Prompetition

Kylie shows up at Charly's door with a garment bag slung over her shoulder. Charly swings it open, gives her the once-over, and lets her in. They've been swapping bitchy looks in the halls for weeks, but tonight they swore they'd play nice long enough to check out each other's prom dresses. Competitive spark still crackles between them like static right before a storm. In Charly's room they turn their backs, unzip, shuffle fabric, trade trash talk under their breath. "Mine's gonna make every dick in the room forget how to speak," Kylie says. "Cute," Charly fires back. "Mine's the reason half the soccer team will be jerking off in the bathroom before the first slow dance." They spin around at the same time. Same blood-red satin. Same neckline plunging down to their navels. Same slit slicing up to the hip. Same damn dress. "Take it off," Kylie snaps. "You first," Charly shoots back. Neither moves. Then fingers hook satin and yank. Fabric tears with a sound like ripping skin. Kylie grabs Charly's strap and pulls; Charly shoves Kylie onto the bed and straddles her, tugging until the zipper splits and the dress falls open. Nails rake skin. Thighs press. Heat builds. When the last shred of red satin lies on the floor, both girls stare at the damage—two bare bodies, no dresses, zero chance of walking into prom looking like anything but girls who already fucked before they got there. Charly's breath is ragged. "No point letting all this go to waste," she says, pushing Kylie's knees apart. Kylie drags Charly down by the hair and kisses her like she's daring the night to get any hotter.