“That’s Oliver. He’s uh, got a girlfriend from back home,” Amber said, covering for me. I smiled at her gratefully.
Samantha, tall and slim with amazing curly dark hair, walked out of their room and joined in the conversation. “Oh well, poor thing. The girls will line up for him. They’ll probably break up by Thanksgiving.”
“Doubtful,” Amber replied. “He’s super loyal and head-over-heels for this girl.”
“Sure.” She tossed the book aside. “Maybe. But lesser men have succumbed for a taste of college pussy.”
Amber and I wrinkled our nose at the word, not because we’re prudes but…well yeah, maybe we were.
Once Samantha and Ruthie left the room, I asked, “Jackson wants us to go to a party at Hayden’s fraternity tonight, you in?”
She and Ben were trying their relationship long distance—and with the open agreement to date others. It’d been a hard adjustment but she’d been flirting with the idea of going out.
“Sure.”
Samantha leaned her head out. “Did you say frat party?”
I picked at the fringe on my jean shorts. “Uh, well one of our friends is in the soccer frat and…”
“We’re in,” she said. Ruthie squealed from the other room. “What time?”
“Nine? He said nine.” My eyes darted to Amber’s but she just shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal to her but letting these girls into my personal life? After last year it was hard. Really hard, but college was new and these weren’t the judgmental jerks I grew up with. Maybe they wouldn’t care.
If they found out. I had no plans at all of them finding out.
“Great, be ready at nine,” I told them, and they squealed again before slamming their door.
I groaned and leaned back in my seat. “So, first frat party,” Amber said. She looked more excited than I thought she would—being the major feminist. I can only imagine frat parties fall onto her patriarchal shit list.
“Any idea what you’re going to wear?” she asked me and I groaned again, falling back on the couch. “Come on.” She laughed and grabbed my hand. The weird thing about Amber was that, for a girl out to beat the patriarchal system, she sure loved to dress up for a party.
5
Surprisingly, Ruthie and Samantha were ready on time, overly dressed in glittery tops and skin-tight jeans. Not that I’d judge, because I wouldn’t. Women had the right to dress however they want, and if they felt like donning sparkly tank tops and wedgie-inducing pants, then more power to them.
It was late summer and I wore a gray, cotton halter that tied behind my neck and high-waisted shorts, with little diagonal buttons down the hips. I pulled my brown hair into a messy bun and slipped wide silver hoops in my ears. Leaning into the bathroom mirror I applied a deep red lipstick—one that Anderson told me he liked—and glanced over my shoulder at Amber.
I laughed at her T-shirt. “Nice one.”
“You’re really wearing that?” Ruthie asked, when she caught sight of her.
Amber held it out so the words were more visible.
Feminism is My Second Favorite “F” Word
The white shirt was knotted at the waist and she wore it with cut-off jean shorts. Her black hair hung over her shoulders in two braids. She was fierce but adorable.
“Sure, why not?” Amber asked.
“It’s just a little…political?”
Amber rolled her eyes. “If someone can’t handle my politics, then he can’t handle me.”
Ruthie walked past me, grabbing her bag and stopping when she saw the scar on my upper arm. “Ouch. What happened?”
“Accident,” I said, covering it self-consciously with my hand, although I hadn’t cut myself in months. I still felt the shame of that weak moment.
Our dorm was in the middle of campus and fraternity row was about a half a mile away. After the third hill I’m glad that I wore my Converse instead of heels like Ruthie and Samantha. Truthfully, I’d made that mistake at a party before and I didn’t plan on doing it again.