And I promised myself that if I got my Lawn Room, I'd go to a party. A real college party. The kind Miriam and Allison roll their eyes at as they wonder how many brain cells its attendees are killing by the second. This crew party is the perfect opportunity. I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but it remains a possibility that I might actually get to talk to Nate Thornhill tonight.
Just the thought of his name is enough to send tingles down my spine, though I know the real-life man could probably never live up to the fantasy I've built up in my mind. I still remember the first time I saw him, walking across campus the second weekend of fall semester of freshman year. I would’ve bet my life then that he was a senior. Compared to the boys I had just left behind in high school, he was already a full-grown man. He wore a navy blue polo like it was a second skin as he strode across the grass, Jefferson's Palladian architecture spread out behind him like it was built as a set for a movie he was starring in. He wore his wavy brown hair on the long side, and pushed back to keep it out of his dark blue eyes. His nose was perfectly straight and ended over a pair of soft, full lips and a chin with an actual dimple in it. If it were possible for Ryan Gosling and a Kennedy to have a baby, the result would be Nate Thornhill.
I later learned that he was a double major like me, and since one of mine is Political Science and one of his is History, we overlapped in a few of our core courses. I expected him to sit in the back with the rest of the jocks but he was always in the front row, quick to raise his hand with intelligent answers. I always hide right in the center of the halls; my shyness overwhelms me in those big lecture classes. I’ve never got up the courage to actually talk to him, and besides, he always has a different girl on his arm. With his looks, money, and being a star of both the lacrosse and crew teams, he draws women in like a magnet.
But tonight? Tonight I have promised myself that if he's at the party, I am going to introduce myself.
I shoot off a quick text to Cara, my new friend from class, to confirm that I'll join her tonight, and then turn to my closet. I really only have one option to wear tonight: a simple, slinky black camisole with a lace inlay that I bought at the mall in spite of Miriam and Allison's naysaying. I didn't know what I was buying it for then, but it's the kind of shirt I've seen other girls wearing to parties. I slip on jeans and a pair of heels that are probably a little low to be cool, but they'll have to do. It's not like I have extra money to be adding to my wardrobe.
I take out the drug store makeup that I bought and sit at my desk. I never usually wear anything but Chapstick, but I watched some YouTube tutorials and feel confident I can mimic some of the techniques. With a compact mirror, I carefully put on a little concealer, blush, brown eye shadow, and black mascara. I bought an eyeliner, but I don't use it. I think it's a little beyond my skills. With a swipe of some sparkly lip gloss, I'm done.
I close the closet door and study myself in the full-length mirror. With a start, I recognize myself in the reflection. I turn my face side to side, searching for all its imperfections. With a little makeup on, my resemblance to my mom is more pronounced. Everyone always says she is beautiful, so maybe it’s possible that I might be pretty, too. The shirt is more low-cut than I remembered, and I touch my breasts self-consciously. I get my large C-cups from my mom also, but I've always kept them covered up. I see how men get distracted by them, like they're some tractor beam pulling them in.
One more quick glance to check my mascara application, and I nod at myself, satisfied. It's been a long time coming, but I think I'm finally ready to party.
CHAPTER TWO
The spring night air is warm on my face as I walk across campus to meet Cara and her friends. I pass other students heading out for the night and feel happy to count myself among them. I go over my rules for myself as I near the crew house, which is just across the street from campus. No more than three drinks. No talking about classes. No weirdness around Nate Thornhill.
“Brynn!” Cara yells from the opposite sidewalk. I wave as I head over. “I can't believe you got a Lawn Room! That's amazing!” I lean over to give her a hug. She's an effortlessly cool, petite brunette—the kind of girl that everyone considers to be their friend.
“Thanks!”
“Holy shit! You got a Lawn Room? Are you, like, a genius or something?” her friend Rachel asks, her jaw dropping.
“I wish! Then all those papers would have taken me way less time to write,” I reply with a laugh.
“Cara says you've never been to a crew party?” Marie, the knockout of the group, asks.
“Nope…just never made my way over here I guess,” I reply, downplaying the situation.