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“I suppose I can appreciate that. What is it? A voodoo doll of Salem’s hair? A lifetime supply of scones? A kidney?”

“Nothing like that, you drama queen.”

“What, then?” I ask as we reach the fork on campus where we’ll part ways.

At first, I assume from the smirk on her face that she isn’tgoing to tell me after all. But then she wraps an arm around my waist, pulls me close enough to kiss my cheek, and says, “Hook me up with your boyfriend’s sister.”

Then she winks and heads down the path toward Hillman, leaving my jaw on the ground.

Chapter Nineteen

THE WEEKS UNTIL THANKSGIVING ARElike an entirely different experience at Camden, one that erases every single doubt I’ve ever had about going to boarding school.

Yes, I’m still in Rumson, but no one dares mess with me about it anymore. Having your boyfriend upstairs is a pretty damn huge perk, especially when the housing office looks the other way because dealing with it is too complicated.

Sabrina and I keep up the GSA, and sometimes, Salem or Heather even joins. Eventually, Sabrina finds out that a Ewing resident is nonbinary, and together, we all agree to re-petition for an official club for the spring.

I find actual study groups for the classes I don’t share with Salem and am reasonably certain I kick ass on all my midterms.

The biggest surprise of all, though, is what doesn’t change: Salem and I decide to continue our pact, in a way. Everyweek, I get to make him do two things I think are good for him, no questions asked—this usually involves either going to study groups he was gonna blow off, shooting around with Matt and the other guys in the gym, or joining me for the nature options on weekends, which I point out accomplishes both our goals by making me a hiking, climbing badass and him a do-gooder nature lover who takes gorgeous pictures of fall foliage for his mom.

And every week, he gets to suggest two things that he thinks will further my experience in badassery, which usually means either working on my “musical education” or making out. (Often both simultaneously, which I suspect is Salem’s master plan of giving me positive associations with his faves. Unfortunately, it’s working.)

But the day before we head home for Thanksgiving, he has a different request, and for the first time, I say no.

“You really don’t think it’ll make you feel better?” he asks, twirling one of my curls around his finger as we lie intertwined in my bed, watching but not watching an episode ofStranger Thingson my laptop. My room is slightly more decorated now. Salem got Claire to send him a file of the two of spades art and had it printed and framed; Sabrina gave me the cards from my original tarot reading so I could hang them over my bed; and Isabel picked up the world’s most hideousLIVE, LAUGH, LOVEsign she could find in a clearance bin and presented it to me with a flourish.

“I don’t think talking to my sister has ever made me feel better in my entire life,” I say sourly, fiddling with the soft hem of his flannel. “Why would it start now?”

“Because now you have a dreamy boyfriend.”

I snort into his side. “Great, so she can try to lure you away. And considering her track record, it’ll probably work.”

“Interesting. She hot?”

“Don’t youdare.” I whack him right over his belly button, hoping he’s cursing having no body fat to protect him right about now, but he just laughs.

“One Riley woman’s enough to handle, thanks very much.” He tilts my face up for a kiss, and as I melt into him, I can’t help but think that maybe he has a point. I have to see her tomorrow when I go home anyway. Maybe it’s best to break the ice from here, where I feel good about my friends and boyfriend and the space I’ve created for myself, rather than waiting until we’re both back on what, let’s face it, has somehow always been her turf, even while being my home.

I’d kill to have a sister like Sabrina; for all that she and Salem torture each other, I know they’d take a bullet for each other. Hell, that’s basically what Salem did, coming here. And I thought she’d kick my ass for getting with him, but the only thing she said about it when she saw me at lunch that first day was “So you’re screwing my brother. Gross. But at least that’ll keep my parents’ heat off me for a while. Welcome to the fam.”

“What would I even say?” I ask when we part. “‘Hey, how was rehab? Wanna talk about why you banged my ex?’”

“How about you start with ‘Hi’? Chatting about banging the ex is more of a ‘five minutes in’ conversation topic.”

“It all sounds terrible. Why exactly are you making me do this?”

“I’m notmakingyou,” he says gently. “But, selfishly, I’masking you to because you’re right—it’s probably going to suck. And if you wait until tomorrow, when you’re home, then I won’t be there for the aftermath. But if you do it today, then you can use me as a human punching bag for those tiny balls of rage you call fists. Or get a hug. Or both.”

Oh. That is… nice. And compelling reasoning. And I wish it weren’t making me a little teary to have someone like that in my corner. “Doesn’t seem like there’s a whole lot in it for you,” I say, sniffing.

“Well, I’m assuming you’ll end up desperately grateful for my presence, which can only translate to extreme horniness and/or letting me choose what movie we watch tonight.”

“You are the literal worst,” I tell him, but he isn’t, not at all, and so I kiss him again.

I stare at my phone for a solid five minutes after Salem goes back upstairs, playing endless games of “What’s the worst that could happen?” in my mind. There’s such a disconnect between me at a poker table and me trying to function in reality; in the latter, I never seem to see anything coming, can’t call anyone’s bluff or guess their next move.

There’s a reason I love cards.