Page 5 of Beyond the Lines
“Honey, I’m just enhancing what’s already there.” She caps the highlighter with a flourish. “Though that dress is doing most of the heavy lifting...”
I smooth my hands over the black fabric, still unsure about the thigh-skimming hemline. The dress belongs to Marnie, our across-the-hall neighbor who’d burst into our room twenty minutes ago with an entire wardrobe’s worth of options slung over her arms after I’d told Em I had nothing to wear.
If there’s one thing Ididn’tpack for college, it was an array of revealing ‘slut dresses,’ as Marnie had called them. After a quick dinner, the three of us had rushed to get ready, and now we’re putting the finishing touches on our outfits before heading to the party I’m still dubiousabout.
“Stop fidgeting.” Em swats my hands away. “You look hot. Like, I-should-probably-warn-the-fire-department hot.”
“I feel naked,” I say, doubt creeping into my voice. “I don’t usually show this much skin at the beach.”
“Good! First night of college—you’re supposed to get naked.” She grins wickedly. “Besides, those legs deserve to see the light of day.”
I glance down at my bare legs, lengthened by the wedge sandals she’d also insisted I wear. “It’s night, Em,” I say.
She shrugs as she adjusts her outfit—a cropped halter top and high-waisted jeans that showcase her willowy frame. “Time to embrace your inner party girl!”
“I don’t have an inner party girl.”
“Everyone has an inner party girl.” She sprays perfume in front of her and walks through it. “I just need to get you over that summer romance first…”
My stomach clenches at the mention of Chris. “I’m already over it…”
“Uh-huh.” She draws out the syllables skeptically. “That’s why you got all quiet and broody when you found that postcard.”
“I wasn’t broody.”
“You were totally broody. Like, Emily Brontë levels of broody.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Did you just make a Victorian literature reference?”
She shrugs. “I have a thing for tortured souls wandering the moors.”
“There were no moors involved. Just a guy who turned out to be less prince and more frog. Hence my current stance on the male species.”
“Which is?”
“Complete and total embargo.”
She snorts. “Good luck with that at a frat party.”
“I have excellent willpower.”
“Sure you do.” She loops her arm through mine. “But just in case, I’ll be your wing woman. I’m not looking to pick up, either, so the minute any guy gets too close, I’ll swoop in with some elaborate emergency. Like, ‘Oh my God, we need to go right now—someone’s stealing the moon!’”
I burst out laughing. “That’s your emergency scenario?”
“Hey, it worked inDespicable Me.” She grabs her phone as someone knocks on our door. “That’ll be Marnie and the others. Ready?”
I take one last look in the mirror, at this glammed-up version of myself. The girl staring back looks confident—someone who belongs at a college party, who isn’t still nursing a broken heart or wondering if she made the right choice coming here instead of taking another semester off.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Em opens the door to reveal Marnie and three other girls from our floor, all dressed up and buzzing with pre-party excitement. The hallway echoes with their chatter and laughter as we join the exodus of students heading out for the night.
The late August air is thick with humidity, making me grateful for Em’s insistence on waterproof mascara. As we trek across campus, following the stream of other party-bound students, I find myself swept up in the energy of it all. The anticipation of something new, something unknown.
“Fair warning,” Marnie says as we round the corner onto Greek Row, “I hear this frat throws the best parties, but their house is kind of a dump.”
“Define ‘dump’,” I say.
