Rocking the Pink Read Online Free

was ready to fight Apollo Creed.” She just couldn’t stop flaunting her expertise on all things Rocky. She continued, looking smug, “Apollo was the champ, you know.” Of course she knew I didn’t know.
    My interest was piqued. “Did Rocky win the fight?”
    Another eye roll. “No. He lost.” Sharon was exasperated. “ That was the whole point.”
    â€œHe lost?!” Well, that’s just stupid.
    But Sharon told me it was so much better that he had lost. And, she said, I was a real dummy to miss having seen Rocky just so I could see a movie that would be on TV again next year. I didn’t regret my
decision, though, not even for a moment. Sharon could keep her stupid Rocky. I had my Dorothy.
    That night, I was jolted awake from a horrible nightmare about the green-faced Wicked Witch of the West. She had locked me in her tower with the large hourglass, and the sands of time were rushing unabated toward the bottom. She cackled wickedly (of course) and called me “my pretty!”
    I went into my parents’ bedroom, frightened and crying, and woke them up.
    â€œI had a nightmare, Mommy!”
    Mom’s thick hair was rumpled.
    She retrieved something out of her dresser drawer, and then she led me back into my bed.
    â€œTake this, lamby,” she instructed. It was a tiny red satin pillow, maybe a sachet from her underwear drawer. She placed it in my hand. “This is a magic pillow. You can’t have a nightmare if this is under your pillow.” She smoothed my hair away from my face and kissed me on the forehead. “Now go back to sleep.”
    I rolled onto my side, feeling relieved and protected by my magic pillow, my new woobie. Nightmare-free sleep descended upon me. The sands of the hourglass were, thankfully, gone.
    And now, thirteen years later, Brad and I sat in traffic, slowly making our way to the promised land of UCLA, the gateway to Judy-dom. I was taking control of my destiny, taking a giant leap toward the person I was meant to be!
    So why, oh why, did it feel like my heart was being ripped out of my chest?

Chapter 4
    â€œYou’re so smart, Buddy,” Brad said, as we stood outside my dorm building at UCLA. “You’re gonna do great.” But his face was pained.
    After one last hug, Brad climbed into his car to leave, blinking back tears. As he shut his car door, our eyes met and his mouth distorted. With an attempt at a smile and a little wave, he drove away, just as tears started streaming down his chiseled cheeks.
    I sobbed under the shade of a nearby eucalyptus tree for an hour, and then finally made my way into my dorm room to meet my new roommates. My dorm “room” was actually a suite: two bedrooms, one tiny bathroom, and a small sitting area. In my bedroom, my two roommates were Kelly, a lily-white freshman majoring in engineering, and Naimah, an African American senior from Queens, New York. In the other bedroom, all three girls were of Asian descent: Marie had a wild mane of black hair and drove a Yamaha motorcycle, Erica
was a girl-next-door type (literally, in this instance), and the last girl, my fifth roommate in the suite (whose name I cannot remember), was attached at the hip to her nebbish boyfriend, whom I did not particularly like. If the boyfriend had any charisma or social skills whatsoever, he did not reveal them to me.
    After initial introductions and small talk, several of Naimah’s friends came over with some beer, enough for all of us. After an hour or two, someone suggested we go swimming. This was a fab-u-lous idea, we all agreed, but, alas, the nearby university pool was closed for the night. But since it was hot and muggy, and by this time we were drunk, we didn’t let a small thing like a locked fence change our plans.
    Naimah’s friend was a whiz at opening locked fences, it turned out, and in no time the group was cannonballing and chicken-fighting in the (closed) campus