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A faint blush creeps up Oliver’s neck, staining his cheeks a delicate shade of pink. He ducks his head, suddenly fascinated by the gloves on his hands.

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbles. “I’ve been experimenting with some new recipes lately. Trying to keep things fresh, you know?”

“Well, consider this experiment a resounding success. This muffin is incredible, dude. You’ve got a real talent.” I lick my fingers clean and let out a satisfied sigh.

Oliver shakes his head, blushing. “Thanks, G. Glad you enjoyed it. Now, about Elliot…”

My stomach tightens again, but at least it’s full now. “Yeah?”

“You know he can’t stay in the library forever. You’re going to have to find a real solution for him.”

“I know.” My voice sounds smaller than I want it to. “That’s why I’m here. To see if you have any ideas.”

The bell above the door jingles, and I peer over my shoulder to see a group of frat guys walk in. Oliver straightens up and gives me a final, lingering stare.

“Ideas? Talk to Jackson. See what he thinks. I’m sure Elliot kept this a secret from him, too.”

He’s right. Jackson is the perfect person to go to. He knows Elliot best.

I slide off my stool. “Thanks, man.”

He waves me off, already focused on his first customers of the day.

As I step outside, my mind races with everything I need to do. Talk to Jackson. Message the Ice Queen. Figure out how to tell Elliot that he can’t live in the library anymore.

Yeesh.No one ever told me helping people would be this much work.

Until today,I’d never stepped foot inside a dorm building.Shocking, right?Every party I’ve been to has been at the Hockey House. But as the saying goes, there’s a first time for everything.

The football team’s dorm building is located on the northeast end of campus, perched on a slight hill that overlooks Barracuda Lake. I’ve always thought it was a prime spot, with its panoramic views of the water and easy access to the running trails that circle the lake.

As I walk up the winding path, I imagine what it would be like to fall asleep every night with the moon shimmering over thelake. It’s probably the most peaceful, beautiful sight in the world. I’m kinda jealous.

The brick building has a sturdy, old-school feel that would be right at home on an Ivy League campus. Five floors of athlete-packed dorm rooms rise above a small courtyard in front, which is currently covered in a layer of dead leaves. A few picnic tables sit empty and abandoned.

I push open the heavy glass door and step into the lobby. One wall features a large mural of a charging Barracuda. The rest of the space is blue and white, with various trophies and plaques displayed in glass cases.

There’s a perk to being the It Boy on campus—Drew’s words, not mine. It allows me to be anywhere without question. Nobody bats an eye as I stroll down the hall as if I know exactly where I’m going.Fun fact: I do not.

I study a corkboard at the end of the hall that’s overflowing with handmade flyers. There’s one for an upcoming indie band performance at The Brew next weekend, a flyer for a Wii Sports tournament—can I get in on that one?—and even a “Have you seen this sock?” sign. As far as clues about Jackson’s whereabouts? Nothing but static.

I’m about to give up when a knight in—oh, my gosh, is he wearing a thong?—approaches. The guy’s eyes light up with recognition when he sees me. “Hey, aren’t you Gerard Gunnarson?”

“Last I checked.” I’m trying hard not to focus on the purple thong that is two sizes too small for him. “Always happy to meet a fan, even if they’re a bit…underdressed.”

He glances down at himself and laughs. “Sorry about that, man. I lost a dare last night. I have to wear this shit for the entire week. It’s my girlfriend’s. Neat, right?”

Neatis one word for it.Blush-worthyis another.

“Mind if we snap a quick selfie?” He pulls his phone out of only God knows where—and I’m too afraidto ask.

“Sure thing.” I sling an arm around his shoulders and flash my trademark smile.

It’s surreal, posing for a picture with a dude wearing a thong in the middle of a dorm lobby, but hey, it’s college. Weirder things have happened, such as Drew streaking across the quad wearing nothing but a strategically placed hockey puck over his gonads.

“Thanks, man. My dad is going tofreak!” He sings the last word high-pitched enough that only dogs can hear him. “So, what brings you way out over here? Isn’t the Hockey House on the other side of campus?”

“I’m trying to find a friend—Jackson Monroe. Do you know what room he’s in?”