DESCRIPTION
I am standing at the charity microphone in Mira's blue dress, with both hands spread because I have forgotten what people do with them when two hundred faces are watching. Michael organized every donation from behind a screen. Mira answered the difficult emails because her name made strangers kinder, and tonight I dressed as her only to prevent questions when the anonymous organizer appeared. My friend waits behind the curtain, ready to interrupt if I lose my nerve. I open my mouth intending to confess.