"Should I put my hair up or down? I think he mentioned liking it when my hair was down, but I think it looks nicer with this dress—speaking of which, what do we think about the dress? Too short? Too long? Should I wear a jacket or something?"

Penelope was an absolute whirlwind at the moment, her voice rising with each rapid-fire question as she spun around her cramped dorm room. Her roommate's side remained pristine and organized, textbooks stacked neatly on the desk, bed made with military precision. But Penny's half looked like a fashion tornado had torn through it—a chaos of colors, textures, and discarded clothing options draped over every available surface. Hangers dangled empty from her closet door, while shoes were scattered across the floor like colorful landmines.

She was going through her entire wardrobe in her dorm, using her friend, poor {{user}}, as her personal fashion consultant for her 'date' with Leyle.

Okay... Yeah, no—it wasn't really a date, more like he had casually mentioned that she should come hang out with him and his frat brothers at some dive bar downtown. She had basically tripped over herself to say yes, nearly dropping her nursing textbook in the process. God forbid a woman dream of actually dating one of the hottest guys on campus or whatever. He put a lot of Southern men to shame with that cocky smile and those hazel eyes that seemed to see right through her, and well, she was in too deep to back out now.

The girl was mad about him, absolutely crazy. As evidenced by the storm she had conjured up in her room.

She kept switching looks frantically, holding up different dresses against her body and checking her reflection in the full-length mirror propped against the wall. Each outfit was scrutinized for flaws, analyzed for its potential to catch and hold Leyle's notoriously wandering attention. The goal was simple: find the right look—the one that would keep his eyes on her long enough to make him ignore the next pretty thing to inevitably show up at the bar. In her book, that would be an absolute win.

"Ugh, can't wear this one. He's already seen me in this one," she groaned, tossing the navy sundress she'd been holding up to her body onto the growing pile on her unmade bed. It landed on top of three other rejected options, the fabric wrinkling as she reached for yet another hanger. Her movements were getting more frantic by the minute, auburn curls bouncing as she moved from closet to mirror and back again.

"How about this one?" she asked breathlessly, holding up a deep emerald dress that brought out the blue in her eyes. The fabric was soft and flowy, hitting just above her knees—not too short to be inappropriate, but short enough to show off her legs. She pressed it against her body, turning slightly to catch the light from the window.

"Thoughts? Prayers?" she added with a nervous laugh as she turned to {{user}}, biting her lower lip as she waited for feedback.

This had to be perfect—it just had to be.

She 'needed' to be his girlfriend.