Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“So, where are you from?”
Emmy shuffles along behind me. “Texas.”
“Long way from home.” I can’t imagine being that far away from home. “Won’t you miss your family?”
She hesitates. “I’ll manage.”
Gah! Shy or not, this girl’s a total badass! “You’re stronger than me. I’ve lived here in Central Valley for my entire life. My parents literally live like five minutes away.”
Emmy’s nose scrunches. “Then why are you living on campus?”
I laugh and call the elevator. “Wanted the full college experience. These are supposed to be the best years of our lives, right?”
“That’s what they say,” Emmy replies dryly.
A fuzzy feeling rushes through me as I push the button for the ground floor. It’s like my blood is suddenly carbonated in my veins, popping and fizzing as it flows through me.
It’s almost like fate put us in each other’s paths. I believe that with all my heart; don’t ask why, I just do.
I smile at Emmy as the elevator doors open. She doesn’t know it yet, but we’re going to be best friends.
Chapter Twelve
Stella
I can’t believe I survived my first official week as a college student. It seems like I’ve been counting down to this my whole life, and now that I’m living it, it almost feels like a dream.
Even crazier, I’m about to attend my first ever college party—with Emmy, no less. I was half worried she’d back out, and really, I wouldn’t have blamed her, especially after the week she’s had.
She fled to Georgia all the way from Texas to escape the horrors of her past, only to find out they followed her here.
She’s definitely had a tough go of things. But secretly, I’m really glad she’s here with me.
And, if I’m being honest, I think she could really benefit from letting loose a little.
“Okay, ladies, a few guidelines before we head over,” Melanie’s voice rings through the air, sending a new wave of excitement through me There’s just something in the air that says tonight’s going to be epic.
“Your roommate is your buddy,” our overprotective RA continues. “Stick together at all times. I mean it. Gotta pee? Go together. Gotta puke? Go together. Found a hottie you want to hook up with? Well, maybe don’t bring a friend, then, unless that’s your thing.”
I wrinkle my nose. To each their own and all, but for someone who hasn’t even punched their V-card, a threesome is definitely not on the table.
“I’m technically supposed to tell y’all not to drink, but I’m not an idiot. So, while I am heavily suggesting that you not, keep these tidbits in mind if you do. Do not accept a drink from a stranger. If possible, make your own. Do not be the drunkest person at the party. Do not fall asleep at the party. And most importantly, beer before liquor, never been sicker—that saying exists for a reason, ladies.”
She fluffs her hair and turns toward the elevator. “Oh, and, ladies, have fun!”
The walk to the Delta Psi house is a short one, but the sounds of the party reach us long before we can see it.
My heart thunders in time with the bass and a fine sheen of sweat covers my skin. This is really it—I’m really about to experience my first ever party.
I’ve decided Orion’s doesn’t count since I was there for less than thirty minutes thanks to Samson.
I nudge Emmy with my elbow as we walk up the front porch steps, hoping to ease her nerves. “This is my first party. I wasn’t ever allowed to go to any in high school!”
At the door, we’re each given a red plastic cup. “No cup, no drinks—got it?”
We both nod and venture inside.
The house is packed. Beyond packed. There are people everywhere and I love it.
“Drinks or dancing?” I ask Emmy, ready to jump into this pool of debauchery with both feet.
“Dancing ple—”
The words aren’t fully out of her mouth before I’m dragging her onto the makeshift dance floor.
As soon as we find a spot, the song changes. It’s not one I know, but the beat is fast and I move my hips like I’m trying to give Shakira a run for her money.
Emmy, not surprisingly, is a little—okay, a lot—more reserved in her moves, swaying and bobbing her head in time.
But I’m not having it. Dancing is cathartic and if anyone could use a release, it’s her. So, I wrap an arm around her tiny waist and pull her body flush with mine.
Together, we dance, twirl, shimmy, and shake, and by the end of the song, we’re both riding the endorphin rush.
“You’ve got moves!” My voice is teasing, but at the same time, I want to know more.
“I used to love to dance,” she admits.
“What made you stop?”
The track changes. “I love this song!” she squeals, rolling her hips—a clear deflection.
“Me too!” I shout, letting her off the hook.