Page 256 of Small Town Firsts

She huffs and grabs a flannel shirt from my closet. “Here, wear this, too.”

“And boots?” I ask, sliding my arms into the sleeves of the oversized button-down.

“Fine.”

Between my lace-up boots and the flannel, I feel a little more like myself. “What time are we heading over?”

Stella checks the time on her phone. “Now!”

We each grab our ID badges and step out into the hall. Melanie is already there, along with the other girls on our floor.

“Okay, ladies, a few guidelines before we head over. Your roommate is your buddy. 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.”

She winks before continuing, completely clueless to her contradicting and dangerous advice. “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.”

Melanie begins walking toward the elevator. “Oh, and, ladies, have fun!”

Most of the girls break into excited chatter, but I’m a big ball of nerves. I haven’t been to a party since my junior year of high school. I went from being the life of the party to a social pariah almost overnight.

The thought of attending one now has me feeling a little queasy and a lot keyed up. My only saving grace is that asidefrom a handful of girls from the dorm, I won’t know anyone. And more importantly, they won’t know me.

There’s a bite to the night air, but the walk to the Delta Psi house passes quickly—probably because we’re all underdressed for the weather.

The sound of thumping bass hits half a block before the frat house comes into sight. The music is cranked up so loud it nearly shakes the ground beneath our feet.

Anticipation rockets through me.Just breathe, Emmy. You’ve got this.

By the time the house comes into view, the sounds of laughter and yelling can be heard over the music, but just barely.

People spill out onto the lawn, some drunk, some dancing, all having a good time.

Stella nudges me with her elbow, and I look over to see her grinning like a fool. “This is my first party,” she confesses. “I wasn’t ever allowed to go to any in high school!”

She sounds downright giddy. Her enthusiasm is contagious, though, and before I know it, I find myself smiling back at her.

We’re each given a red Solo cup at the door and instructed not to lose it. Inside, there are more people than I ever thought possible. It feels like the entire campus has to be in attendance.

“Drinks or dancing?” Stella asks, as eager as a puppy.

I don’t drink. Ever. So, dancing is an easy answer.

She doesn’t think twice about my preference and happily drags me out to the dance floor—a.k.a. a section of the living room where all of the furniture has been shoved against the walls.

The song changes to something fast with a heavy bassline. I feel self-conscious at first, only gently rocking my hips in time with the beat. But Stella dances like she’s auditioning for a job at a strip club. She swings her hips and shakes her ass like her life depends on her getting the job.

Seemingly fed up with my mild moves, Stella wraps an arm around my waist and pulls my body in close to hers. She locks our hands together and twirls herself in a wide arc.

We’re both laughing and grooving by the time the song ends.

“You’ve got moves,” she accuses.

“I used to love to dance.”

“What made you stop?”

“I love this song!” I cry, rolling my body to the beat, hoping it will distract her from questioning me further.

“Me, too!” She begins twerking, not caring for a single second that she’s horrible at it.

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