(Book One) Do you ever feel as if your life has yet to begin? I've been alive for almost seventeen years now and absolutely nothing has ever happened to me. Not until I met a girl who kick-started my life. She introduced me to love, sex, scandal, ex...
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Chapter Two Continued...
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Without any warning to look away, Aurora starts to remove her clothing. She pulls her sweats off and then takes off her top. Embarrassed, I look at my feet but a few minutes pass and I realize she's not planning on putting more clothes on.
I push my embarrassment back and look up at her. It's no different than any other sleepover. Only the last one I'd attended, I was twelve. It was more training bra and less size C push up bras. I remind myself it's no different than seeing her wear a bikini at the pool or....in a hot tub. I think about the post of her in The Dirty, and instantly feel ashamed. Aurora reaches into her dresser drawer and pulls out two lacy bras.
"Here." She throws one at me and I catch it. "Put this on. We are about the same size."
I'm about to protest but she turns away from me and begins to take off her bra. I look down and stare intently at the black lacy material in my hand.
"Where are we going?" I ask hesitantly.
I look at her feet as she moves to her closet and starts rummaging through it. I figure she is done replacing her bra and I pull my eyes away from her feet. She is a foot away from me and she is eyeballing clothes in her hand. She's still in her underwear and I notice her belly button is pierced. A clear heart-shaped jewel dangles from her navel.
"I was wondering when you were going to ask. It's a surprise."
She pulls a tank top over her head that matches the color of her eyes. Then she searches the floor and picks up a tiny pair of blue-jean shorts. They are short, really really short. My mom made me do the fingertip test before she would allow me to buy clothing. You know the one where you put your hands flat to your sides and if it didn't go past your fingers tips you couldn't have it. These would not pass the test. She tosses them to me.
"These should fit." My eyes bug out of my head. I look at the bra and shorts in my lap. "Don't worry they're clean." She rolls her eyes, misunderstanding my reaction. I'm about to protest but she interrupts me.
"Relax. Put them on. It'll be fine." It's that same demanding tone, that says I don't have a choice. She reaches down and picks up another pair of shorts. In comparison to the ones she gave me, mine are modest. They are the same length as the ones she's given me but are tattered and have rips in the fabric.
