Finding Amity

Chapter 3

"You must be Amity. Cool name." My roommate uttered as she closed the door and stripped off her jeans. I turned around to give her some privacy. "You can turn back around, I don't mind."

I sat on my bed facing her as she pulled on black cargo pants with chains hanging all over them. She ripped off her shirt and bra before I could close my eyes, revealing two more piercings, her confidence terrifying me.

"I'm Pippa. Please don't think I'm lame because of the outfit I was wearing before." She demanded as she pulled on a neon green bandeau. "I was living with my grandparents over the summer, if I showed up in this their frail Catholic hearts would explode."

"Oh, I don't think you're lame." I assured her.

"I don't think you're lame either, Amity." She smiled. I glanced down at my t-shirt, denim skirt, and white converse. If I was her I'd think I'm lame.

"So..." I started, not sure where to go. "Do you know what you're majoring in?"

"Well, I am in my second year so I'd better know by now." She chuckled. "I'm studying womens, gender, and sexuality studies."

"Cool!" I enthused, maybe a little too excited. At my high school I felt like I was constantly being surrounded by insane ideals of women. My only friend throughout senior year was constantly telling me "no boys going to like you if you keep dressing like that". At least I knew I wasn't going to get those comments from Pippa. "But why are you in the freshman dorm if you're in second year?"

"You see my art work?" She asked, gesturing to the clutter of stickers over her furniture. "I did it last year, and as a punishment I am stuck in this dorm until I graduate." She explained before changing the subject. "What are you studying?"

"Neuroscience."

"Shit, really?" She gaped. "So you're, like, SMART smart."

"No, not really." I downplayed. Neuroscience wasn't that advanced of a major. It just sounded impressive.

"High school GPA?"

"4.2."

She laughed. "No offence," Pippa started. "But why are you going here and not like an Ivy League?"

The answer was easy. I was accepted to Stanford and a couple other top-notch universities on the West Coast, but I couldn't find it in me to accept. I just felt like they were looking at my family history instead of my grades. So I settled on a school I would have gotten into even if I wasn't a poor little orphan girl.

"I didn't get into any of them." I lied. I desperately wanted my college life to not include explanations of what its like to lose your family, and I definitely couldn't deal with the pity invites and sad smiles.

I continued to fix up my things, reorganising and rearranging my belongings just to have something to do. Meanwhile, Pippa had pulled out a makeup bag and was painting her face with black eyeshadow.

"You got plans for tonight?" She asked. I shook my head. I didn't know anyone here and wasn't exactly comfortable being out in the world and alone at night. "My friends are going to a frat party, you can come if you want."

I desperately wanted to profusely decline, parties being one of the most anxiety-inducing situations I could think of. However, Cooper's voice spoke in my mind. "Try new things." He'd said.

Pippa seemed to sense my fears, and piped up. "I don't like frat guys either, but it's kind of a tradition. If you go, you'll be hanging with my friends and they are far from the frat type!" She laughed.

"Sure?" I answered, the word coming out as more of a question. I looked down at what I was wearing, my self-consciousness taking over. "What would you say is... appropriate party attire?"

"You've never been to a party?" She asked, not an ounce of judgement in her voice. To think I started today judging her vandal-tendencies. She was nothing like the girls back at Avondale. "I'll help you pick out an outfit!" An image of me wearing heavy chains and neon clothing popped into my brain.

"I don't think I can pull off your style." I admitted sheepishly.

"First of all," She started, standing up from he desk. "You would look hot as fuck in this fit." She gestured to her outfit. "Second of all, I'll cater it to your style."

"My style?" I questioned. I'd never considered myself to have a "style".

"Yeah, kind of like innocent, low key punk thing."

I guess I could see her point. My shirt had a punk band on it and my skirt almost reached to my knees, but I'd never considered it as anything more than a comfy tee and a flattering skirt.

Pippa picked out a pale blue floral dress and a grey cardigan, insisting I pair them with a pair of black lace-up boots of hers and a pair of fishnet bike shorts. Other than the undershorts, the outfit was to my liking and I looked nice in it. But my eyes couldn't help from drifting down to the shorts. Something about fishnets seemed kind of... sexy? I don't know what it was, but I didn't feel comfortable in them, so I swapped them for some sheer stockings.

A knock came from the door, followed by a small credit card poking through the crack between the door and its frame, jiggling past the doorknob, managing to undo the lock. The door swung open as three people filed into the room.

The first was a guy wearing a hoodie, ripped jeans, and sneakers, all black. He ripped the hood off his head and smiled at me. "Hi, I'm Cruise." He seemed the most confident of the bunch, his posture making him seem even taller than he was, which is VERY tall.

"This is Harry." He gestured to a guy with long brown hair reaching down to his chest wearing a grey knitted shirt and brown cargo shorts. He reeked of weed and ... strawberries?

"And this is Marley." A small girl with a brown pixie cut walked out from behind Harry. She had bright pink blush on her cheeks and over her nose and had a tiny heart drawn in black eyeliner on the centre of each of her cheeks. Her outfit is what stood out the most. She wore a pastel purple coloured skirt, a pink sweater with a white collar poking over it, thigh high white socks and sparkly pink sneakers. She was actually the one who smelt like strawberries.

"Hey, nice to meet you." I smiled. They were not what I was expecting Pippa's friends to be. Marley, in fact, was exactly the opposite of what I'd expected. "My name is Amity."