Literally, Genevieve Clare

When I was 17, I shipped myself off to dork camp at Georgetown for the summer.  My much more driven and focused cousin convinced me that the “Summer College for High School Juniors Program” would be good for our resumes and help us get into college.  Once we got there, she buckled down and got to business getting good grades.  I decided to get into as much trouble as possible since I was away from home for the first time.  And that’s when I met Brittany, Caroline and Megan.  

Brittany helped me run a fake ID operation out of my dorm room.  Caroline and I played a game where we scared the hell out of each other by hiding in closets, showers and under each other’s beds all summer.  We all went shopping on M Street and bought overpriced clothes at dumb stores like Abercrombie with our parent’s money.  We went to the campus cafeteria and loaded our plates up with pizza and pasta while the rest of the girls in the program worried if the staff really sprayed calories on the lettuce.  Caroline, Megan and I used those fake IDs to get three of the dumbest tattoos money can buy and then snuck into a fratty bar to show them off.  It was one of the best summers of my life. 

We all went off to different colleges but kept in touch over the years and realized that we all live in the city now.  We recently had dinner to catch up and it became clear as day: We’re almost ten years older with big girl jobs, boyfriends, and lives, but not a damn thing has changed.