Shea's Bar was loud, crowded, and exactly the kind of place you'd expect to find two best bros having a beer on a Friday evening. Gabe Sullivan and Trace Stone had been meeting there for happy hour ever since they were old enough to drink.

Gabe pushed through the front door with obvious frustration, phone to his ear, finishing a call. He made his way across the bar to where Trace had claimed their usual table. Overhead, big screen TVs blared overlapping commentary from multiple games.

The anxious young man hunched his shoulders defensively, hand fidgeting nervously as he spoke: "Yes, Mr. Martinez... I understand... Tomorrow at ten... Yes, sir, I'll have it ready."

"Dude, you've got to learn to stand up for yourself," Trace said as the call ended, not looking away from the screen where their team was getting demolished. He was two beers down and working on his third, clearly trying to drown something that was bothering him. "I've seen doormats with more backbone."

"Shut up," Gabe muttered, taking a long pull from his waiting beer as he slumped into his chair. "What's wrong with you anyway? You look like shit."

"Dude, I'm so screwed," Trace said, picking at the label on his bottle.

"Miranda see your browser history again?"

"Fuck off. Jake's wedding is this weekend."

"So?"

"He's marrying Jenny, one of Miranda's sorority sisters. Miranda was looking forward to seeing her entire pledge class, but now she has to work. And since she can't keep an eye on me herself, she's convinced I'm gonna do something stupid."

Gabe finally looked over at his best friend since middle school. "What'd you do this time, Romeo?"

"Nothing major! Okay, maybe I didn't realize she was looking over my shoulder and I checked out some other girl's Instagram. Now she's acting all jealous and saying I'm gonna hook up with someone at the wedding."

Trace took a long pull from his beer. "I can't bail on Jake, but Miranda says if I'm going, I need to bring someone she trusts to keep me honest."

"So bring your sister or something."

"She suggested you."

Gabe nearly choked on his beer. "As your date? Dude, I know you're desperate, but there are limits to our relationship."

"Not my date. She wants you to be my chaperone."

"Great, so I get to spend an evening babysitting you so you don't hit on bridesmaids."

"Come on, man. Fifteen years of friendship has to count for something. I'd do it for you."

"No, you wouldn't."

"Okay, I probably wouldn't, but I'm not you. You're a good friend. The best friend." Trace leaned forward. "Please? I'm desperate here."

"Ugh fine. I don't have any plans anyway."

An hour and several drinks later, Trace had the worst idea of his life-and that was saying something.

"Wait. What if… what if you were my chaperone AND my date?"

Gabe stared at him. "Dude, what are you talking about."

"She wants me to bring you as a chaperone because she doesn't trust me? Fine. But she never said what you had to wear. I'm thinking... what if you went in drag?"

"Okay, you're cut off."

Trace ignored him, on a roll now. "Like, obviously you'd be a dude in a dress. Miranda's being so controlling and treating me like a child, so I give her exactly what she asked for - but in the most embarrassing way possible."

"Yeah, embarrassing for me!"

"Nah, dude. Jake will think this is hilarious - he's always been up for crazy shit. But Jenny will be so pissed and will give Miranda hell for making me bring you."

"You want to embarrass your girlfriend at her friend's wedding?"

"She's trying to humiliate me by making me bring a chaperone! This way, technically I'm following her rules, but everyone's going to be talking about my 'date' for all the wrong reasons. When word gets back to her she'll be mortified."

"And you think this is going to help your relationship how?"

"Look, she's threatening to break up with me if I don't go along with her plan. So I will. But this way, she learns not to treat me like I'm some untrustworthy kid."

Trace leaned forward. "Please? I'm desperate here. We'll just need a dress, a cheap wig, and some padding from a costume shop."

Gabe just wanted out of the conversation. "You know what? Fine. But you're going to owe me forever for this. And you're buying my happy hour drinks for the rest of the month."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And I'm not doing anything too ridiculous."

"Deal. I'll figure out the costume stuff." He held out his beer bottle.

Gabe clinked his own against it. "Don't make me regret this."

The next Friday at happy hour, Trace was scrolling through his phone while Gabe nursed a beer and his growing sense of doom. The wedding was tomorrow, and Trace still seemed convinced of the brilliance of his plan.

"Okay, so here's the thing," Trace said with a frown. "There's some sort of cosplay convention in town. Most of the costume places are sold out or want like $500 for a crappy fake-looking wig."

"Oh well, guess we can't see your stupid plan through," Gabe said, relieved. "What a tragedy."

But Trace was already back to scrolling, refusing to give up. "Hold on, let me try one more search..."

An hour, several beers, and far more than one more search later, Trace looked up from his phone.

"Wait. Check this out - True Reflections. Some sort of high end spa or something. Look at these before and after photos."

Gabe leaned over to look at the screen. The transformations were incredible - men completely convincing as women, and vice versa.

"This has to be fake," Gabe muttered. "No guy looks that good as a chick."

"Reviews look legit. And they have an opening tomorrow morning before the wedding. Says here they use 'revolutionary bio-adaptive cosmetics and temporary body modification technology.'"

"That sounds expensive. And way more than I agreed to."

"Wait, this changes everything. What if instead of obviously looking like a guy in a dress, you actually look good?"

"Do you think you're actually helping your case?"

"Come on, you already said yes. You can't back out now just because it got more interesting," Trace said. "Look, I'll pay for the whole thing. And I'll bump those happy hour drinks up to a full year."

"This is way more elaborate than a costume shop wig-"

"It's only for one night! And think about it - if this actually works and you look convincing, it's even better because all Miranda's friends will be there. Her whole pledge class! Word will travel back to her immediately, and when we tell her the truth, she'll lose her mind."

"So she'll break up with you even faster. Brilliant plan."

"Not after we explain to her that it was really you! Imagine her face when we tell her the truth - she'll be furious that we fooled her but she can't blame me for following her instructions perfectly."

"She's going to murder us both."

But Trace was too excited-or too drunk-to listen. "That's the beauty of it! She can't be mad that I followed her rules. Plus, what are the odds you'll actually look hot? Like you said, those photos are probably AI. This'll probably be a disaster and we'll have a good laugh about it."

"You realize this plan requires me to spend an entire wedding reception as your girlfriend, right?"

"Fake girlfriend. Or fake-girl friend, given your ugly mug."

"Gee, thanks for the confidence boost, asshole."

"You know what I mean." Trace grinned. "Seriously, think about it. It's a win-win. Either they deliver and you look good, or they don't and Jenny will be mortified. Either way Miranda learns her lesson and we'll have a good laugh about it."

"Fine. Let's go see what kind of trainwreck they can make me into."

"That's the spirit! Besides, worst case scenario, you look like a linebacker in a dress and I get some great blackmail photos of you."

"I hate you so much right now."

"Love you too, buddy."

The next morning, Gabe and Trace stood outside a sleek storefront in an unfamiliar part of town. The windows were tinted black, and the only sign was a small silver plaque reading "True Reflections."

"You sure about this?" Gabe asked. "This place looks like where people go to disappear."

"Too late to back out now, bro. The wedding's in four hours. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

The interior featured white walls, soft lighting, and minimalist furniture that probably cost more than Gabe's car. As they entered, a tall, elegant woman emerged from the back, speaking with a slight accent Gabe couldn't place.

"You must be Trace and Gabriel. I'm Isabella. I understand we have an interesting project today."

"It's only one night for a wedding. Just something simple," Gabe said quickly. "Dress, maybe a wig-"

"Simple?" Isabella waved dismissively. "Darling, why settle for community theater when you can have Broadway? You have excellent bone structure. We can work wonders with this."

She circled Gabe with an appraising eye. "Yes, I'm thinking elegant, sophisticated. Those cheekbones will be stunning with the right enhancement."

"Enhancement?"

"Our bio-adaptive cosmetics and structural modification system. Much more advanced than traditional makeup and prosthetics. Everything will return to normal within twenty-four hours as your body chemistry rebalances."

Trace was clearly enjoying Gabe's discomfort. "See? Totally safe. This is going to be epic."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Gabe muttered.

Isabella led Gabe to a room that looked more like a medical suite than a salon. She pulled on gloves and gestured to Gabe's clothes. "First, we establish your base. Remove all your clothing, please. Everything."

"Whoa, I thought this was just makeup-"

"Gabriel, darling, if you want to look like a man in a dress, you can go to any costume shop. If you want to look like a woman, you trust the professional." She handed him a towel. "Here, you may protect your modesty with this for now."

Reluctantly, Gabe stripped completely. "This is already way more involved than I expected."

Trace laughed from his chair. "Go big or go home, princess."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one standing here in a towel about to get..."

"Transformed into something magnificent," Isabella said with a mysterious smile. "We must begin with hair removal."

"Do you have a razor? I didn't agree to any waxing."

"Nothing that barbaric, darling." She produced a device that looked like a scanner, moving it slowly over his legs, arms, chest, and groin. Where it passed, hair simply vaporized, leaving his skin completely smooth.

"That's impossible," Trace said, leaning forward with interest.

"Targeted follicle deactivation. Much more thorough than traditional methods."

"Dude, you look like a hairless cat," Trace snickered. "A really pale, angry hairless cat."

"Shut up," Gabe muttered, but he was staring at his completely smooth skin in amazement.

"Then we must make you a beautiful hairless cat," Isabella said with a smile.

Moving to his head, she first applied a bald cap that covered his hairline completely. The cap fit tightly, creating a smooth, scalp-like surface. Gabe thought he could detect small filaments of electronics running through the cap's structure.

Next came what looked like a container of thick, golden-brown paste. Isabella began spreading it across his entire body with clinical thoroughness, working it into every inch of his skin from head to toe, and covering the bald cap.

"What the hell is this stuff?" Gabe asked as the warm paste seemed to absorb into his skin, leaving behind a flawless golden-bronze complexion.

"Bio-adhesive pigmentation base. It bonds with your skin cells to produce melanin, and provides the foundation for all our other modifications. Think of it as... biological primer."

"This is like something out of a sci-fi movie," Gabe said, watching his pale complexion transform into a warm, radiant tan. "I look like I just spent a month in Cabo."

Trace grinned. "Holy shit, you look like a completely different person already. You went from pasty Irish to golden god in like ten minutes."

"The compound also allows our prosthetics to bond seamlessly with your body. Much more realistic than traditional adhesives."

"Prosthetics?"

Isabella smiled and revealed what looked like a selection of incredibly realistic body parts. "Don't worry, darling. You're going to love the results."

"This keeps getting weirder," Gabe said nervously.

Moving to his face, she began attaching several small prosthetic pieces. "First, we'll adjust your nose structure with this prosthetic overlay," she said, carefully applying what looked like a second skin to make his nose more delicate and upturned. Similar prosthetics attached to his jawline, rounding and softening the angular masculine lines.

"Slight pinch now," Isabella warned, reaching for a tray of syringes.

"Ow!" Gabe yelped as the first needle penetrated his skin. "What was that?"

"Bio-compatible filler in your cheeks and lips for definition," she continued, making precise injections. "And finally, a bit of micro-targeted Botox around your eyes and forehead to soften the masculine lines. Think of it as temporary plastic surgery."

Gabe watched in the mirror as his features seemed to shift and soften - his nose was more delicate, his lips fuller, his jaw rounded. The changes were subtle but dramatic.

Trace watched with delight. "Holy shit, you actually look like a chick. Like, a really hot chick."

"This is so weird," Gabe said, touching his transformed face carefully. "I don't even recognize myself."

"Wait until I'm finished." Isabella turned her attention to the cosmetics. "Now, let me guess your heritage... I'm thinking Latina. Yes, definitely. You have the perfect bone structure for the exotic, passionate type."

"Latina?" Gabe squeaked. "I'm Irish and German!"

"Not with your new skin tone, chica," Isabella said with a wink. "Trust me, this will be perfect."

The cosmetics that followed were unlike anything Gabe had ever seen. She began with dramatic winged eyeliner that extended far beyond his natural eye shape, creating an exotic, almond-eyed look. Heavy false lashes followed, so thick and long they cast shadows on his cheeks.

She used micro-needling to create perfectly shaped eyebrows, giving him elegant arches that framed his new eye shape. The contouring was masterful - highlighting his new cheekbones while creating shadows that made his face appear even more feminine. Finally, she applied a deep berry lip tint that made his enhanced lips look impossibly full and inviting.

"I can't even tell where the makeup ends and my actual face begins," Gabe said, his voice tight with amazement and anxiety.

"That's the point, darling. Now for the body modifications."

Isabella carefully positioned breast prosthetics on the bio-adhesive foundation she'd applied earlier. They seemed to meld with his skin, becoming warm and surprisingly natural-feeling. They were a modest but noticeable B-cup, perfectly proportioned for his frame, complete with realistic brown nipples that stood proudly at attention.

"I can't feel where they attach," Gabe said, prodding at what now appeared to be his chest. "They feel completely real."

"Bio-neural integration. The prosthetics themselves have no nerve endings, of course - they're just very sophisticated attachments. But your cap monitors when they're touched and tells your brain you're feeling it. Your nervous system is completely convinced they're part of your body."

"Dude, you've got boobs," Trace said with obvious amusement. "Like, actual boobs. This is the best day ever."

"They're not real!" Gabe protested.

"They look real from here. Can you, like, feel them?"

"That's the weird part - I can. It's like they're actually mine."

"Your new 'girls' will need this," Isabella announced, producing a black lace strapless bra.

"Absolutely not!" Gabe protested.

"The prosthetics require proper support. Without them, nothing will sit correctly and you'll be in considerable discomfort."

Trace said impatiently. "Just put it on. We're already this far. Besides, it's not like anyone's going to see it."

"YOU are going to see it!"

"Dude, we've been friends since we were twelve. I've seen you in your tighty-whities more times than I can count. This is basically the same thing."

"How is this AT ALL the same thing?

The 34B black lace strapless bra with its structured cups and underwire support wasn't uncomfortable - somehow it felt natural, the weight of the prosthetic breasts distributed perfectly through the molded cups and silicone grip strips that held it securely in place.

Hip and rear padding followed the same process - specialized forms that bonded with the bio-adaptive base, creating dramatically feminine curves. The hip padding gave him wide, womanly hips, while the rear enhancement created what could only be described as a perfect, heart-shaped backside that would make any woman envious. His silhouette transformed from masculine and angular to soft and curvaceous.

"This feels so strange," Gabe said, running his hands over his new curves. "I have... an ass now. Like, a real ass."

"A great ass," Trace added helpfully. "Seriously, you could bounce a quarter off that thing."

"You're not helping."

"I'm being supportive! You look amazing."

"Now for the final body reshaping." Isabella produced what looked like a high-waisted body briefer. "Step into this, please."

The device turned out to be a combination corset and underwear that extended from mid-thigh to just below his chest. Once he was inside, Isabella activated it with her tablet.

"Oh god, what's happening?" Gabe gasped as the device began to compress and reshape his torso. He could feel something tightening around his waist while simultaneously pushing his male anatomy up into his body through some kind of bizarre mechanical process.

"The device creates your feminine silhouette while positioning your anatomy for proper clothing fit. It also inserts micro-bands under your skin to reinforce the waist compression."

"I can barely breathe," Gabe said, watching his reflection change as his waist narrowed dramatically. He could swear he saw the slightest hint of camel toe showing through the briefer at his crotch.

"Beauty requires sacrifice, darling."

"This is the weirdest thing I've ever seen," Trace said, thoroughly entertained. "You look like you were born a girl. Like a supermodel... a really hot, bald supermodel."

"Ah yes, the hair," Isabella said with a smile. "The finishing touch."

She produced an elaborate wig - long, dark waves with subtle highlights that caught the light. But instead of simply placing it on his head, she carefully positioned it over the bald cap and activated something with her tablet. The wig seemed to meld with the bio-adaptive paste, and suddenly Gabe could feel the hair as if it were growing from his own scalp.

Gabe tugged gently at a strand and was amazed to feel the sensation on his scalp. "This feels real. Like it's actually my hair growing from my scalp."

"Bio-neural integration with the embedded electronics in the cap. Much more natural than glue or clips. Notice how it falls naturally, as if you just left the salon."

She was right - the hair had a perfect, bouncy blowout look that framed his face beautifully.

"This feels so wrong," he muttered.

Trace said with obvious amusement. "It looks so right though. Seriously, you look better than half the girls I've dated."

"That's not a compliment for me OR your dating history."

"Hush now. You are gorgeous," Isabella said with satisfaction. "Now we train your movement patterns. You'll need to learn how your new body moves naturally."

She produced several small electronic devices that looked like high-tech fitness trackers. "These will coordinate with the systems already embedded in your briefer and bald cap to provide movement guidance," she explained, attaching sensors to his wrists and ankles. The devices synced immediately with the existing electronics, tiny lights blinking in sequence.

"I've never worn heels in my life," Gabe said nervously as Isabella handed him a pair of designer stilettos.

"Do not worry, darling. The sensors will coordinate with the neural interface to make it more natural than you expect."

Isabella activated the sensor array with her tablet. "Now, walk to the far wall and back. Don't think about it - just move."

Gabe took his first tentative step and immediately felt the difference. His hips seemed to have a mind of their own, swaying in a way that felt completely foreign yet strangely natural. The heels forced his spine into a different curve, pushing his chest forward and his rear back.

"What is happening?" he asked, alarmed by how fluid the movement felt despite his conscious resistance.

"The sensors are providing micro-corrections to your nervous system," Isabella explained, making adjustments on her tablet. "Your brain is learning the movement patterns that match your new body structure."

"Walk again," she commanded. "This time, let your arms move naturally."

This time was worse. His arms seemed to flow differently, hands positioning themselves with unconscious grace. His steps were shorter, more precise, and there was an undeniable sway to his hips that seemed to happen automatically.

"I can't control this," he said, his voice rising with alarm. "My body is just doing these things on its own."

"Dude, you're swaying," Trace said with obvious delight. "Like, full-on seductress walk. This is incredible."

"Turn and pose at the wall," Isabella instructed. "Let the sensors guide you."

Without thinking, Gabe found himself executing a graceful turn, one hand naturally finding his hip, the other falling elegantly at his side. The pose felt effortless, completely feminine, and utterly horrifying.

"This is insane," he breathed, staring at his reflection in the mirrored wall. "I look like I've been doing this my whole life."

"Temporary muscle memory conditioning," Isabella explained with satisfaction. "Much more effective than trying to consciously remember how to move like a woman. You will be able to move through the wedding reception with proper feminine grace."

She had him practice sitting, standing, and walking for another fifteen minutes. Each movement became more natural, more unconsciously elegant. The way he crossed his legs when sitting, how he smoothed his hands over his hips when standing, the gentle sway when walking - it all felt increasingly automatic.

"How long will this last?" Gabe asked, disturbed by how right the movements felt.

"Like everything else, twenty-four hours. You'll go back to normal when you remove the bald cap," Isabella assured him, removing the sensors from his ankles and wrists. "Now, let's add your dress and complete the transformation."

The cocktail dress slid on like it was made for his new body. It was striking in its elegant simplicity - a black off-the-shoulder bodice with three-quarter sleeves that hugged his torso perfectly, paired with a deep navy A-line skirt that hit just above the knee. The luxurious fabrics complemented his new golden skin tone perfectly.

Isabella added delicate gold jewelry - small hoop earrings, a thin chain necklace that drew attention to his décolletage, and a simple bracelet. The final touch was a small clutch purse that matched the dress perfectly.

Looking in the mirror, Gabe saw a sophisticated woman ready for an upscale event.

"I look like someone's ultra stylish girlfriend," he said, the words coming out naturally.

Trace grinned. "You look like MY ultra stylish girlfriend. This is perfect. Miranda's going to have a heart attack when she sees the photos and realizes we completely outsmarted her controlling ass."

"I still think this is a terrible idea."

"Come on, where's your sense of adventure? Live a little!"

"This is only for twenty-four hours?" Gabe asked nervously.

"Twenty-four hours," Isabella confirmed. "As your body chemistry returns to normal, the prosthetics will detach and everything will reverse."

"What if something goes wrong?" Gabe asked nervously.

"Nothing will go wrong, darling. I'm a professional. Now for the final touch," Isabella said with dramatic flair. She fitted what looked like a high-tech collar around his neck. "This device will change your voice temporarily."

"Change how?"

"Speak normally," she said, activating the collar with her tablet.

"I don't understand-" Gabe stopped mid-sentence. His voice was completely different - higher, musical.

"Whoa, that's trippy," Trace laughed.

"Say something else," Isabella instructed, adjusting the settings on the tablet further.

"This is so... extraordinary, no?" Gabe stopped, horrified by the breathy, sultry quality that had crept into his tone. "Why do I sound like... like this?"

"The collar works with your larynx and vocal cords to raise the pitch of your voice, and syncs with the neural interface in your cap to give you cultural linguistic patterns - perfect for the passionate, fiery Latina type." Isabella explained, making final adjustments.

"But this is more than accent, no?" Gabe asked, his brow furrowing. "My English... she sounds so different. Like I learned it as second language."

"Ah, very perceptive. The system adjusts your vocal patterns to match your new identity. Your backstory is Buenos Aires - your family moved here when you were thirteen. The language patterns will feel completely natural."

"Buenos Aires?" Gabe repeated, the words rolling off his tongue with surprising familiarity.

"Trust me, darling. When people ask tonight, you'll know exactly what to say."

"But I do not even speak Spanish! How can I have accent for a language I do not know?"

"The system doesn't require actual knowledge, my dear. It simply adjusts your vocal patterns and speech rhythms to create the accent. Your English now sounds like it was learned second, even though it wasn't."

"Dude, this is so messed up." Trace mocked. "You sound exotic as hell but you're still the same guy who failed Spanish class!"

Isabella stepped back, removing the vocal collar and surveying her complete transformation with obvious satisfaction. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

She turned him toward a full-length mirror.

"Meet Gabriella."

Gabe stared at the reflection in shock. The woman looking back was stunning - elegant features, perfect curves, golden-bronze skin, and an undeniably feminine presence. When he turned, the movement was completely natural, unconscious feminine grace.

Trace exclaimed, staring at his transformed friend. "Holy fucking shit! You're actually hot. Like, really, really hot. I mean, I'd totally hit on you if I didn't know you were Gabe."

"This is so... incredible, no?" Gabe said, his new voice filled with wonder and terror. "I look like completely different person now."

Trace grinned. "You look like someone I'd want to date. Miranda's going to flip when she sees the photos."

"This is not funny anymore, Trace," Gabe said quietly.

"Are you kidding? This is the funniest thing that's ever happened! Wait until I tell everyone-"

"You will not be telling anyone about this!"

"Relax," Trace interrupted. "What's the worst that could happen? You spend one night as a hot chick at a wedding. There are worse fates."

"This is easy for you to say."

The wedding was everything Trace had promised - elegant, expensive, and packed with people Gabe had never met. Before long, he found himself sliding effortlessly into the role of "Gabriella."

Things went awkwardly smoothly. Despite Jenny's tight smiles and overly polite pleasantries when she greeted them, it was clear she viewed "Gabriella" as an interloper. Miranda's sorority sisters kept angling their phones for surreptitious shots of Trace's date, surely sending them in a constant stream back to Miranda.

But despite it all, everyone maintained perfect wedding etiquette. No one wanted to cause a scene at someone else's big day, but Gabe could feel the undercurrent of tension and whispered conversations that stopped whenever they approached. After a while, he sought refuge in some of the newlyweds' more distant relatives.

"Trace, your girlfriend is gorgeous," Jake's aunt gushed. "Where did you find her?"

Trace said smoothly, clearly enjoying the deception. "We met through mutual friends. Gabriella's in... marketing."

"You're so lucky," a second cousin added. "She's stunning."

"Thank you, you are too kind," Gabe said politely, then blinked in surprise at his own response. He was disturbed by how his voice seemed to caress every syllable, making even basic conversation sound seductive.

"I love your accent," the aunt continued. "Where are you from originally?"

"Buenos Aires," Gabe said, the words coming surprisingly easily, his hand fluttering to his chest as he spoke. "But my family... we move here when I was thirteen."

"How wonderful! Argentina! That explains your elegance. You two make such a beautiful couple."

As the evening progressed, Gabe found himself getting into character more and more, and started acting in ways to deliberately cause more disapproving glares. When Trace put his arm around his waist, he leaned into him naturally. When they danced, he followed his lead without thinking about it.

"You're really good at this," Trace whispered during a slow song. "It's like you were born to be a woman."

"You must stop with these things right now, yes?" Gabe whispered back.

"I'm just saying, you're a natural. Maybe you missed your calling."

Gabe planted a stiletto on Trace's foot deliberately. "Oops."

"Ow! Okay, okay, I'll stop."

But Trace didn't stop. Throughout the night, he kept making little comments.

"Wow, you're really working that dress."

"The way you're laughing at that guy's jokes - you've got this flirting thing down pat."

"I think my uncle is checking you out. Should I be jealous?"

It finally got to be too much. When Trace made a comment about how he should "consider this as a career change," something inside Gabe snapped.

"Enough! You laugh at my fear like is entertainment for you!" he said, his voice rising with passionate intensity, hands gesturing emphatically in the air.

"Whoa, okay, calm down there, spitfire," Trace said, taken aback.

"This is not funny thing! You are terrible friend!" Gabe continued, his eyes flashing.

"Dude, chill. You don't have to go full telenovela on me," Trace said, trying to defuse the situation with humor.

Storming off, Gabe could see the delighted expressions of Miranda's friends. He found himself wondering where that outburst had come from. He'd always just put up with Trace's teasing - usually he'd just roll his eyes and endure it quietly. But something had made him snap back with such fiery passion, his temper flaring like... like some kind of temperamental Latina stereotype.

Was he just getting into character? Or was the technology in the cap somehow affecting his personality too, making him react the way people expected "Gabriella" to react? The thought was too disturbing to consider seriously. He pushed it away and headed for the open bar to drown his worries.

An hour later, Trace nervously approached the table where Gabe was working through what appeared to be his fourth or fifth glass of wine. "You're really putting it away tonight."

"I am feeling so, so incredible…" Gabe said, his voice purring with satisfaction. It was the truth. Everything felt heightened, more vivid. Colors seemed brighter, music sounded better, and he felt more confident and alive than he ever had.

Trace slid into the next chair over and raised his glass. "I'm sorry about before. You're the best wingman ever. To the perfect plan."

"For surviving this... most extraordinary night, no?" Gabe replied, clinking glasses. He grinned widely, jumped to his feet, and pulled Trace back onto the dance floor.

The combination of alcohol, nerves, and the fact that his constricted stomach would not fit more than a few bites of food had created a perfect storm in Gabe's system. By the end of the night, he was glowing with energy and happiness, drunk out of his mind.

"Best night everrrr," he sarcastically slurred as Trace helped him into the car at the end of the night.

"Dude you're so wasted," Trace laughed. "But that was amazing. I got so many compliments on my 'girlfriend.' Some dude asked if you have a sister!"

"This is very... disturbing, no?"

"It's hilarious! Wait until I tell the guys that my hot date at the wedding was actually you."

"You will not be telling anyone about this!"

"Come on, this is too good not to share."

Gabe's voice had a warning edge that even the alcohol and his new accent couldn't soften. "Trace."

"Fine, fine. But admit it - you had fun."

"Sí- yes," he said, surprising himself that he was telling the truth. But he was ready for things to go back to normal.

Gabe's head lolled against the window as the wine and the long night finally caught up with him. Twelve more hours, he calculated sleepily as his eyes drifted closed. Twelve more hours and this would all be over.