Eight o’clock arrives, and the doorbell rings. My hand flutters to my white sleeveless shirt before grazing my knees. The rough material of the denim shorts scrapes the tips of my fingers. The see-through shirt material is light, and the cami underneath doesn’t stop the cold air from touching my skin. Despite that, my temperature rises dramatically as the doorbell rings for the second time. My white tennis shoes sound loud as I walk down the hall. Taking one last look at myself in the hall mirror, I brush my hair back over my shoulder. My minimal makeup will work to my advantage as the night wears on, but seeing myself, I feel maybe I’ve made a mistake and should have applied a bit more.
The girl who stares back at me has large blue eyes that look wide with fear. Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I look away. It doesn’t matter how I look; Jared is my friend—I grew up with him—and I need to remember that.