gorgeous people, and collapsed on my rump.

"Oh no, you won't missy," Ayrton said as he tried to haul me up. "Put on your clothes and go. You need to see your creations off."

He was right.

With shaky hands I put my skirt back on. I'd barely finished that when it was Becca's turn to walk my design. I rushed to the waiting area and stood next to Miguel as we watched her. The makeshift runway was illuminated, courtesy of the visual arts department, so I couldn't see anybody in the crowd. But I didn't imagine the camera flashes that popped up here and there as my roommate did her turns. I was proud of her for following my instructions to a T. Not only had she been on time and with the perfect hair and makeup, but she strutted down that catwalk like she had something to prove.

I glanced over at Miguel and figured that he was her motivation.

"Thank you for doing this," I told him.

He'd been looking down at himself, probably in shock that he'd agreed to wear a dress in public. At my words he gave me a little smile.

"You're welcome, it's been fun."

And then it was his turn. Becca passed the figurative baton to him by giving him a high five, and out he went.

There was a rumble in the audience as Miguel took to the stage. Like a wave of heat and cold had passed through them. The results of that would come three days later, when my designs were named the winners of the showcase.

The internship at a fashion house was mine if I wanted it, and it was going to be in New York.

well well well