“I’m not wearing a bathing suit,” I say immediately, my mind reeling.

I’m in full freak-out mode. When things like this are sprung on me, I tend to turn around mid-journey because the discomfort of being out of control is not a feeling I enjoy. I like to have all the facts. I like to plan, mentally and physically. My brain needs the opportunity to map out all the potential scenarios before I dive right in.

“Sweetie, underwear is a whole thing,” Benny says. “I mean, our capitalist culture tells us we have to buy bathing suits just to go swimming when underwear, which is like, a fifth of the price of a cute Andrew Christian bikini, exists.”

He waits for me to respond, but in my head, visions of random strangers laughing at me in my boxer briefs dance on repeat.

“Or you could go au naturel.”

Benny must register the absolute fear smacked across my face because he instantly softens and pulls me to the side of a dorm building, out of view of prying eyes. “All right, calm down. I was joking. Babe, you’re hot. Who cares what people think? You don’t have to swim. Just be all …”

He wiggles his body in a way that I think is supposed to imply sexiness, but all I see is a creepy old man doing a “come hither” thing.

“I don’t … what is that? What are you doing?”

“Be cool!” he says. “Like all nonchalant. Honey badger don’t give a shit.”

“First, that was nonchalant?” I ask, and Benny shrugs. “Second, ‘honey badger don’t give a shit’ is literally the best video on the interwebs.”

He smiles. “Ugh, I’m so glad you know that. My mom was obsessed with that video when it came out during the Stone Age. You feel better?”

Nope. “Yeah, but if people make fun of my underwear, I know where you sleep.” I wish I could tell him that it’s really my soft upper body that paralyzes me.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad. Let me see ’em,” he demands.

“Benny!”

“Relax, we live together.” Something about his tone and the soft, reassuring way he looks at me tells me I can trust him.

“I already hate you.” I unzip my super-short jean shorts and shimmy just enough so he can see the fire-engine-red boxer briefs with the tiny cardinals that Mom got me.

“They’re super cute! Who doesn’t love birds, and honestly, you’re probably gonna find a cute guy to comment on them, and I’ll be a jealous wreck who will plot to destroy your wedding.” He says it without a hint of irony. “Now zip your pants before someone thinks we’re hooking up. I’m not about to get cited for indecent exposure on our first day.”

“Exposure?!” My hands involuntarily cover my belly.

He sighs. “You’re so cute. Like a Martian.” Hot honey drips from Benny’s lips as he does his best Regina George. Then he leans in, “You have nothing to worry about. Breathe.” His encouragement does make me feel a touch better, despite the anxiety bubbling inside me, knowing I may soon be half-naked in front of strangers who could judge me.