Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Christine was gunning for a degree in communications while I was on a scholarship for business. Our families may have been friends for eons, but it didn’t mean we came from the same parts of town. Unlike Christine’s, my parents couldn’t afford a four-year school. If I wanted to leave, I knew I had to make it happen on my own.
“Casey Meyers just posted a picture of her doing a keg stand. Real classy, Racy Casey,” Christine jokes, using Casey’s well-deserved nickname. “Oh man. That kinda looks like fun. How come our school doesn’t advertise these sorts of things?”
“Because we’re attending one of the top ten elite schools in the state. I doubt they want to be known for holding raging keggers.”
I finish off my email to my parents and scroll through social media, which has been a complete shit show since graduation. When you grow up in a small town, going nuts once you leave is no surprise. Everyone from the band geeks to the jocks are posting about their big, bad breakout from small town USA and how awesome their new life is. Steven Morrison, head of our high school football team, posts, “koolest place on earth.” Idiot. It’s a shame he isn’t spending his time in college learning English.
Kids from our graduating class were all around the country, letting their hair down and enjoying their freedom. Curfew is a thing of the past. School is optional, and most of my female classmates no longer need to hide their hickeys and bite marks. Yeah, it’s true. I come from a town where there’s nothing to do but drink and screw. Sounds like a country song, right? But it’s the truth. Our parents did it. Our parents’ parents did it. And the ones before that. It just is what it is in the O-K.
So, I bet you’re wondering when I start bragging about my bold, sultry nights with the football linebacker or the rugby star. Well, I don’t. My experience with sex goes as far as a one-night stand with Jared Matthews, and it lasted about a whole thirty-seven seconds. It hurt, and it was quite embarrassing. More for him—not me. He was drunk, and I didn’t want to be a virgin anymore. I allowed him to kiss me, or shall I say slobber on me, which was closer to the truth of what he was doing. When it finally came down to the sex part of it, it stunk. Both literally and figuratively. He farted the entire time. Once he was done, he told me keg beer gave him horrible gas.
I decided no feeling or sensational explosion I read about in romance books was worth attempting that again. I also heard the following weekend Jared took Mandy Holloway in the back room at a party and vomited while eating her out. Yes, build that mental picture. If it’s not coming, I’ll help you out. He barfed all over her snatch.
Gross.
Either way, I escaped high school without any great stories to tell. But on a good note, I was disease free, along with gossip free. Well…not completely. Rumors of me being a lesbian started. But they didn’t compare to the rumors that poor Mandy had the clap for the second time her senior year and most likely gave it to half the tennis team. I’d take the L-word over the clap any day.
Closing Facebook, I slide my laptop under the bed, crawl under my covers, and lay my head on my pillow that still smells like home.
“Hey, Jensen?” Christine calls my name, sounding almost asleep.
“Yeah?”
“Promise me you’ll just come with me tomorrow night? So I don’t have to do it alone. I’ve never done anything without you.”
Her words guilt me and annoy me all the same. She’s done so much in her short life, I envy her spirit. She has bypassed me in so many ways, and the fact that she still acts like we’re equals astonishes me. It also makes me feel guilty.
“I’ll go with you, Chris.” The words taste bitter, but I fall asleep convincing myself our friendship is stronger than sorority sisterhood.
“STOP TUGGING AT IT. IT’S supposed to show your cleavage.”
“Cleavage is one thing, exposing my nipples is another. Jesus, where did you find this thing?” I ask, pulling at the top of the dress Christine managed to force me into. She convinced me the color made my emerald green eyes pop—not that anyone will notice my eyes with my boobs spilling out.
“Becky, the girl down the hall, let me borrow it. Don’t spill anything on it. I promised it back in good shape—hey, look, there’s Brittany!” Christine snatches my arm while waving like a buffoon, then drags me the rest of the way up the stairs to the Beta Phi Alpha sorority. The house is lit up like a Christmas tree. Girls dressed to the nines flood the lawn and stairs, surrounded by what seems like every male who attends this school. I tug at the dress again, feeling super insecure with my outfit. Thankfully, I have a hoodie stashed inside my purse I plan on throwing over this nonsense dress—if you can call it that.