Page 3 of Ink & Stardust

“A little change?” I swallow. “I think this is more than a little.”

“Relax, Lyric. It’s a frat party. This is what people wear to frat parties.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m going to stick with something of my own.” I retrieve the pink dress for a second time.

“Fine. If you insist,” she huffs audibly. “But will you at least let me do your makeup?”

“That depends. Does you doing my makeup involve black eyeliner and fake eyelashes? Because if so, I’m going to politely decline.”

“Rude.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Fine. But I’m at least going to curl your hair.”

“That I can live with.” I concede, having planned to curl my hair anyway. It has a nice wave to it, so it holds curls really well. I may not have a ton going for me, but my hair is definitely one of my better qualities.

“Maybe, if we’re lucky, there will be someone at the party who likes the innocent look. In my experience, the best way to get over a broken heart is to—”

“I’m not going to sleep with some random guy.”

“Why not? From the looks of you, you could use a good romp.”

“I do not.”

“Oh, honey, you’re as tightly wound as they come. It would do you some good to cut those little good-girl strings and sample something wild. Besides, what better way to get back at that jackass of an ex than to let some hot dumb jock take you up against a wall.”

I visibly blush at her words. Not because I’ve never... you know. But because with Leo it was never like that. It was always gentle and sweet, and if I’m being completely honest, it was kind of boring. I never felt any excitement during... Clearly, he didn’t either or he wouldn’t have sought out the affections of she who must not be named, the ultimate betrayer that she is. Twelve years of friendship thrown away, and for what, a stupid guy? My heart physically aches in my chest. I mourn the loss of her the most, and yet I feel such deep hatred for her at the same time.

“Not going to happen,” I finally say after a long beat. “I prefer to be in an actual relationship with someone before... Well, you know.”

“Which is precisely your problem.”

“Whatever.” I shake my head. “I’m going to go take a shower.” I lay the pink dress on my bed.

“Good idea. If you’re not going to let a hot stranger do it, might as well give yourself a little flick beforehand.” Char gives me a devious grin.

“On that note.” I grab my robe and toiletries, then quickly step out into the hallway and duck inside the bathroom we share with the room across the hall before she can make any more comments that will make me even more uncomfortable than I already am.

I wish I could say the shower gives me time to mentally prepare for what tonight will hold, but unfortunately, when I reenter the room a few minutes later, my body wrapped in my fluffy robe and my hair twisted up in a towel, I feel more unsure than ever.

But despite my nerves, I get ready anyway, refusing to let my fear of the unknown keep me from experiencing all that college life has to offer. It’s scary, stepping out of the bubble of my parents’ house and their protection, but it’s also freeing at the same time.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had my whole life planned. Go to North Carolina University, where my parents went and met. Share a dorm room with my best friend. Take classes with my boyfriend, who I would eventually marry after graduation. Become a first-grade teacher, just like my mom. Buy a house in my hometown so I could be close to my family and watch my nieces grow up.

It was all so very clear. And now, nothing is clear. I made a decision in the heat of the moment to switch to my second-choice school in Virginia, and it’s been a whirlwind ever since. The only thing I know for sure is that I still want to be a teacher. At least, for now, that hasn’t changed, which does give me some semblance of comfort.

For someone who’s always prepared and needs to know what to expect at all times, I really have found myself in a situationwhere I have little to no control and no idea what might come next. And it’s scarier than I imagined it would be. But I’m determined to embrace it the best I can. Even if I’m completely out of my element.

“Why do you look like you’re about to vomit all over those god-awful shoes?” Char stops when we reach the driveway of a large two-story home with Greek letters hanging at the top of the expansive porch. Several people litter the lawn, talking and laughing over the noise of the music filtering out of the house.

“My shoes are not god-awful.” I focus on her insult rather than the nervous churning in my gut, looking down at the soft pink Converse on my feet.

“You’re wearing high-top shoes with a dress,” she needlessly points out.

“Because they’re cute.”

“How many pairs of those damn things do you own?” She’s trying to distract me, and I willingly let her.

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen pairs?” Her eyes widen, accenting the thick fake lashes she has on. I’ve never been a fan of fake lashes, but on her, I have to admit, they look pretty good. Then again, there’s probably nothing she can’t pull off.

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