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Which, I guess I can’t blame him for thinking. I did invite him here, and I did close my door—or at least I think I’m the one who closed it. But now that we’re here, alone, it strikes me that I know nothing about Lucas, and he knows nothing about me, and the idea that we’ve escaped together to my room is just so absurd that I can’t help it—I start to laugh.

I’m immediately shut up by his mouth on mine.

It’s so sudden, so surprising, that I don’t even know what to do, but if he notices that I’m not kissing back, that my arms are still at my sides, it doesn’t show. Finally, muscle memory takes over; after all, it isn’t all that different from kissing Craig. Lucas has similarly soft lips, uses too much tongue… it doesn’t take all that much effort to let my mind transport back to Craig’s basement, to a space I know well. And maybe it’s that or maybe it’s riding high on being chosen in the crowd that makes it easier to let go. To let him walk me back to my bed with his lips on mine.

It isn’t until I feel the zipper of my jeans slowly opening that I realize he hadn’t been toying with the button but opening it, and instinctively I trap his hands. Immediately, the kissing stops, and he pulls away with a frown.

“I’m not… ready for that,” I say, trying for confidence, though it comes out a mumble. “Can we go back to just kissing?”

He rolls his eyes. The assholerolls his eyes.“I thought you were up for some actual fun.”

“Some actual fun like getting naked with a guy I just met?” I nearly choke on my tongue. “What the hell would make you think that?”

“Oh come on, everyone knows you pulled some weird bullshit with your application to get into Rumson and room with Archie Buchanan like some creepy stalker. Figured you’d be grateful someone still wanted you after he rejected you, but.” Lucas shrugs and braces his hands on his thighs to stand. “So much for that.”

“Youmustbe joking.” I really might throw up on his shoes. I don’t think I’d even be embarrassed if I did; he deserves it. “Idid everything right. It’s theschoolthat screwed up, and—”

“Evie, chill.”

“My name isEverett,” I snap, because while my name may be the original root of all this trouble, a guy who came back to my room under gross pretenses and tried to push me to go further than I wanted to does not get to use my nickname. “Might want to let all your loser friends who insist on calling me ‘Rumson Girl’ know.”

I expect him to storm out, to yell something back, but instead, he says, “Everett,” with a confusing amount of calm.

Assuming there’s an apology coming, I take a deep breath and force myself to chill. “What?”

“You’re not gonna tell anyone about this, right? Itwasfun for a minute, but I’m kind of with someone, and—”

“Oh myGod.” How does this keep getting worse? “No,I’m not gonna tell anyone; why the hell would I want anyone to know about this? And you’rewithsomeone? What does that even—”

All of a sudden, my brain flashes back to the first time I spotted him, to my assuming—before his flirting withme made the clear implication he was single—that he was maybe, potentially involved with the girl at his side.

The girl with the French braid.

“Heather?Please tell me it’s not Heather. Please tell me I did not just make out with the boyfriend of one of the nicest people I have ever met.” Please tell me I did not just potentially hurt someoneexactlythe way my sister hurt me, sending me here in the first place. Even though I had no way of knowing, the very thought makes me sick to my stomach.

“You’re not going to tell her.” I can’t tell if it’s an ask or a demand, and I don’t know how to reply. I’d rather die than tell Heather. But she’s also a really fucking nice person, unlike the inhabitants of this room, and doesn’t she have a right to know who she’s getting into bed with, literally and figuratively speaking?

Apparently, my silence is unbearable, because he snaps. “You’renotgoing to tell her.” This time, it’s definitely a demand, but I’m too frozen in shock and disgust to acknowledge it. The whole reason I don’t have a best friend anymore is because mine didn’t see fit to tell me when my boyfriend was screwing around on me, and while Lucas and I only kissed, he sure as helltriedto do more.

He must read into my silence that he needs to try a different approach, because his face softens into something resembling friendliness. “Everett. Heather is a really sweet girl. You wouldn’t want to hurt her, would you?”

God, I don’t know who I’m sadder for—Heather, for having a boyfriend this two-faced, or me, for being stupid enough to bring this guy back to my room. But I think abouthow Heather’s eyes shone as she told me and Sabrina how much she loves it here, and I can’t be the person to take that away from her.

“You’re right, I don’t, but that means you have to keep your mouth shut too. If I hear a single word about your having seen the inside of Rumson Girl’s room—”

“You won’t,” he says, hand over his heart. “You have my word.”

“Like that means shit,” I shoot back, walking toward the door and holding it wide open. “You can see yourself out, I’m sure.”

I wait until he’s long gone, and then I get in the shower and sit on the floor with a hand wrapped around the safety rail, watching my tears mingle with the spraying water and roll down the drain.

I give myself time to cycle through All the Emotions, but eventually, I have to peel myself off the floor, partly so I don’t use all the hot water, but mostly because this hair cannot go to bed wet or untamed. At least the lavender scent of my shampoo and conditioner is calming. I’ve moved on to drying it as best I can when my phone rings, and I see “Dad” flashing on the screen.

It’s not a surprise that my parents are checking in to see how my first day was, but I pause before answering anyway; I still haven’t quite forgiven the fact that I had to trudge up here and deal with this whole dorm mess alone. But it’s notlike I can just not pick up, so I take one more second to make sure I feel fully composed, drop my microfiber towel on the sink, and take the call.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, kiddo.” His voice sounds a little distant, almost grainy, like his phone is on speaker. Which is confirmed a moment later when my mom’s voice says, “How’d your first day go?”