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“You are grinning like a girl in love,” she said with a sigh.
I groaned.
“I don’t know, Clea. I don’t think…”
“Mia. You’re my best friend, but honest to God, you need to lose that V-card and get a boyfriend who’s going to blow your mind!”
“Have you ever had a boyfriend who blew your mind?” I demanded, and she gave me a look of guilt.
“Well, no, but I’m still on the search. I go on dates all the time to find the right guy. You know that.”
“Well, yeah, but you also have a lot of really terrible experiences, too. Do you remember that guy sophomore year who literally followed you around for weeks?”
She scoffed and turned on her heel, heading toward our dorm.
I followed.
“You gotta take risks if you’re going to find the man of your dreams.”
“I’m not looking for the ‘man of my dreams’,” I told her, trying to rein in her wild imagination. “I’m looking for a good man with a good career, and a good sense of humor.”
“You know what I heard?” She interrupted my rant. “I heard ‘good’ and there’s no part of you that deserves good. You deserve great!”
I laughed.
“Clea, I’m a small town girl, lucky to be in college. I’ll probably never even leave Mississippi, and that’s ok.”
“It’s not! You need to explore, see the world, date guys and…and…fuck them!”
My eyes widened at the curse.
“You want me to do what now?” I demanded.
“See? You can’t even say it! You can’t say fuck!”
I looked around, sure that we’d get in trouble somehow, even though there was nobody in college to punish us for cursing. I could swear though, my gran would probably be able to hear me all the way down in Louisville.
“C’mon Mia, say it!” Clea insisted, grabbing my shoulder and shaking me a little. “You’re a grown woman, experiencing the world, and you’re acting like your Methodist mama is going to come on up here and slap your face! You are a strong, independent woman, and you can say whatever you want, and who’s going to stop you?”
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe I know all those things, and yes, I’m strong and independent, but that doesn’t mean I want to curse. It’s a sign of intelligence to not have to curse to be understood.”
“Said who?” she snorted.
“My gran,” I admitted, grinning at my friend.
Clea rolled her eyes at me.
“Say it, Mia.”
Groaning, I bumped her shoulder, feigning staggering from weariness.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Say it!”
“Why do I have to—”
“Say it, Mia!”
