AUGUST
Chapter One
Kennedy
In the bathroom, with the door closed, everything doesn’t feel so intense. The music is muffled into a deep bass that rhythmically moves through the door. No sweaty bodies are pressed against me, and I feel like I can draw in a full breath. I place both hands on either side of the bathroom sink and lean in close to the mirror staring at myself for a few seconds. This is what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m supposed to be going to parties. I’m supposed to be getting drunk and making out with hot guys. I’m supposed to be making questionable choices. I’m supposed to be having fun. Not borderline having a panic attack in Will’s bathroom.
I decide to give myself one more minute in my little bathroom sanctuary before going back out there. I promised Miranda I would stay at least until midnight before leaving.
“I want to be here,” I whisper out loud to myself, and in a lot of ways, I do want to be here. I want to be in the other room dancing and drinking and flirting with hot guys andnotat home crocheting in bed. Alone. I want to feel like my old self: confident and hot and unburdened.
I’ve spent most of my life never questioning myself. I know it's annoying, but I really am one of those people who don’t get anxious. Or Iusedto be one of those people who don’t get anxious. Old Kennedy could do it all, school, clubs, dating, working, and never think twice about it. I was the president of my class in high schoolandin homecoming court. I got into Bramwood University. I intern at Fray and Wilkman for Christ’s sake.
Now, I’m anxious pretty much all the time, and haven’t so much as kissed a guy in nearly a year. Which is why I need tonight to go well so that I can rediscover my mojo, bring back Old Kennedy, and I can finally pretend that last year never happened.
“Kennedy? It’s Will, open up.”
I step back from the mirror and open the door a smidge. Will’s extremely handsome face greets me with a smile. I open the door a little further and step to the side while he slips in and closes the door behind him, shimmying past me until he gets to the edge of the tub and sits.
“Are you okay? I saw you come in here and you looked upset. Did any of the guys say something to you?”
“No. No. I’m fine. I just needed a minute. It’s really crowded in there, and I needed a second to regroup. I’m good.” I take a deep breath and try to make myself sound as convincing as possible.
He looks at me, skeptical. “Are you sure? Because if one of the guys did say some shit to you, you can tell me.”
“Will, I’m fine. I’m just not good at,” I wave my finger in a circle, “all of this anymore. I swear I’m fine. I just needed a second to gather myself.”
Nodding, “Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he says. His comment hangs in the air and makes this bathroom feel even smaller than it is.
We sit in silence for a few seconds, neither looking directly at the other. I can see Will’s hands fidgeting in his lap, unsure of what to say next. I mean what is he even supposed to say? I’m sorry you have a shitty ex-boyfriend, he should be in jail but the world is sexist? He did say that, about a thousand times before I told him to please just stop with the platitudes.
So here we are in awkward silence, him sitting on the edge of the tub, drumming his fingers on the edge, me picking at the hang nail on my thumb and looking at the ceiling trying to remember how Old Kennedy ever walked into a room and felt like she could conquer the worldandpull any guy she wanted. That was before millions of people, and people in the very next room, had thoughts and opinions about my naked body, a small voice in the back of my head says.
Last year my ex, Carter, posted nude pictures of me on the BramwoodGoneWild pages on social media after I broke up with him, which I only did after I found out he cheated on me. The pictures were not only my full frontal nudes, but included my face in them. He posted them on every social media platform imaginable. Combined across all platforms the BramwoodGoneWild pages have over a million followers. The pictures ended up going viral and being posted to a bunch of NSFW pages, and millions, as inplural, multiple millions of people, saw them. And hundreds of thousands of those people had strong enough opinions to leave comments about it.
Comments about my weight, my proportions, the mole on my stomach, the shape of my upper lip, and even the color of my nipples. Some comments with thousands of likes letting me know exactly how the world felt about my flaws, some of which I didn’t even know were flaws until someone on the internet pointed it out to me.
My parents were able to get in touch with a friend of a friend who is a lawyer. She got the pictures taken down fromall the accounts, but Carter was never convicted of any crimes or expelled from the university. He wasn’t even kicked off the hockey team.
Carter’s family is Toronto Rich. They have a lawyer already on retainer, a family fucking lawyer, and even though he was charged with one count, not four, of sexual cyberharassment, it was dropped before ever going to court.
Will stands up from the edge of the tub and takes a step toward me. He awkwardly pats my back between my shoulder blades and gives me a wide eyed expression bordering on painful. He looks like he’s about to give me some horrible motivational speech and that alone is enough to push me back out to the party.
I take one final breath. “Will,” I say, stepping away from his strange back pat. “For real, I’m fine.” There’s still a knot in my chest. But it's time to get back out there, to make reckless decisions that normal 21 year olds make, let loose a little, maybe even find a guy and have a one night stand.
“Alright,” he says with both hands hanging limply by his sides, “then it sounds like you need a drink?”
I nod my head yes following Will out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, weaving around bodies, the bottoms of my shoes slightly sticking to the floor as we cross the house. Will grabs two beers from the fridge, opens them both, and hands me one. We click the glasses together and take a pull.
I can do this. I can have fun.
Monday, senior year starts, but tonight, there are no obligations. If I drink too much I can crash with Miranda, I don’t have work tomorrow, and classes don’t start for three more days. I can do this, I tell myself one more time.
I give Will a nod and turn on my heel to drive back into the crowd of writhing, dancing bodies to find a hot guy to make out with. Who am I kidding, I’m trying to find Miranda.I scan the room until I think I spot the back of Miranda’s head and make my way toward her. She’s talking to Adrian, Will’s roommate. Will’s very attractive hockey playing roommate.
I give Miranda a hug from behind, she turns her head, then smiles and jumps up and down when she realizes it’s me. Her eyes are just a little glassy and she has a loose lazy look on her face. “We were literally just talking about you,” she says with a wink. “I’m going to get another drink,” she says abruptly and then points to her empty cup looking between both Adrian and I, “want one?”
“I’m all good,” Adrian says.
