Page 15 of Paper Doll

He gives me the middle finger, sulking away like the sad sap he is these days. The guy desperately needs a win to pull him out of the funk he’s been stuck in since his father’s epic fuck-up. Maybe this little game we’ve got planned for Ava is just whatheneeds, too.

Maybe it’s what we all do.

CHAPTER 7

AVA

My first dayof classes goes about as well as I expect. I’m late to almost every one, still struggling to navigate the layout of the campus, and I’m woefully behind in my coursework already. Surprisingly enough, the highlight of my day is running into Wes at the student union when I stop to grab a coffee. He invites me to a party tonight, and though I try to decline, the man refuses to take no for an answer. He cites our burgeoning ‘friendship’ as the reason my attendance is mandatory, and since I’m desperately in need of a friend, I reluctantly agree to meet him there.

Then drown in anxiety for the remainder of the day.

“Are you going to this thing at the boat house tonight?” I ask Richelle when I get back to our dorm room, hoping she’ll say yes because I don’t want to fly solo.

“Obvi,” she replies with an eye roll, as if I just asked the stupidest question on the planet. “The Kings may be horrible people, but they know how to throw a good party. Plus, skipping one would be social suicide. Everyone who’s anyone goes.”

Richelle isn’t the friendliest, but she’s all I’ve got at this point. So, I blow past her rudeness, searching for something we maybe able to bond over. Given the designer labels I’ve seen her sporting, I settle on clothes.

“Wanna help me figure out what to wear?” I ask cheerfully, stepping over to my closet and pulling the door open.

Richelle’s dark eyes spark with interest as she takes the bait, coming over to join me at my closet and peeking inside curiously. “Ew,” she comments, wrinkling her nose. “What’s with all the schoolgirl skirts?”

My cheeks heat. “It’s kinda my signature look.”

Her brows lift as she gives me a judgmental once-over. “Wow. The guys mustloveyou. You’re like a walking porno fantasy.”

I grimace, resenting her assumption. I don’t wear the skirts to attract male attention. I wear them because when I was a kid, I was obsessed with the movieClueless, and the first time I put one on I felt like Cher Horowitz in her yellow plaid, full of confidence and ready to conquer the world.

Too bad she fell for a stupid guy and forgot all about her own dreams.

“Right,” I chuckle uncomfortably, tucking my hair behind my ears. “So, is it more of a jeans occasion, then?”

She shakes her head, lip curling in disgust. “Oh no, dress to impress, girl.”

I stare at Richelle blankly, totally at a loss here. “So…”

She heaves a sigh, giving me a pitying look that just screams I’m a lost cause. “Alright, let’s start from the ground up, shall we?” she asks, her expression shifting to one of determination as she steps over to my dresser and pulls open my top drawer.

My roommate’s eyes nearly bug out of her head when she takes in the horde of lace and silk inside. “Holyshit, this is a lot of lingerie,” she remarks, incredulous eyes pinging between me and the overstuffed drawer.

“Yeah, uh, my mom’s a big fan,” I reply, chuckling uncomfortably. “It’s kinda her thing. She made a big deal about taking me shopping for underwear on my fifteenth birthday, and now it’s a birthday tradition, underwear shopping spree.”

“Weird,” Richelle says, making a face.

A wave of defensiveness courses through me at her judgment.

Yeah, it’s weird. I can admit that. But my mom has always preached about how women should own their sexuality and feel beautiful and empowered in their own skin. Sure, her profession may have played a role in that, but she tried her best to connect with me and I love her for it, even if I prefer a simple pair of cotton briefs over the frilly stuff.

I decide to skip telling Richelle that for my sixteenth birthday, my mom took me to get a birth control implant in my arm–because you can never be too prepared, right?

My roommate fishes around in my drawer, awkwardly picking through my undergarments until she selects a matching set in black lace, handing them over to me. “Let’s keep it simple. Have you got a classic LBD?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Huh?”

“Little black dress,” she rattles off, as if that acronym should be common knowledge. “Jeez, were you homeschooled or something?”

“Actually, yeah…”

Her brows shoot up. “Seriously?! Okay,wow. That explains a lot.”