Amelie Largo, a newly arrived freshman.

“You sure you don’t want us to come up, sweetie?”

I reached out to accept the handle of my suitcase. “No, ma, it’s okay, really. It’s not like I have a ton of stuff to bring up. And you guys should get back on the road before the traffic gets bad.”

My mom was smiling, but I could see a hint of sadness creep into it when I said that. Even though we don’t look all that alike, people have always told me she and I have the same expressions. “Okay, honey.” I could hear sadness in her voice, too. A stab of guilt shot through me—not just for disappointing her, but because it felt like lying. But what was I supposed to say? I couldn’t tell her the real reason I didn’t want her and dad sticking around any longer than they had to. How worried I was that any moment, someone would come walking out of the building behind me and pass right by us….

Dad was at my other side, holding out his arms for a hug. I obliged, squeezing him tight. “Promise you’ll call us every week?”

“I promise.”

Mom was up next. “Stay safe, okay? Don’t drink too much.”

I chuckled ruefully against her shoulder. “Ma, I really don’t think I’m gonna be getting invited to those kinds of parties.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” I don’t see her face this time, but now she sounds a little amused. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.

Then they were back in the car, dad at the wheel, and pulling away. Through the passenger window, I saw mom blow me one last kiss. I was too slow on the draw to return it before they were out of view.

They were hardly gone when I heard the door behind me open. Instinctively, I turned around, suitcase in hand, to see a trio of girls who looked a couple years older than me descending the steps. They were all dressed in the unmistakable uniform of Drexel College. A white button-down blouse under a burgundy blazer, both tailored to fall short of the midriff, just above the navel. A red neckerchief. The one on the right had on sheer black thigh-high stockings with a lacey pattern at the hems; the other two both had simpler black knee-length socks. Black shoes on all three, each a different style.

Between the hems of their blazers and the tops of their socks, all of them were naked, their midriffs, thighs, and vulvas on full display in the afternoon sun. The one on the left had hers completely shaved or waxed, nothing but smooth skin to be seen. The middle one sported a trimmed triangle of dark brown curls, pointing down toward the top of her cleft. The right one, with the thigh-highs, was also fully shaved, but beneath the hem of her jacket, a glint of shiny silver stood out: a navel stud.

They were all smiling at one another, chatting about something I caught absolutely none of. They hardly glanced at me as they reached the bottom of the steps and headed off down the sidewalk. The one with the stockings and the piercing paid the most attention, showing me a friendly smile, just for a split second.

Somehow, it left me a little embarrassed. God, how insane was that? They were walking around totally bottomless, outside in broad daylight, and I was the one who was embarrassed.

Then again, I had basically just stood there for a good ten seconds staring slack-jawed at their crotches.

Nice way to start your college career, Ami.

I wasn’t exactly surprised, of course. In a way, the uniform was a big part of why I’d wanted to come to Drexel—and no, it had nothing to do with getting to check out other girls half-naked, thank you. Well…okay, maybe it had a little to do with that. God, why did this have to be so complicated even in my head?

Drexel wasn’t exactly well-known, as private colleges in the U.S. went. Sure, it regularly got fantastic reviews, but it wasn’t one of the places that always came up in conversations about the best schools to go to. Being a women’s college did filter it out somewhat, I guess. But in certain parts of the Internet, among people who knew about it, there was…a lot said.

At Drexel College, we seek to provide a generation of women with the education, values, and community that will enable them to realize their fullest potential. Chief among these values, which we hope to pass on to our students, is an enduring respect for oneself in body, mind, and spirit, and an equal respect for one’s fellow women. This respect is what drives our effort to make our campus into the most welcoming, inclusive, and liberating environment it can possibly be, where all of our students can feel free to be their most authentic selves without shame or judgement. To that end, we are committed to promoting an atmosphere of freedom and acceptance, both bodily and sexual.

Translation, as far as I could manage: “we believe the best way to help women succeed in life is to help them be comfortable with their bodies and their sexuality.” Hence why Drexel was one of the only colleges in the U.S. with a uniform policy, and why that policy required students and faculty to walk around bottomless…for starters.

My parents knew all about it, of course. It was no big secret—even if I’d wanted to keep it one, I wasn’t that good of a liar. Sure, they thought it was a little weird, but when I’d explained it to them (in between bouts of mumbling and staring at the floor), they’d made the supportive noises. The more I thought about it, the guiltier I felt for sending them off so quickly, all so I wouldn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of them being there when I had my first up-close encounter with someone wearing the uniform. And now the moment to say a proper goodbye to them was gone.

You’re doing it again. Straightening my shoulders, I took a deep breath—in, count four seconds, out, count six. Out of my head, into my body. Present.

C’mon, it’s easy. Up the stairs. You’re allowed to be here.