The Locker Room(8)

“He’s really cute. Has that whole hair-flip thing going on and amazing blue eyes. I don’t mind being his Mrs. Robinson.”

“Jesus,” Dottie mutters.

“But you two will go with me? It’s jungle theme this weekend.”

“What does that even mean?” I ask, frankly a little terrified there’s a party at their loft every weekend, with themes nonetheless.

“It means we get to dress up as slutty animals. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Positively thrilling,” I answer sarcastically before shoving another forkful of chicken in my mouth.





I will admit this, the classes at Brentwood are a lot more challenging than back home. I’m in the library more often than not, sneaking in snacks whenever I get the chance.

I found a study room in the back with a door that no one seems to use, so whenever I’m here, I snag the space, roll out my snacks and water—even though they’re technically not allowed—and spend the rest of my night after my classes studying. I love Dottie and Lindsay, but I’m a little jealous because studying comes easier to them. They just get it. I have a little trouble retaining knowledge, so when we’re in the dorm together, they’re always chatting it up, not giving me a chance to crack open a book. I learned that from the first two nights after school started. Now I hang out in the library, joining them for dinner when I’m done.

It’s a good routine, a solid one. I still feel a little behind, but it’s only the first week, so I’ll catch up.

And that’s the reason I’m in the library right now, on a Saturday, writing notes into my notebook when Lindsay and Dottie come barging into my sanctuary.

“Good God.” I let out a deep sigh. “You scared the crap out of me.”

Both of them have their hands on their hips as they stare me down. “What are you still doing in the library?”

Their makeup’s done, hair’s curled, and even though they’re wearing sweats, I know there’s another outfit under their clothes from the jungle-looking makeup they have on.

“Studying.” I gesture to my books. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You need to be getting ready for the party tonight.”

“You know, I was thinking about that.” I lean back in my chair and bite on the tip of my pen. “I think I’m going to skip it tonight, maybe curl up with a book and get lost for a while.”

“No way,” Dottie says, slamming my book shut while Lindsay starts to pack up my things for me. “You’re not getting out of this party. We lost a lot of years together thanks to Neil the Nimrod, so we have some time to make up. You’re going to that party with us.”

“But—”

“Nope.” Lindsay shakes her head. “No excuses. You are going, you’re going to like it, you’re going to drink, you’re going to flirt, and then we’re going to Kennedy Fried Chicken after to eat a bucket of chicken. Do you hear me?” Lindsay is practically lifting me out of my chair as she speaks.

Bag in hand, both corralling me out of the room, I have no choice but to follow them. “You have two more years with us and then all of this is going to be over and we’re going to have to act like adults,” Dottie continues. “After we graduate, you can turn down the party invites, but until then, your Friday and Saturday nights belong to us with the occasional Sunday Funday and Taco Tuesday.”

“That’s four out of the seven nights in the week. At that rate, I’ll never graduate. Remember, unlike you two geniuses, I have to study.”

“Don’t worry.” Lindsay pats my arm. “We won’t let you fail. We might have fun but we also are on the Dean’s List for a reason. It’s the first week, Emory. We have plenty of time to make a dent in the books, and we will, but let’s enjoy being together again.”

Okay, when she says it like that . . . I guess she’s right.

We make our way back to the dorms. Since we’re juniors, we still had great choices available for what dorm we wanted to be in so of course we took a brand-new three-person suite. When Dottie and Lindsay were freshmen, they had to live in a two-person bedroom with a shared floor bathroom, so even though our place is small, they’ve reassured me we’re living in the lap of luxury.

Lindsay flings the door open and flops my stuff on the couch before she turns toward me and points to my room. “Your outfit awaits you.”

Oh boy, this can’t be good.

“What do you mean?”

“We can’t let our girl show up to the party without looking properly decked out,” Dottie says and slaps my ass. “Now hurry up. We need to pre-game at The Point first, eat some nachos, then head to the party.”

“The Point?” I ask, making my way into my room.

“The bar below the loft. Keep up.”

Another little shove into my room and my eyes focus on the scraps of fabric laid out on my bed. “You can’t be serious,” I call out.

“You have half an hour. Make it work,” Dottie calls out and shuts my door.

Great. Thirty minutes. How on earth will I make sure every part of my body is covered up?





Chapter Three





KNOX