The Unstoppable Bridget Bloom by Allison L. Bitz EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Allison L. Bitz
- Language: English
- Genre: Romantic Comedy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Two things are immediately apparent: dorm rooms bear a remarkable
resemblance to jail cells, and they smell like Grandma Evelyn’s basement
but with zero homey nostalgic vibes. I flip-flop into the middle of the joint,
doing a full one-eighty.
“Bridget? What’s wrong?” Dad snakes a suntanned arm across my
shoulders and hugs me to him.
My long lashes are fanning away, working hard to keep my eyes from
overflowing. “It’s, um. Small.”
Dodge, my other dad, chuckles. Which makes sense. The system with
my parents is that Dad comforts me, Dodge toughens me. “C’mon, kiddo.
You knew this was the size of the room.”
“Reading on a website that a shared room is fifteen-by-fifteen and then
seeing it in person are two very different things.”
The cinder-block walls are a god-awful shade of light blue, like
someone threw a bad Insta filter over a perfectly fine cloudless sky. There’s
a gross tile abomination underfoot, and the trim is black rubber of some
kind, I think. All of this is a far cry from my comfy farmhouse room back in
Lynch, with its gleaming wood floors, original oak trim, and massive
picture windows. Dad is an antique-loving contractor, and our house is his
second baby (I’m number one, of course).
The state of this room is confusing, really, because Richard James
Academy in Chicago is the boarding school of my dreams. It’s extremely
prestigious. Rigorous. Everyone who goes here is effing brilliant, so I’ll fit
right in. Best of all, it’s very, very far away from my backward rural
hometown in Nebraska, where I have always stuck out like a glittering
emerald in a sea of shale. But I suppose I forgot to account for the fact that
it’s also old, and old doesn’t always mean “cool vintage vibe.” Sometimes
old just means shabby—hence, this dorm room.
Just as I’m about to throw myself onto my unmade mattress in despair,
I’m hit with inspiration—a Bridget Bloom specialty. This room isn’t at all
like my bedroom, but it is like Lynch. Drab and dingy and too small for the
likes of me. I’ll do to it what I’ve been doing to my hometown for the
entirety of my sixteen years—I’ll make it fabulous. I grab the garment bag
I’d slung over the school-provided desk chair, unzipping with gusto, but not
too much gusto. Its innards are sacred. Carefully, I draw out a prized
possession: my mermaid costume.
My dads fought me on bringing this. “Why in the world would you need
that at boarding school, B?” said Dodge, ever the practical dad. But I knew
—just knew from some deep place in my soul—that I needed it by my side.
A talisman, maybe. A reminder of who I am. A Halloween costume, if
worse comes to worst.
And, in the case of this shit dorm room—wall decor.
“Help me. I’m hanging this up,” I say.
“I’m confident in your ability to wield a clothes hanger. On your own,”
says Dodge, shaking his head.
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