Undeclared Read Online Free PDF Page B

potential? JuCo transfer,” Lana said, sorting through tubes of lip-gloss. “And can I recommend we do away with lumberjack couture for the night? Your wardrobe suggests that you’re gearing up to haul logs out of the forest. If you’re aiming for Paul Bunyan, then your collection of plaid shirts is a great start—otherwise choose something that isn’t flannel,” Lana said.
    I looked down at my plaid shirt. “I thought the thrift-shop, country-girl look was in.”
    “Maybe at State, where Josh goes. In fact, isn’t that Josh’s shirt?”
    I looked away guiltily. It was Josh’s shirt. I’d stolen a few things from him this summer. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he never said a word. But Lana had already seen my expression and started to wrestle the shirt off my shoulders. Lana is thin but strong. It must be all the yoga she does. I stood there in my thin, ribbed tank top, and Lana looked at my reflection in the mirror, quirking one eyebrow at me.
    “Let’s just say the guy-who-shall-not-be-named is there. Do you want to look hot? Or like you just got back from a gold dig in Alaska?”
    “Hot,” I mumbled.
    “Super.” She proceeded to drag me into her room and throw a silky blue shirt at me. “Put this on with your denim skirt and take off your sneakers.”
    I looked at the shirt. I wasn’t even sure how to put it on. There were long straps and a sheet of fabric on one side. “Are you missing a piece, like a camisole that goes underneath?”
    “No,” Lana snorted and pulled my tank up over my arms. Surprised, I let her manipulate me like a doll. The blue satin turned out to be a halter top with a low scoop back and ties around the neck. It had an elasticized waist that helped keep it in place. I grudgingly admitted to myself that this was actually a good style for me.
    The shirt had a low back, so I couldn’t wear a bra. Unlike Lana, I had a generous C cup. Not wearing a bra made me feel like I was completely naked. Plus, everyone would be able to tell if the temperature dropped just by looking at my chest.
    “Lana, I can’t wear this. I feel like a small breeze will reveal all my worldly goods.”
    “You’ll wear it and stop complaining about it,” Lana instructed, handing me some silicone rubbery things that connected in the middle.
    “Is this supposed to be a bra? It looks like two uninflated balloons connected by plastic.”
    She reached out to grab it back from me. “Works for me. I’ll be sure to stare at your tits to see if I need to bring a sweater.”
    I hugged the balloons to my chest. “No, I’m all for hiding defective birthday favors under my shirt.”
    “Well?” she asked after I had attached the sticky silicone to my skin.
    “It fits.”
    “I’m mentally translating that into ‘my God, Lana, your taste is exquisite.’”
    “My God, Lana, your taste is exquisite,” I repeated dutifully.
    Lana quickly tied the knot around my neck and spun me around. “I bought the shirt for you last weekend.”
    I could feel the ends of my hair tickle against my bare back. “I still don’t feel comfortable about the back.”
    “We can tape it just in case,” Lana brought out some double-stick tape and adhered the folded seam of the blouse to my back. Double-stick tape was Lana’s answer to every fashion emergency. She carried strips of it in her purse and her messenger bag. If I was ever looking for reasons to join a sorority, learning how to avoid visible panty lines, exposed bra straps, and wardrobe malfunctions would be as good as any.
    “There,” she said slapping my back lightly. “Ready to go.”
    I went to slip on my tennis shoes, but stopped when Lana gave me the stink eye and held up a pair of low-heeled strappy sandals in the same sky blue as my blouse. “No way,” I said.
    “They match,” Lana replied.
    “ I won’t wear heels, but I’ll wear my ballet flats.” I would be the only one. Lana’s feet were shod with pencil-slim stilettos, and