“It’s kind of strange looking,” I say, but I undo a few buttons so Gretchen can see the binder. My stomach flips, which is stupid. There’s no reason I should be nervous.
“Cool.” Gretchen runs a palm down the middle of my now mostly-flat chest. The binder just looks like an undershirt, but it’s supertight and not exactly comfortable.
It feels weird, having that extra layer, but not that weird. In some ways, it actually feels kind of awesomely normal. Especially with Gretchen touching me like that.
“You look so different,” Gretchen says. “Hey, your hair’s different, too.”
“Yeah, I got it cut the other week. I’m not spiking it the same way anymore.” I look down. Gretchen has on black flat shoes with buckles. “Are those the shoes you’re wearing?”
“Yeah. I wanted to wear my Birks, but Carroll wouldn’t allow it.” Gretchen laughs.
I frown. I’d thought Gretchen would be totally done up, with pointy heels to match. I’d been picturing how everyone would react to me and my sex-on-legs girlfriend when we walked into the guys’ room. “I’m surprised Carroll didn’t force you into some superhigh heels.”
“Oh, he tried, believe me.” Gretchen pauses. “What, you don’t like my shoes?”
“No, they’re fine. Either way, the guys will definitely be impressed when they see you.”
Gretchen laughs and puts on a purple witch hat. Even with the blond hair, witchy is a look that works for Gretchen. Of course, most looks work for Gretchen.
“Since when do you care what anyone thinks of how I look?” Gretchen asks.
“I’ve always cared. Remember in high school how I used to brag about how you were so much hotter than whoever Jess’s current girlfriend was?”
“I always thought you were joking.”
“I was, mostly, but...” I shrug. Come to think of it, I don’t remember if I was joking back then.
“So you really are that superficial?” Gretchen laughs again. Gretchen’s laughing a lot today. “You don’t need me to impress your friends. They already like you.”
“I know.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just go.”
“Are you really upset about my shoes?” Gretchen makes puppy-dog eyes. “Maybe I can borrow some others from your roommates. Or do we have time to go shopping? Is there a Payless in Harvard Yard?”
I laugh. “Yeah, right between Widener and Wigg.”
“Really?”
“No, but it doesn’t matter. I like your shoes. Very witchy.”
“Good.” Gretchen beams again. Just like that, we’re back to normal.
We’re already running late, but whatever. We still have time to make out some more.
Half an hour later, Inez, dressed as Princess Leia, opens the door to the guys’ room. The common area is packed. Besides my friends, there are some people I recognize from UBA meetings and some I’ve never seen at all.
“Toni! You look fantastic!” Inez smiles at me, then turns to Gretchen. “Oh, my God, this must be the famous girlfriend from NYU! I love your dress! Wow, Derek said you were gorgeous, but I had no idea!”
“Yep, this is Gretchen,” I say, beaming.
“You have to come in!” Inez grabs Gretchen by the hand before Gretchen can say hello. “Everyone has to see you! Right now! Everybody, this is Toni’s girlfriend, Gretchen, up from NYU!”
More than a dozen voices shout back as Inez leads Gretchen into the room. Gretchen waves. I push my way through the door after them so I can see everyone’s reactions.
All the guys shout “Hi,” and Nance and one or two of the others wolf-whistle. Gretchen laughs some more. Clearly I overestimated the importance of high heels.
Then, before I’ve even seen Derek, much less introduced them, Derek has come up to us, grabbed Gretchen by the elbow, steered my girlfriend into a corner of the room and started an in-depth conversation about Gabriel García Márquez.
Seriously. That just happened.
It’s been three seconds since I entered a party with my girlfriend for the first time in my college life and I’m already on my own, just like always.
God. English majors.
I talk to Nance and Inez and their friends for a while before I run out of patience and march into Gretchen and Derek’s corner. Derek is dressed as Mark Twain, in a white suit and wig with fake eyebrows and a fake white mustache. It’s disturbing.
“Hey,” I say. “Are you two starting your own final club back here or what?”
“No, we’re just telling embarrassing stories about you,” Derek says.
Gretchen squeezes my hand and kisses me on the cheek. My annoyance fades, but my chest feels tight. I can’t tell if it’s the binder or my nerves.
“I like Derek,” Gretchen says. “It makes me feel better having you all the way up here if I know Derek’s around to watch out for you.”
“What am I, a puppy?” I ask.
“No, I know what she means,” Derek says, smiling. “By the way, T, I like Gretchen, too.”
Gretchen smiles.