Chapter 5.

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I'm thankful when Harry leaves so Steph and I can discuss the party, I need more details to ease my nerves.

"Where is the party? Is it within walking distance?" I ask her as I align my books on the shelf into alphabetical order. It's a habit.

"It's technically a frat party, at one of the biggest frat houses here," her mouth is wide open as she layers more mascara onto her lashes, "it's right off campus so we won't be walking but Niall will pick us up,"

I'm grateful it won't be Harry, even though I know he will be there somehow riding with him seems unbearable. Why is he so rude? If anything he should be grateful that I am not judging him for the way he has destroyed his body with holes and tattoos. Maybe I am judging him a little, but not to his face at least. It is just that I was raised in a home where tattoos and piercings are not expectable, I always had to have my hair combed, my eyebrows plucked, and my clothes clean and ironed. It is just the way it is.

"Did you hear me?" Steph a says and laughs.

"Sorry.. what?" I hadn't realized my mind has wandered.

"I said lets get ready, you can help me pick my outfit." she says. The dresses she picks out are so inappropriate that I keep looking around for a hidden camera and someone to jump out and tell me it is a joke, I cringe at each one and she laughs, obviously finding my disgust humorous. The dress, no, piece a scrap material.. she chooses is a black dress made out of what looks like fishnet with her red bra showing through, at least the bottom is solid but I get the feeling she would wear it even if it wasn't. The dress barely reaches the tops of her thighs and the heels of her shoes are at least four inches. Her flaming red hair is pulled into a wild bun with curls escaping all over and she has more eyeliner on than ever.

"Did your tattoos hurt?" I ask her as I pull out my maroon dress. 

"The first one sort of did, but not as bad as you would think. It's almost like a bee stinging you over and over," she shrugs. Ouch, that sounds very unpleasant.

"That sounds terrible," I tell her and she laughs. It occurs to me that she probably finds me as strange as I find her. It's oddly comforting.

"You're not really wearing that are you?" She gapes at my dress.

My hand slides over the fabric, this is my nicest dress and I didn't bring many clothes with me. Since I skipped on going to the store today, I will have to find time this week. I need to pencil that in before I forget.

"What is wrong with my dress?"

I try to hide how offended I am. The maroon material is soft but sturdy, the same material business suits are made of. The collar goes up to my neck and the sleeves are three quarter length, reaching just under my elbows.

"Nothing.. it's just so.. long?" she says.

"It is barely below my knee," I defend my favorite dress.

"It's pretty, I just think it's a little too heavy for a party, you could borrow something of mine?" She offers and I laugh.

"No thanks, I am fine wearing this." I tell her and plug in my curling iron.

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