Francis has this idea. A stupid, crazy idea. One that just might get himself, Antonio, and me -yours awesomely Gilbert Beilschmidt- killed. You don't want to know how.

A/N: I have like 23987942837 random fanfiction ideas floating around in my head. This is one of them: a little gag one-shot in the same universe as Homecoming. :) God, I love crack so much. I'm sorry i haven't been able to update the other fanfics. TT_TT but hopefully you will enjoy this. hur hur.

Oh, and no offense to anyone named Gabby. ^_^;

"Dude, are you sure about this?" Antonio's breath tickled my ear. It smelled like tomatoes. Like it always did. I swear, the guy ate tomatoes for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner.

"This wasn't my idea," I hissed back. "Like I would want to wear this thing." I yanked at the wig on my head. It was long and itchy and blond, and-dammit, Francis! Why are you such a dick!

"Stop complaining, it'll be worth it!" Francis smirked at us. Little dick. All he had to do was shave his beard thing. Tony and I had to wear fucking wigs.

"This bra is really cutting into my ribs," Tony whined, tugging at his... bra. "How do girls wear these things?"

"You have no fucking idea how wrong that looks," I muttered under my breath.

"It's a matter of focusing on other things, Antonio, and ignoring it. You know, I did tell you to use napkins," Francis added, brushing his hair with his fingers. (How girly.) "Are we ready?"

"How do you know all of this?" I muttered. "Is this some sort of sick fetish of yours?"

"Nonsense, Gilbo," he chided. "Most of this is common sense."

"So we really have to wear these skirts," I said sarcastically. "Great."

"All the more real, Gilbo," Antonio chirped. I yanked at my hair. I could not believe the kid; a second ago he was complaining about his... bra.

(But Tony did have a point. How did girls wear those things? They were like, suffocating. And un-manly. Oh wait...)

"Okay, allez!" Francis threw op-okay, he pushed the thing open, but throwing it open sounds better. Sorry.

"Dios," Antonio breathed.

The girl's locker room was warm. It smelled strongly like feet, deodorant and perfume. Lockers, benches, showers, you name it. It was pretty much exactly like the boy's locker room. (Well, it was flipped. Which was weird. So the showers were on the right side instead of the left, like it was in the boys' locker room.)

But that wasn't important.

What was important, why Francis had forced everyone else (namely, me and Tony) to dress up in drag and lose our manly dignity was...

Naked girls.

Okay, so maybe they weren't all completely naked. But still. They were parading around in their underwear. Everywhere. Crowds of girls on the benches, crowds of them in the showers, crowds of them changing... I think Francis was literally dying; the look on his face was priceless. he had to shove his hand into his mouth to keep from doing that obnoxious French laugh (Oh hon hon hon hon Oh hon hon hon hon!) of his. Antonio's eyes were huger than usual, like two ginormous green dinner plates on his face. He kept swearing in Spanish under his breath, which was annoying, but at the moment, I couldn't really blame him.

BECAUSE. NAKED GIRLS.

...

OKAY, HALF-NAKED GIRLS.

STILL PRETTY GOOD.

I will admit it, it was pretty good. I was pretty damn happy, even if I was going to friggin' murder Francis and Antonio (but mostly Francis) later. I think we might have just stood in the doorway for like, the entire day, if there wasn't a voice behind us.

"What are you bitches standing in the doorway for? Move!"

I think Francis might had like, a seizure. And not a good one, either—he had good reason. Very good reason. The girl who came up behind us was... his cousin. Bella. Walking around in cute pink underwear. Well, Antonio seemed to have a... good kind of seizure. Er. Yeah. Me? I was standing there awkwardly.

Until this hot brunette girl walked by.

She was... so. Hot. Mein Gott. I think I died right there on the spot. There were no words to describe her. She was like a friggin' supermodel, man. I think I passed out right there and then. Friggin. Awesome. Body.

"Hey…. Hey, you okay?" Francis poked me in the side. Painfully. Antonio was still drooling at some other girls. Poor Spaniard.

"Umhh gah gah?" I'm not sure if I was entirely coherent…. I was still staring at that girl. She had green underwear. Why did she look so good in green?

"Uh…. Gilbert….?" Francis whispered. He poked me in the side again. "Antonio, I think there's something wrong with him."

"Oh, are you guys new?" The girl suddenly started talking to us. She was really pretty, dammit. Long brown hair, green eyes. Not to mention boobs. Mein Gott.

"Uh…. Uh, yeah," said Francis in a falsetto—a really bad falsetto. "I'm Francine, this is Antoinette, and this is… Gabby."

I shot him a death glare. Why was he embarrassing me in front of this hot girl? I mean, seriously? Gabby? What a horrible name!

"It's nice to meet you guys," said the girl in a friendly tone. "You know… you look kind of familiar." She leaned in towards me. Really close. Close enough to make my (awesome) face turn red. Close enough to ki—

"Oh, no," said Francis, still in falsetto, "we've just come in from out of state… Gi—Gabby has probably never met you before, ha ha ha."

"Oh… Gigabby?" The girl looked amused. "Really. No, you definitely look familiar."

"I-I do?" I'm not even sure what I was thinking then, except for maybe some German swears.

"Yes… I'm pretty sure I've seen you before…. Gilbert!" The girl suddenly turned scary and pulled out a frying pan out of nowhere.

"Lizzie!" I squeaked. "HOLY SHIT, RUN, GUYS RUN!"

They didn't need that warning. We were all running the second Lizzie had taken out her frying pan. I mean, it doesn't sound like much, but in the hands of Lizzie, that thing can be downright lethal. (Especially since she uses a cast-iron frying pan. Not fun.)

"GILBERRRRRRT! GET BACK HERE!"

The last thing I heard was a huge clang on the back of my head.

Mein… Gott….