Too formal.
Too much boob.
Not enough boob.
I pull on a cropped sweater, hoping the sleeves will distract from everything else, but the moment I catch my reflection, I yank it off. It clings to my stomach in a way that makes my skin crawl.
I try a sundress next. Soft cotton, pale yellow, sort of cute. But in the mirror I look like I’m trying to sneak into a middle school dance. I tug at the hem, frown, then sigh and peel it off again.
Jeans. Black top. Safe. Fine. Sort of sexy? I can’t tell anymore. I stare at my reflection and try to see what he’ll see.
Ugh.
God. What am I doing? It’s not even a real date. He’s just doing this to clear his guilt, because he kissed me when he shouldn’t have. Because he’s interested in someone else, and I just happened to be there.
Because I told him—awkwardly, painfully—that he was my first kiss. And he looked at me like I’d told him I’d never seen a fork before.
And now he’s picking me up in less than an hour, and I’m still standing in my underwear, my hair in a half-dry bun, mascara on only one eye, staring at my closet in panic, hating every single stitch of clothing that lands on my body.
I could just cancel.
Or fake a stomach flu.
Or crawl under the bed and die quietly with what little dignity I have left.
My stomach churns as I dig my thumbs into the waistband of my sweatpants and sigh.
Then I grab my phone, and text the only two girls I vaguely know.
Me:
Hey. Weird question. If you had to pick something to wear on a date with a guy, what would you wear?
The second I hit send, I regret it. My finger hovers over the unsend button, my brain screaming at me to abort.
But before I can react, Isabella replies.
Isabella:
What dorm are you in? We’re on our way.
My stomach drops.
Me:
No, it’s fine I didn’t mean for you to come over, I was just asking for some advice.
I let out a breath when they don’t reply, and quickly tug my sweatshirt on.
There’s a knock on my dorm door less than five minutes later. I head to the door, and when I open it, Aurora marches into my dorm without a second glance. Isabella follows behind her, carrying a small tote bag.
I blink at them. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”
I’m not used to girls showing up.
I didn’t know how much I wanted it.
“You asked. We delivered.” Aurora flops down onto my bed, eyeing the crime scene of clothes beside her. “Let’s see the damage.”
