Although the campus was small, the city was a college town and relatively safe. It’d be a hike back, but I could walk if needed. I had to position my knees to the side so I could sit, but the car was warm and clean, so I knew not to complain. The two-door Mustang’s back seat was a joke. He was my age, and hadn’t been dating Avery all that long. I held down the hem of my skirt as I ducked into the back seat of Brent’s car. You remember she’s coming.” It wasn’t said like it was a question. “Hi, are you downstairs?” Her gaze flicked my direction. Her phone rang, singing an obnoxious song, but it cut off as she answered it. She continued to preen in the mirror and I was ignored, which was Avery’s typical response. I wasn’t even religious-unless you considered science a religion. “I think you mean Jehovah’s Witness.” Not once had I mentioned church to her. My brain played loud static, my defense mechanism against stupidity. “They don’t celebrate holidays and shit.” “It shocked the hell out of me when you said yes. She wasn’t focused, and I couldn’t relate at all. The International Bank of Mom and Dad was funding her pointless attempt at a college education, and it was likely she’d wash out by the end of the year. She didn’t care about her grades, her major, or have to worry about scholarship money. The spoiled sophomore was my opposite-she didn’t study. Avery and I had been paired together randomly by a student housing computer. It was my senior year at Randhurst University, and I’d never gotten close enough with another girl to find a roommate. I’d spent my whole life driving toward a medical degree, and everything else had been neglected, including a social life. I hadn’t been out to a party in ages, and Halloween was the one night I could reinvent myself. Avery had been forced into inviting me to the party at her boyfriend’s frat, but I was going. Perhaps I looked ridiculous, and perhaps my stomach had done a flip-flop when I looked at myself in the mirror, but I wasn’t bluffing. “You’re going out in that?” Her tone did nothing to disguise her disbelief. Yes, I looked like a slut, but it was also the look I was going for.Īvery, my roommate, smeared on blood red lipstick, and although her gaze was on the mirror, I sensed she was watching me out of the sides of her eyes. The white shirt gapped and showed cleavage. The blouse of the sexed-up schoolgirl costume didn’t have buttons to close above my bra. I tugged at the knee-high white stockings and smoothed down my plaid skirt. This was the thought repeating in my head.
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