Sanchez

Sanchez stood in the middle of his room, staring in horror at his reflection in the mirror. Instead of his usual comfortable T-shirt and jeans, he was wearing a flowing, pale blue dress with lace sleeves and a slightly gathered skirt. He wore incredibly uncomfortable high-heeled shoes that threatened to break under his weight at any moment. On his head was a blonde wig with long curls cascading down to his shoulders. His face was carefully made up with foundation, and his lips were unnaturally shiny with lip balm.

"Well, Sasha, you're simply delightful!" Novikoni's admiring voice rang out from the doorway.

Sanchez, now "Sasha," swallowed a lump of humiliation and tried to protest.

• Listen, this is too much! I lost a bet to you on repairing my motorcycle, so I'd rather spend a month cleaning it! Or I'll find the money! Just take this off my back!

But Novikoni only shook her head condescendingly, adjusting Sanchez's bow. "Oh no, my friend. Money is boring. But cultural enrichment is priceless. You're behaving like a true barbarian, so here's your punishment—a lesson in social manners. There's a charity ball at the institute today. And you, Sasha, will be my friend's date. Your task is to last the entire evening, not scare anyone, and not give yourself away. Otherwise... I'll show everyone that very photo of you when you were seven and a duckling." Sanchez turned pale. The threat was serious. An hour later, "Sasha," on the arm of a beaming Novikoni, crossed the threshold of the decorated hall. She (he) shuffled in uncomfortable shoes, tried not to trip over the hem of her dress, and prayed no one would recognize him. The music, the laughter, the lights—it all seemed like a nightmare to him. Novikoni, like a gracious hostess, immediately plunged into a whirlwind of small talk, leaving "Sashenka" alone with a glass of lemonade by the column. Sanchez was just beginning to hope he'd stand there as a silent decoration for the entire evening when he suddenly heard a pleasant baritone voice from behind:

• Excuse me, I haven't seen a single lady here without a gentleman. May I ask you to dance?

Sanchez turned around slowly, as if creaking all his joints.