Misadventures of a College Girl (Misadventures #9)(3)

I sigh with relief. “God, I love talking to you about this,” I admit. “I’ve never talked to anyone about this stuff before.”

“Not even your mom? I mean, not in detail, but just, you know…the basics?”

I don’t normally talk about my late mother right off the bat with new people. But the look of pure kindness on Clarissa’s face makes me want to bare my soul to her without holding back. “My mom died in a car accident when I was two,” I say softly.

Clarissa looks stricken. “I’m so sorry, Zooey.”

“Thank you. It’s sucked growing up without a mom, but my dad’s done a great job. He’s way too protective of me for my taste, but he’s always been really sweet.”

“I’m surprised your dad let you go to school so far from home if he’s so protective.”

“He wanted me to go to the University of Nebraska. He played football there. Actually, my lifelong dream was to go to NYU, but I didn’t get in. Which is crazy, by the way. It’s supposed to be way harder to get in here. But go figure.”

“It’s such a crapshoot. If it weren’t for water polo, I doubt I would have gotten in here.”

“Who knows? So, anyway, when I got accepted here with a partial scholarship, my dad couldn’t say no to an opportunity like that, even though I’m sure he was totally freaking out.”

Clarissa comes to sit on my bed and hugs me. “I’m so glad we got assigned as roommates, Zooey. I was nervous I’d get someone lame, and it turns out I got my future best friend.” She pulls away from our embrace. “Hey, you want to go to our first college party tonight? You never know—you might find yourself a talented douchebag to kiss.”

“Let’s do it,” I say. “What party?”

“This morning at the bookstore, this sweet guy told me about a party being thrown by a bunch of football players. It’s perfect. Football players are notorious for being womanizers. Maybe one of them will catch your eye and turn out to be a fantastic kisser and…who knows where that might lead?”

“You don’t think a bunch of football players would be annoyed if two random freshmen crashed their party?”

“Ha! Zooey, freshmen girls can’t crash a party, even if we wanted to—we’re always implicitly invited.” She snorts. “But, regardless, the guy from the bookstore expressly invited me, and he’s the quarterback’s tutor.”

“Sounds great,” I say. “But fair warning, flirting with a bunch of football players is going to be way outside my comfort zone. I’m not naturally outgoing like you.”

“But you’re a theater major.”

“It makes no sense, I know. Put me in a costume and give me a script and I’m fearless—ask me to be myself with new people, and I take some time to warm up.”

“Well, then, we’ll just have to put you in a costume and give you a script. Easy peasy.” She looks me up and down. “Speaking of costumes, honey, this whole ‘small-town virgin’ thing you’ve got going on definitely doesn’t scream ‘I’m a hot vixen looking for a meaningless hook-up!’ If you want to attract a guy like that basketball player douchebag of mine from high school, you’ll probably want to tamp down the ‘I’m your future wife!’ vibe.”

We both laugh.

“You’re beautiful, Zooey,” Clarissa says, her tone sincere. “A natural beauty. But for your stated mission, I’d suggest you lead with your sexuality a bit more.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to begin to do that.”

“I’d be happy to help you, if you’d like. A head-to-toe makeover and you’ll get the attention of every football player at the party tonight, no doubt.”

I bite my lip, considering.

“No pressure, of course,” Clarissa adds quickly. “I’m only offering because you said it’s what you want to do. But it’s your V card. Your body. I don’t have a horse in this race. All I’m saying is if this is what you want, then I’ll help you.”

“Oh, I want to do it,” I say firmly, and it’s the truth. “One hundred percent. I’ve felt like a horny prisoner in a cage for the past year, and I’m ready to break out, baby.”

Clarissa guffaws.

“Do whatever you want to me, Mr. Miyagi,” I declare, nodding emphatically. “I’m your Karate Kid.”

“Okey dokey.” Clarissa looks at her watch. “Oh. We’d better get moving. We’ve only got about four hours before the party, and there’s tons I’ve got to do to you.”

“You’ve got four hours’ worth of stuff to do to me? What on earth could possibly take so long?”

“Wax on, wax off.” She snickers. “In your case, literally.”

I grimace. “You sure that’s necessary? I’ve heard waxing is painful for first-timers.”

“Oh, it is.” She smiles sweetly. “It’s brutal. So I suggest you take a couple ibuprofen before we get started.” She indicates my thick, curly hair. “If your carpet matches your drapes at all, this isn’t going to be pleasant for you.”





Chapter Two





Hip-hop is blaring so loudly in this living room, my molars, eyeballs, and ovaries all feel like they’re thumping in time with the bass-heavy beat. A thick blanket of smoke hangs in the air, refracting colored beams of light shooting across a makeshift dance floor. And people, people, people—almost all of them holding red Solo cups or beer bottles—are packed into every nook and cranny of the cramped space. In other words, I’ve found heaven on earth.