“Yeah,” Ramona said as she arranged the costumes—clothes—she’d grabbed from her workroom on her bed. No way she could take Dylan in there, not with the illustrated prints of iconic movie costumes she’d gotten for Christmas her senior year of high schoolall over the walls. Single costumes on bright backgrounds, like Mary Poppins’s coat and hat and umbrella, Dorothy’s blue dress and ruby slippers, Vivian’s red opera dress fromPretty Woman.
“She’s going to Vanderbilt on a scholarship this fall,” Ramona said.
“How queer of her,” Dylan said.
Ramona laughed. “I think you definitely gave her something to think about today. Not that she didn’t have enough to ponder already with me and April and Marley around.”
Dylan glanced at her, lifted a brow. Set the photo back on Ramona’s dresser slowly. “So…you’re queer?”
Ramona swallowed, focused on the 1950s-esque dress she was holding, kelly green with different-colored hands printed all over it giving the middle finger, complete with a turquoise belt and a mint green tulle petticoat.
“Um,” she said brilliantly. “Yeah. I’m bi.” She said it fast, then immediately changed the subject. “I think this will fit you.”
She held out the dress, the tulle rustling.
Dylan’s eyes locked on hers for a split second before sliding down to the dress, then widened.
“Wow, that’s…gorgeous.” She came closer, hand reaching out to touch the material. Her fingers were gentle on the skirt, almost reverent. “Very…Donna Reed meets Miley Cyrus.”
Ramona laughed. She’d made this her freshman year at RISD—her only year—for a unit called the Subversive Past in one of her foundation classes. “Is that a good thing?”
“It’s a very good thing,” Dylan said. “And that’s for me?
Ramona grinned. “Well, it won’t fit me, so yes.” She looked back at the assortment of fabric and accessories on her bed, grabbed a Marilyn Monroe–style lace-front wig. “And platinum hair, as requested.”
Dylan’s smile was so big. “Oh my god.”
“And,” Ramona said, “while you’ll have to change into bowling shoes, I’ve got some combat boots that will complete the look.”
“Combat boots.”
Ramona nodded, then held out the dress and wig.
Dylan took the clothes but then tilted her head. She had a way of doing that, this little inquisitive glance that made Ramona feel as though she could read all Ramona’s secrets.
“What are you wearing?” Dylan asked. “You’re dressing up too, right?”
Ramona just smiled. “You’ll see.”
Chapter
Nine
Dylan Monroe wasn’tDylan Monroe anymore.
She was someone else entirely. She was Lennox. Or maybe Fallon. Or Delilah or Nova or Frankie or some other badass-sounding name. She twisted, viewing herself in Ramona’s full-length mirror, marveling at how different she suddenly felt in a uniquely beautiful dress and a wavy blond bob.
Behind her, she heard the bedroom door open, Ramona coming back in from changing in the hall bathroom.
“I can’t believe how much I love this dress,” Dylan said, still surveying herself. “It’s so—”
But she cut herself off when she spotted Ramona in the mirror. She blinked, trying to process what she was seeing, the Wild West come to life in New Hampshire. Ramona stood in the doorway in brown pants and matte leather chaps, and she wore a textured maroon button-up shirt with some sort of tie Dylan didn’t have a name for. Over that, a tweed vest fully buttoned and formfitting, Ramona’s…well…chestvery much filling every fiber. A low-slung leather holster belt around her curvy hips and a dark brown hat completed the ensemble.
“Wow” was all Dylan could think to say.
“You think?” Ramona said, smoothing her hands down her full thighs…thighs that looked…very good in those chaps.
Dylan shook her head to clear it.
