“It’s okay,” Carol said. “I’m not judging. I just figured, with it this hot, you must have a reason for wanting to dress like that.”
“Like what?” A lesbian? A tomboy? She turned to look over her shoulder at Carol, only to find her standing a couple of feet away, peering into her half of the closet in consideration.
Carol shrugged. “Like someone who likes to wear sleeves.”
Hesitating, Jo rubbed at her shoulder.
The thing was, Carol wasn’t wrong. Jo’s stomach dropped, remembering the time her father had taken her to the university that once. She’d been in ninth grade, and her rebellion of the week had been frilly tank tops and short shorts. She’d walked through the halls, past the other professors’ offices, and she’d felt the same way she did now.
Naked. Frivolous. Like she didn’t belong.
She’d done a complete one-eighty over the course of the next year. The harder her look, the boxier and more manly, the easier it had been to edge her way into the heavy engineering projects on the Science Olympiad team. The more the guys in the AP Chemistry class had let her into their fold.
She still wasn’t afraid of wearing a corset top out to a bar, but never with the people from her department. Never with anyone she’d have to interact with professionally the next day.
“Shoulders,” she admitted quietly. That had seemed to be the line.
Carol nodded. She reached into the closet to grab Jo’s towel off the hook. Before Jo could ask, she pushed the terry cloth into Jo’s hands. “Go. Shower or clean up or whatever. I’ll pick out something for you for tonight.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Of course I don’t. But I want to.” She cast a quick glance Jo’s way. “Girls help other girls out. And I figured with Adam taking off and all… maybe you’d want to look a little extra nice.”
Carol had clearly chosen her words carefully. Nothing in it to insinuate that Jo didn’t look nice in general—although Jo would be the first to say she didn’t. The only implication was the one about her and Adam, and…
And it wasn’t as if Jo could really deny it. Not after the way they’d acted on the trip to the rain forest.
She took the towel and swallowed hard. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Grabbing her toiletry case, Jo turned and made her way out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom, which was blessedly empty. She seemed to be on a roll with not being too much of a bitch today, so she called out, “Anybody mind if I get in the shower?”
Nobody spoke up, so Jo stepped inside and locked the door behind her. She stripped, unlacing her boots and piling her clothes atop them before starting the water, keeping it lukewarm. The spray felt good on her overheated skin as she stepped in, the soap that followed even better. Rinsing off, she turned the temperature as cold as it went and braced her hands against the tile as she let it wash over her.
Her nipples hardened, making the barbell running through the left one stand out all the more. She gave it a little tweak between her forefinger and thumb and felt it in her cunt, squeezing her eyes shut and twisting her neck to the side to suck in a greedy lungful of air through her mouth. She dropped her hand away from her flesh. Opened her eyes to cast a glance down her frame.
She’d never really given a good goddamn about what men might think of the things she’d done to her body, the metal and ink she’d put there to make it feel like her own. But it was hard not to wonder how Adam might react. So many of her assumptions about him had been wrong, but he still gave off such a vanilla vibe. If he saw her like this, would he be aroused or repulsed?
She rolled her eyes at herself as she turned off the water. The boy had seen her neck and her face, and he hadn’t run yet. The rest of it couldn’t come as too much of a surprise.
She really, really hoped he’d be aroused.
The heat in the air crept back in as she dried herself off, humidity making a mist cling to the medicine cabinet mirror. She swiped at the surface until she could see her own reflection. Flushed skin and big, dark eyes and hair dripping into her face.
She dug into her bag for her hair goop and scooped some out with her fingers. She combed it through the wet strands, then pushed the ends behind her ears. Tilting her head to one side and then the other, she looked deeper. Something in her chest thrummed.
There probably wasn’t much point to this. She burrowed deeper into her kit all the same, until she got her hands around the little pack she’d buried in there without exactly knowing why. Makeup wasn’t part of her usual routine, and all she really knew how to do with it was get ready for a club—or Halloween, not that there was much difference between the two in how she dressed. She could do this, though. Look normal. A little extra nice, just in case.
Wiping the mirror down whenever it got too fogged up for her to see, she dabbed concealer under her eyes and blended in foundation. A tiny bit of eyeliner and lip gloss.
When she stepped back to get the full effect, her shoulders fell. She looked ridiculous. Not strong and powerful the way she did with crimson lips and smoldering eyes. Not normal like she did with nothing at all. She felt like a doll. And now Carol was going to play dress-up with her.
What was she doing?
Resisting the urge to just wash it all off, she wrapped her towel around her chest and zipped her bag, hauling it along with her as she stormed to her room. If Carol tried to put her in a dress, she’d just say no. Wear the same plain shit she wore every day, and if anybody didn’t like it, they could kiss her ass.
At her and Carol’s door, Jo stopped. Carol was sitting on her own bed again, her earbuds in, her attention seemingly on whatever she was reading, but her posture was too stiff. She was waiting. Steeling herself for the worst, Jo turned to her own bed, and…
And it really wasn’t so bad.
It was her own damn skirt—the only one she’d brought. Knee length and army green with about a million pockets. And laid with it, one of Carol’s tops. It was black, thank God, with short sleeves. A little flowy and gauzy, but over one of Jo’s typical undershirts, it’d be okay.
“Just a suggestion,” Carol said.
Jo’s throat didn’t quite know how to work. She flexed her jaw. “Thanks,” she managed.
“You’re welcome. I have some jewelry, too, if you want.”
“Nah.” She stepped closer to touch the fabric of the shirt. It was soft. “I have my own.”
She kept her back to Carol as she dressed, tugging on her underwear before dropping the towel and strapping on one of her few bras that was meant for more than keeping her boobs from bouncing and her piercing from showing. She dressed without thinking too hard about what she was doing, only noticing once she was done that Carol’d left out some sandals, too. They were strappy and black with a barely there heel. Jo stared at them for a long minute.
“You’d be a hell of a lot cooler.”
Carol wasn’t wrong. Jo stepped into them. They were a little snug, but not too bad. Before turning to face the mirror attached to the back of their door, she opened the bottom drawer of her dresser, shoving aside the rest of the stuff she’d stowed in there until she came up with the silk change purse. She only owned two necklaces, and one of them was a black studded choker. The other, though, was a delicate silver chain with a small oval locket.
Taking care not to twist the links, she extricated it. Brought it up to her throat and fastened the clasp at the nape of her neck. The metal sat cool against the space between her collarbones, and she ran her thumb over the locket’s hinge before squeezing it once.
Before she stood and turned around, she pulled in a long, slow breath. Then she opened her eyes and looked.
And there in the mirror was… her. Only a little extra nice. A little more skin.
A few more memories pressed against the center of her ribs.
Adam gave his things one final check. Five shirts, five pairs of socks and underwear. Five days home in the continental United States, and two of them with Shannon. Maybe.