A quick look at her work and she tapped a few things, presumably posting to one of her accounts.
Chloe was an influencer. And apparently a fairly successful one. I hadn’t paid much attention to that sort of stuff, even before the past year, but Emily said that Chloe’s follower numbers were pretty impressive “for, you know, a nobody.”
Seeing me watching her, Chloe said, “You know, Megan, you still need to sign your NDA and waiver. It’s harder for me knowing that you haven’t signed them yet. I need to do more editing and stuff.”
“Yeah, sorry. It hasn’t been a priority,” I said. I waved my arm around the suite, trying to encompass all the chaos and upheaval of moving in week of college.
Although it didn’t encompass the mood I was going for because Chloe and Abigail had quickly turned their shared bedroom into an organized showplace.
Presumably for filming purposes.
“Not a priority foryou,” Chloe said, then gave me a pointed look.
“I’ll look them over tonight when we get home,” I said. It seemed to placate Chloe enough.
Abigail grabbed her purse from her bed, a small crossbody, bejeweled phone case that held almost nothing else, and led the three of us out the door of their bedroom and the suite.
We took an Uber because the party was at a house off campus. Once we arrived, it was a little embarrassing because the house was literally twenty yards off campus and not far at all from our dorm. Even in our high-as-you-can-get-without-keeling-over heels, it would have been an easy five-minute walk.
As we got out of the car and approached the house, we did our last-minute checks on ourselves and each other. I thought my dress was short, but Chloe’s was at least an inch shorter, and a lot tighter. It also had tiny straps, but instead of solid black, it was a fun floral print in dark plums and mauves. She wore her white-blond hair down, straightened, and only a bold red lipstick.
She would be beautiful with no adornment, but the simple combination she’d done tonight was striking. No wonder she was killing it on social media.
Abigail was adorable. There was no other word for it. Shorter, petite. Her dress was a baby-doll style in light blue with an empire waist and billowing skirt that just skimmed the tops of her knees. She hadn’t chosen to straighten her hair when Chloe and I had, and her ginger curls were tumbling down her back, her pale skin peeking through the mass of hair when she moved. Her makeup was muted, in natural tones, as if not even there, though I knew it had taken her just as long to get ready as it had Chloe and me.
She was a pixie sprite come to life.
It wouldn’t have surprised me if she pulled out a wand from behind her back and granted us all wishes.
And I knew what my wish would be. That I had stayed back in the room with Emily and skipped this night out altogether.
My expression gave me away. “It’ll be fun, Megan,” Chloe said to me. “And if it’s not, we’ll bail.”
“Promise?” I asked. I gave the straps on my dress a shift, allowing my boobs to settle into the weird shelf-bra thingy that was sewn into the dress. (“Freedom’s fine, but the girls need support,” my mom had said when I tried it on.)
“Absolutely. Let’s just kick back and have some fun. Classes start in two days. We’ve spent the last four days moving in, going to orientation, getting our schedules the way we want them. This is our night to cut loose.” She motioned back to campus, in the general vicinity of our dorm. “We can stumble home from here if we need to.”
Stumbling would be more likely due to my heels than copious amounts of alcohol, but it was good to have the option if needed.
“Okay, let me get a quick ‘we’re gonna party’ clip,” Chloe said, pulling her phone out. “I’m going to include you, Megan, so you better get that shit signed and back to me.”
“I will,” I said, not really sure of it. But one harmless entry-to-a-party video wasn’t going to hurt me four years from now when job hunting, so I motioned for Chloe to fire up her camera.
“Here we are about to hit our first party. I’m with my fabulous roomies Abby and Megan and we’re hitting up a Bribury hockey team party. Not sure if I’ll be filming inside—have to protect the innocent, you know—but check out how hot we look.” This was all said with a melodic voice that was both enchanting and irritating. She scanned the phone over Abigail (did she prefer Abby, or was that just Chloe running with that?) and me and we both did some awkward woo-hoos and sideways peace signs and dumb shit like that.
“Somebody getting laid tonight?” Chloe asked what would be her impressive number of followers when she turned the camera back to herself. “Maybe. All three of us? Maybe, again. Who knows. Bribury, bitches!” She scanned the camera across the street, capturing the campus, then clicked her camera shut.
“Okay to post?” she asked me and Abigail, for which I was grateful.
“Yeah, that’s fine with me,” I said. “Just don’t tag me,” I added, to which Chloe agreed. Abigail nodded her consent. “Do you prefer Abby?” I asked her.
She shrugged. “It’s fine. My family calls me Abigail. My friends mix it up. I don’t really have a preference.”
Post Tweeted, or Tokked, or Grammed (I wasn’t sure which platform was Chloe’s go-to in these situations), we turned to get a better look at the house we were entering. Like most student housing, it was an older home that had probably been for a family at one time, but its proximity to the campus had worn it down. A good paint job was sorely needed, and the wraparound front porch sat higher on the right side. The lawn was near nonexistent, with hockey nets set up on both ends of what had basically become a dirt playing field.
“Did you say this is a hockey team party?” I asked Chloe, who nodded. “I didn’t even know Bribury had a hockey team.”
“I don’t know if they’re any good,” Chloe said. “But I’ll bet they’re cute.”
