Chapter 2: Wardrobe Emergency

Under normal circumstances I'm a positive person; despite my emotional misery, I finished school with good marks and was accepted into my chosen course at university: a Bachelor of Science with a major in Pure Mathematics. And I did well; well enough to progress on to my Master's degree in 2008-09.

Hermione Granger didn't haunt me beyond high school, although I did have one scare when J.K. Rowling published the final book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, where Hermione's middle name was revealed in the reading of Dumbledore's will. You guessed it: Jean! My heart froze when I first read that line lying in bed one night, the paperback still shiny and un-creased. I had visions of undergraduates parading around me in the student union cafeteria calling out "And To Miss Hermione JEAN Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive." Except every student would name a different book title, each more embarrassing and sexually suggestive than the last.

The scars from high school had mostly healed, but they hadn't faded, and even at age twenty-one they still held a power over me. In a pointless act of defence I dyed my hair, which I didn't like and dyed it back again; and I changed my name to Jeannie, which I kept. I liked Jeannie; it was a little closer to 'Hermione', and that was worrisome, but it was also a little further away from the Jean Granger who had been so traumatised at high school. I started to move on. I even went to see Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix at the cinema and NOBODY commented on how much I looked like Hermione ... although I concede the puffer jacket and baseball cap I wore DID make the feat more challenging.

I still didn't have a boyfriend. Boys had asked me out (they didn't stay nervous 16-year-olds forever, thank goodness) but I never accepted; too risky, too much pain lurking just below the surface.

I made friends though; some girls, some non-threatening guys already in relationships. I didn't share my love of J.K. Rowling's stories with them and they never commented on my famous doppelganger; it's not that they never noticed, I think they just didn't care.

I met Belinda in the second year of my Master's degree; she was a few years younger and was enrolled in a Bachelor of Arts to pursue writing, but for some unaccountable reason she had chosen her one optional unit from the science faculty: Number Theory, of all things! I don't think she had any idea what she was getting herself into, poor lamb, but maths at university is a big step up from high school and not something to be taken lightly. Certainly not as a solitary unit in a humanities degree.

She made it almost half way through the semester before she realised she needed a tutor, and by happy coincidence I had discovered a few weeks earlier that if I wanted to keep paying my rent then I was going to need a job. The stars aligned; I helped Belinda pass Number Theory, and she paid me, became my roommate and best friend since childhood, and helped me meet my future fiancé.

I probably should have given her a discount.

"Sweetie, wardrobe emergency!" Belinda blurted as she burst through the door. "We need a red dress!"

It was the end of summer and the beginning of the new year at university. I had finished my Master's and re-enrolled for a Bachelor of Education, thinking that the only outlets for five years of Pure Mathematics study were either research or teaching. I'll try teaching first.

Belinda was still an undergrad and had been on campus for O-week (Orientation Week), checking out all of the new clubs and societies; seeing who had the best freebies and the best parties.

"We? Or you?" I asked, and not just because I didn't see how 'we' could both need the same dress. I'm small; small hips, small waist, small 8A bust; but Belinda is tiny, under five feet tall with size 6 hips and waist and an 8C bust that looks bigger because of her stature. We don't share clothes.

"Neither," she chirped, her eyes sparkling with excitement that suggested she was in the grip of one of her grand plans. "It's for you, but you need my help."

"Why... ?" Goodness, which question did I want answered first? Let's work backwards; Belinda doesn't make mental leaps easily so she's easier to unwind that to reset. "Hang on, why do you need to help dress me?"

"Sweetie, you know I love you, right?" she looked uncharacteristically serious for a moment.

"Um? Sure, OK." I sensed a trap, but didn't know what it was.

"Good," she said. "So you'll understand how much it hurts me to say this; but it comes from the heart. You can't dress sexy for shit."

"O-o-o-okay..." this was not news; I really couldn't dress sexy for shit. This conversation was starting to make more sense; Belinda was trying to hook me up and a sexy dress was part of her plan. "So why do we ... no, why do I," I stressed the last word, "need a sexy red dress?"

"Because I'm taking you to the HAGS launch," she smiled and took both of my hands; eyes still glinting with barely suppressed glee. "And it's going to be FILLED with single, undergrad science geeks."

Oh my God, she answers one question and raises three more! I wasn't going to back-track her this time; she could give me the whole darn story from the beginning.

"Slow down, Blin," I took advantage of her holding my hands and made her sit down. "Why science geeks? Why are they single? What is HAGS? And why would I let you take me? You got all that?"

I could see the cogs turning as she thought through my list, then control returned to the forebrain and she smiled at me again.

"Yes!" she began excitedly. "One: Why science geeks? Science covers ninety percent of geekdom; I was generalising. If it makes you feel better there will be undergrad geeks there and I'm pretty sure the science faculty will be represented."

"Okay," I wasn't sure that answered anything, but I let her continue.

"Two: Why would they be single? Please! They're geeks." She looked serious for a moment. "And I don't mean that in a nasty way. It doesn't mean they're ugly; just socially awkward. Like you!"