Page 101 of The Dare

HER:Mind out of the gutter, dirty girl.

ME:You started it.

I add a string of nonsensical but contextually explicit emojis, then pick up my dress from my apartment and take an Uber to Greek Row.

I do need to get better at balancing my time. Being totally absorbed in a couple cocoon has been fun, but I don’t want to neglect my friends. Sasha, especially. More than anyone else, she has supported me through the rough spots over the last few years. I probably would’ve had a total nervous breakdown and set my hair on fire more than once if it weren’t for her. But lately I feel like I have no idea what’s going on in her life, which is a sign that I’ve been taking more than I’ve given. Major friendship no-no on my part. I need to change that, asap.

The weather’s finally warming up, which means the typically quiet lawns of Greek Row on a weekday afternoon are more active. Porches are dotted with people studying. Afew lounge chairs in the grass contain girls working on their tans for summer vacation. At the Sigma frat house, guys are playing beer pong in the driveway. I don’t pay much attention to their shouts and catcalls as I slide out of the Uber and plant my feet on the sidewalk.

The frat boys shower me with unimaginative variations on “show us your tits,” the typical garbage girls get from that house. Then something catches my attention.

“Hey superstar! Can we get a picture?”

“Can I have your autograph?”

“Where do I sign up for the live cam?”

That sounds…specific. Quite oddly so.

I keep my eyes straight ahead and don’t slow down as I hurry up the front path of the Kappa house. The best defense is not giving them the satisfaction of a response. Mulling it over, I chalk it up to a dumb joke. Abigail’s boyfriend likes to call me a “fat Marilyn Monroe,” so I assume that’s what the wholesuperstar gimme your autographjunk refers to.

Well, he and his douchey Sigma brothers can fuck right off. I happen to know thatsomemen like curves, particularly men named Conor Edwards.

I can barely keep the smile off my face as I walk into the house. I can’t wait to see him tonight. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but I’m so gone for that guy. Just the thought of him makes me want to giggle like a preteen with her first crush.

Upstairs, Sasha has a beauty station set up for me at her desk when I enter her room. I toss my bag on her bed and hang my dress on the closet door. “You’re the best,” I inform her.

“Obviously. Go ahead and wash your face,” she says as she flips through eyeshadow palettes.

“Hey, I just want to make sure,” I call out, standing at the sink in the shared bathroom that connects with the bedroom next door. “There isn’t a surprise party scenario in play, right?”

“Not that I know of.”

I rinse and pat my face dry with a washcloth. When I return, Sasha has me sit at her desk then proceeds to smear me with moisturizer.

“I only ask because I think Conor feels like he has something to prove. So when I said we were just going to have a low-key hang at Malone’s, I wouldn’t be shocked if he spun that into some major event.”

“I don’t think so.” She hands me a tiny electric fan to dry my face.

Next comes the primer, which Sasha is always telling me to add to my makeup routine and I always tellherI would if I ever wore makeup except when she does it, which is why I don’t need to buy makeup products because I have her. It’s a perfect system. When we’re old she’ll live next door and I’ll roll over in my wheelchair to get ready for my hot dates down at the bingo hall.

“What about you?” I ask while she starts on my foundation. “How’d things go with Eric at the gala after I left?”

“Not bad.”

I wait for her to elaborate. When it becomes clear she has no intention of doing so, I know there’s more to the story.

“So you banged his brains out in the walk-in freezer, didn’t you?”

“That’s unsanitary,” she says.

“Let him eat you out under the silent auction table?”

“Those donations are for the children, you degenerate.”

Sasha is a tough nut. She considers the meddling in the private dramas of others an Olympic sport, but she’s fiercely private about her own life. It’s one of the qualities I most respect about her. She’s good at setting boundaries and standing up for herself, something I aim to get better at. However, those boundaries don’t apply to me, as far as I’m concerned.

“You’re in love with him and you’ve already eloped and gotten married in Reno,” I guess.

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