The Last Good Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

whether I minded if she put down. Oh, and a stash of coke in the one drawer of her desk that locks. She offered me some. It’s not my scene, but at least she shares—that’s something, right?
    Preya Parikh came in next. Dad greeted her parents like old friends. Turns out, Preya’s mother is the dean of English at U of M, and Dad’s known her forever. So I’m guessing my new roomies were not assigned at random. Dad chose them for me. But that’s okay, I guess. At least he cared.
    Preya asked which bed I wanted, and we divvied up the bunk bed. Our parents talked and helped us put on the sheets, and then there were hugs and tears and—finally—they were gone.
    Okay, I have to admit—I’m trying to be cool, but—I’m excited. I’m in! I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.
    When I was really small, my mom used to dress me up in a little Tower University cheerleader outfit, red and white, with red ribbons in my pigtails. They’d take me to football games, and we’d sit in the president’s box. Dad would hold me up in the front row of the box, and people in the seats in front of us would look back and say how cute I was. Then at halftime, Mom and Dad would take me down to the field, and the cheerleaders would let me come out with them as they did their routine. Once the Tower Times ran a front-page picture of me like that, holding pom-poms as the cheerleaders smiled at me. I got to play on the field during halftime so much I thought it was just a normal thing to do.
    Then, one time when I was about nine, I saw some kids in the stands pointing at me and laughing. I realized in that moment—I can’t believe I’d never noticed it before—that I was the only person out there who wasn’t an official cheerleader. I was, seriously, so embarrassed. The kids weren’t laughing in a friendly way. I suddenly noticed all the people in the bleachers looking at me. A sea of strangers, judging. I stopped wearing the cheerleader outfit after that. All I wanted was to dissolve into the crowd.
    That’s kind of how I feel now. Not that I want to dissolve into a crowd, you know? I want to stand out—but for who I am, not for who my dad is. I don’t want to be anybody’s mascot.
    Does that make sense?
    Well, anyway, after our parents left, Preya, and Whitney, and I went to the cafeteria and got some lunch. Whitney is funny and aggressively pretty, like she cares about her looks so much you have to wonder what she’s trying to make up for. Preya’s pretty too, but in a less showy way. She seems really smart, like scary smart, but not obnoxious about it. We met some of the other kids in our hall. I didn’t tell anyone that my dad is the president. They might find out at some point—it might be inevitable—but I’ll be a regular student as long as I can.
    Then I went to the Theater Department, where you guys were holding an open house. It was nice to meet you, Professor Robinson! Or Ginger, like you said I should call you. I loved the open house. Dad is pushing poli-sci or economics, but I really don’t want his life. I want something . . . else. Now is my time to figure out who I am, not just the president’s daughter, but as my own person.
    So that was today. Now I’m back in my dorm room, and tonight I’ll go to my first college party. I’m so excited! I’ve been seeing kids go to frat parties all my life, but I was never allowed to go.
    My dad was a Beta Psi—it was his frat back in the ’80s, and he says it changed his life, like it set him on the course to success. But he never let me go there for parties, at least not when I was in high school.
    But, hee hee, he can’t stop me now! As of today, I’m officially a college freshman, and I can go to any party that any other college freshman can go to.
    Preya and Whitney will be back here any minute to get ready,