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I NEVER GOT OUT THAT MUCH in Greentree, but on the rare occasion I did go somewhere more interesting than Craig’s basement, FaceTiming with Claire for outfit consultation was a must. If Sierra was feeling charitable, she’d toss something at me that would look a thousand times better than what I was already planning to wear; if she wasn’t, she’d just make a comment that made it clear I needed to change.

This is all to say that despite my desperately wanting to look cute and approachable and like someone you’d want to know beyond “Oh, that’s the Rumson Girl,” I have never been very skilled at getting myself ready for social things.

Too bad the icebreaker dinner is not optional.

I’d planned to wear a lilac dress that I’d bought for Claire’s family’s Easter dinner last year, but looking at it now, it’s too fancy. And my blue top isn’t nice enough. And I’ll be too hot in my red sweater. And the last time I wore this star-patterned shirt, Sierra approached me very seriously to ask when I was making her an aunt, because it made me look about six months along.

For a minute, I wish I could just dress like everyone else in my dorm—throw on a pair of jeans and a polo and be done with it. And technically, I could, but that would not yield the look I was going for. Finally, I dig up a black-and-white polka-dot top I feel decent about, and just pray that Sierra was being genuine when she told me it looked cute with my red belt and black jeans, even if it was “in a Minnie Mouse kind of way.”

I slip into my black Converse and spend a solid fifteen minutes trying to make my hair cooperate before I finally give up and head out into the late-summer night, only the slightest of chills in the air.

Since the Beast isn’t big enough to house all the students at once, the icebreaker is at the Student Center, which is thankfully an impossible building to miss. I figure if I show my face for five minutes, claim my name tag, and choke down a sandwich, I’ll have fulfilled whatever obligation I have to attend.

Positive attitude, my mom’s voice warns in my head, and it has the effect of making me stand up straighter and paste a smile on my face. She didn’t like the idea of me coming here at all, but when she finally relented, she told me that if I did go, I’d better do it with a positive attitude. And I know she isn’t here to watch me, but she isn’t wrong, either.

You look cute, I tell myself as I walk up the steps, my thumb gliding over the top of the Emotional Support Deck in my pocket. You look cute, and your outfit is cute, and you already made a couple of friends, maybe, and your dorm-room situation will get straightened out—it has to. Everything is fine. You are fine.

I pull open the door and head straight for the sign-in desk, where a girl with a round face and a big smile asks my name and then hunts for my badge. “It’s not in here,” she says, her lips drooping into a frown as she riffles through the envelope. “You said your last name is ‘Riley’?”

Deep sigh. “Check the boys’ folder.”

She does, and lo and behold. “That’s so weird,” she says with a furrow of her eyebrows as she hands me my name tag and watches me plaster it to my shirt. “How— Oh, you must be Rumson Girl.”

I grimace. “Please, my friends call me Rummy.”

The only familiar face in the room when I arrive belongs to Matt Haley, and he’s thoroughly occupied by a pair of gorgeous girls who look at him like they plan to give that rope ladder a workout tonight. Clearly, I won’t be interrupting, so I take myself over to the drinks table instead and pour myself a Sprite.

“You’re Evie, right?”

I nearly spit out my drink at the sound of that familiar accent, but I manage to choke down the bubbles and only halfway resemble a gaping fish as I turn around to face Farmboy, a.k.a. (per his name sticker) Lucas Burke. “Right. Wow, it’s nice to hear my name and not ‘Rumson Girl,’ so thank you for that.”

The regrets at mentioning my stupid nickname and predicament settle in immediately, but Lucas just laughs. “It’s a pretty name,” he says, clearly determined to make me melt into the floor. “But ‘Rumson Girl’ is cute too. You’re a celebrity on your very first day.”

“Not exactly what I want to be famous for.” Although there is something nice about the fact that Lucas has heard of me.

“There are worse things.” He pours himself a cup of Coke, and we clink “glasses.” “You’ve got your own room, right?”

I brace myself for a gross line to follow, but he’s just looking at me with friendly interest, as if we are normal people having a normal conversation. How novel. “I do. That part is definitely mostly a perk.”

“Mostly?”

“I was kind of looking forward to sharing,” I admit, watching his throat as he takes a swallow of his soda. “Making an instant friend. I don’t know anyone here. I just transferred.”

“Ah.” Lucas’s lips curve into the most charming of smiles. “Well, I will very happily be your friend, if you’re looking.”

The way he says “friend” feels a little… loaded, but maybe I’m imagining things, maybe even hearing what I want to hear, if only a little bit. He is very cute, and being very friendly, and singling me out in a packed room.

I am never the one singled out in a packed room.

“That sounds nice,” I say, and I let it sound a little loaded, too, because flirting is fun and I am extremely single. “And what is it friends do around here?”

As soon as it comes out of my mouth, I realize it sounds a whole lot flirtier than I was going for, but Lucas doesn’t seem to mind. “There are so many options,” he says, putting his cup down. “Especially with a girl who’s got her own room.”

Oh. Well. He’s just moving right past flirting and into… I don’t know what, but it’s got my heart beating double time in my chest, and my nerves tingling with something that could be nervousness or excitement or possibly even some horny combination of the two.

Craig and I didn’t fool around a whole lot. We’d make out, sometimes he’d touch my boobs, but mostly the effect was of a puppy pawing at me for a treat. Honestly, I thought maybe he just wasn’t that interested in sex stuff.

Until I caught him with my sister and realized that what he wasn’t interested in was me.

So now, having someone look at me the way Lucas is looking at me, gaze flicking between my chest and my mouth, lip caught between his teeth in a way that makes me wonder if he even knows he’s doing it… yeah, I’m feeling pretty good. Turns out it’s kinda nice to have someone confirm you’re not a troll when that’s exactly how your ex left you feeling.

I think about earlier, at Rumson, how channeling Sierra and her attitude was the thing that finally made people listen to me.

And I think about how Sierra would already be halfway back to her room with Lucas in tow.

And I think about how Sierra has always, always come out on top, no matter how terrible her choices seem to be.

And I think that maybe, if I want to get out of her shadow, as I came here to do, it’s time to make some big moves for myself.

I take a deep breath, put my own cup down next to his, and flash what I hope is an alluring smile. “Well, I happen to be just such a girl. Would you like a tour?”

My heart pounds as we slip out of the Student Center and head toward Rumson, even though no one’s paying attention to two students milling about campus when there are so many still making their way to the Student Center. No one even looks twice as we enter Rumson, and no one’s there to see me lead him to my room and close the door behind me.

Now that we’re inside, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do or say; I hadn’t gotten quite that far in my determination to be fiercely adventurous. But Lucas seems perfectly comfortable glancing around my room, and though I wait for the inevitable “Where’s all your stuff?,” it doesn’t come. Instead he just says, “You’re cute.”

Heat rises into my cheeks with a vengeance. “Am I?”

“You know you are, Rumson Girl,” he says with a grin, and it’s the least I’ve ever hated that nickname. “I would get in a lot of trouble if there was a girl like you sleeping right across the hall from me.”

“What kind of trouble?” I try not to wince at how shakily my voice comes out, but he just sounds so… confident. Adult. Like someone who gets into trouble often, and likes it.

And the way he’s looking at me, it’s like he thinks maybe I’m that kind of someone too.

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 asshole rolls 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.”

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

“Evie, chill.”

“My name is Everett, ” 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? It was fun for a minute, but I’m kind of with someone, and—”

“Oh my God. ” 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’re with someone? 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 with me 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 someone exactly the 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’re not going 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 hell tried to 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 about how 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 not like 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?”

“We heard there was a little mix-up with the dorms,” Dad adds. “Everything okay now?”

Everything okay now? That’s it? That’s all they have to say about their daughter being placed in the wrong dorm and living with all boys? I’m tempted to fire something back, but it strikes me how tired they sound. Just straight-up exhausted, like making this phone call took the last bit of energy they had left. I don’t know if it’s Sierra or the fact that we’re fighting or that they’re working harder given my coming here was a surprise expense they hadn’t budgeted for, but the fire in me dies out as quickly as it sparked.

Plus, in fairness, all I want to believe for the rest of the night is that everything is okay now, so I can’t blame them for wanting the same.

“Yeah, everything’s okay. I ended up with my own room and bathroom, so, can’t complain.”

“Oh, that’s great, honey,” says Mom, clearly stifling a yawn. “I’m sorry we couldn’t come see it today, but we’ll be there for Parents’ Weekend.”

Ah, yes, Parents’ Weekend. In two months. “Sure, Mom. Sounds good.”

“How’s the food?” Always my dad’s first question.

“So far, so good. Can’t go wrong with a baked-potato bar.”

“You truly cannot,” he says with a smile in his voice. “And how are the people? Have you found a card buddy—”

A crash in the background on their side, followed by a stream of profanity, cuts him off, and I wince at the realization that Sierra’s there. Of course she found a way to disrupt even this thirty-second conversation. “Your sister’s here,” Mom says weakly, as if forgetting that I can hear everything through the speaker. “Do you want to say hi?”

My parents know that something between Craig and Sierra was the biggest reason I wanted to leave, but I wasn’t about to tell them that I caught their precious oldest child bare-ass naked in bed with my boyfriend. Of course, without knowing that, they think it’s just silly drama between us, like one too many sweaters borrowed without asking, and that this is more about my needing space and being dramatic than anything else. My mom assured me that I’d miss Sierra to death five minutes after I left, and I guess she’s still convinced of that.

“I do not,” I say as diplomatically as I can, “but it sounds like you guys have your hands full over there. I should go. I’ll let you know how classes go tomorrow.”

They don’t seem to mind being shoved off the phone, and as soon as we hang up, I take one deep breath after another, trying to cool down the heat in my face.

Sierra steals my boyfriend, and no one cares.

Sierra curses a blue streak around my parents, and no one cares.

Sierra comes back from parties smelling like vodka and cigarette smoke, and no one cares.

I do everything right—barring tonight’s stupidity with Lucas—and I end up being the one who has to run away.

What is even the point of being good when you get so much more out of being bad?

In a flash, it hits me. Maybe my fresh start didn’t kick off exactly as I’d planned, but that’s fine; I can learn from this. Because I knew what I was running away from when I came here, but I didn’t know what it was I wanted to achieve here, and now I do.

Before I found out Lucas was a wild disappointment in every way, I did enjoy slipping out of orientation, breaking the rules, finally being the one to get away with something.

During move-in, when I channeled Sierra’s take-charge attitude instead of rolling over and being polite, I actually finally got something done.

Today, I wasn’t the good girl.

Maybe, here, I don’t have to be.

And wouldn’t you know, the perfect person to help me break out of my shell just happens to owe me a favor.

I open up one of my card decks and rub the two of spades for luck, then bound upstairs and look for the door right above mine, hoping to catch Matt before he commences any nightly activities I do not want to witness. Thankfully, I can see through the wide-open door that he’s in there, grabbing a few things from his desk before he heads back out. Unfortunately, I forgot that his snarky roommate would be there too, but whatever; I’ve gotta do this while I still have the drive.

“So,” I say, making both boys look up at the doorway. “Remember when you said you owe me one?”

Matt grins. “You mean a few hours ago?”

“Oh good, it’s still fresh. Hold that thought.” Okay, how do I phrase this? Especially in a way that won’t have Salem mercilessly destroy me with mockery? “I… need some help.”

“You need me to reach something for you?”

God, tall guys love being tall. “I need you to help me be a different person.”

Salem wasn’t even drinking anything, so I’m not sure what he starts choking on, but I hope it hurts.

Matt, meanwhile, takes my request in stride, as if he hears things like this on a weekly basis or so. “And what kind of person is that?”

I march into the room and sit myself down on Matt’s bed. “Do you know that people are actually saying that I begged to live with Archibald Buchanan, of all people?”

Matt grins. “I’ve heard that, yeah. That’s not true, is it? Because if it is, I’m gonna have to revise my assessment of your being a cool girl.”

“Of course that’s not true! It doesn’t even make any sense!”

“Okay, phew—had to check. But yeah, people love to talk shit, and a girl in a boys’ dorm is interesting. Plus, you happen to have tangled with the wrong kid today; Buchanan’s a legacy, and he’s got a bunch of annoying legacy friends. But tomorrow one of them will find a sale on boat shoes and they’ll move on to a new topic. So who cares what they think?”

“I do,” I say firmly. “I came here for a new start, and instead I’m goddamn ‘Rumson Girl,’ and I hate it. I want to be in control of how people see me. I definitely don’t want to care about other people’s stupid opinions, and I don’t want to be ‘the nice girl.’”

“We all heard you tear Barnett a new one at orientation,” Salem points out, I guess referring to skid-mark guy. “Don’t worry—no one thinks you’re a nice girl.”

“Well, I’m usually a nice girl,” I snap. “That was an exception.” I pause. “And so’s this.”

“Sounds to me like you’re already doing a great job.” Salem gives me jazz hands, and I wish I had something on me to throw at his smug face.

“Ease up, Grayson,” says Matt, and I could hug him. “ I think you’re a nice girl, but I’m still not sure what it is you want from me. Are you coming on to me? Because usually I can tell when a girl wants to bone, but you’re a bit of a conundrum, dormie.”

A conundrum. That’s already far more interesting than anything else I have ever been called. “I do not wanna bone,” I say, nearly gagging on the words. “In fact, I specifically do not wanna bone, or date, or anything involving boys right now; this version of me has made way too many bad choices in that department. Also, if I’m gonna be on people’s radar, let it be for something a lot cooler than having been Archibald Buchanan III’s roommate for three minutes.”

“And you think I can make you cool?”

“I think the kinds of girls who climb your rope ladder probably have a lot more fun and take a lot more risks than I do. And while I really do not have any interest in climbing your rope ladder in a literal or metaphorical sense, I do want to become the kind of girl who takes chances. Breaks rules. Makes her own reputation. Has actual fun. ” I cross my legs in a way I’m sure would be extremely seductive if I were not wearing plaid flannel pajama pants. “Teach me your mischievous ways, Matthew.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Salem opening his mouth, and I immediately shut that down. “Not a word.”

He shrugs and goes back to shoving his clothes in his drawers. It makes my hands itch to fold them, but bad girls don’t fold other people’s shirts. Boxers, maybe.

“Evie.” Matt sits down on the edge of his desk with a sigh. “You do not need to be anyone else. And I do not want to be responsible for corrupting you in any way. You seem very…” He waves his hands as he tries to come up with the correct phrasing, and that’s how I know it’s going to hurt like a dagger to the soul. “Pure of heart.”

“Says who?”

“Says the fact that you showed up at my door in flannel jammies asking for help getting into trouble because you literally don’t know how to do it yourself,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. “This campus does not need another me, and besides, I only have one vice. Unless you’re interested in a very specific kind of lesson…” His lewd gestures do suggest expertise, but I shudder anyway. “Yeah.” His smile turns into a full-fledged grin now. “That’s what I thought. Catch ya later, dormie, roomie.”

He puts a warm, brotherly hand on my shoulder on his way out, and I want to die.

“Okay, well,” I mutter, “that was about as humiliating as a day can get.” I turn to walk out, when suddenly I hear my name, and I cringe. I should’ve known Salem would get one last insult in before I go.

I whirl around. “If you tell anyone about this, I will murder you in cold blood.”

“Is that part of being a bad girl?”

“Oh, shut up,” I snap. “Did you just want to tell me that I’m pathetic?”

“No, not that. I mean, yes, also that.” He tries three times to shut his overstuffed drawer, and finally gives up and stands. “But I’ll help you anyway.”

“You.” I lean against the doorframe. “Why on earth would you help me?”

“Because I am dying to see what it looks like when a girl whose head is literally a ball of sunshine goes rogue.”

My hand immediately flies to my puffy bun of curls. “What is it with you Graysons and my hair?”

He drops onto his bed and picks up a lighter from his bedside table, tossing it from hand to hand as he ignores my question. “I will, however, need something in return.”

“Oh?”

“Obviously I don’t need your help to become a total stud, but Matt tells me you signed on to keep his dirty little secrets, and I’m gonna need in on that action.”

“You don’t strike me as the lady-killer type,” I say bluntly. “At least not in the metaphorical sense.”

He snorts and flicks the lighter like it’s a child’s toy. “No? Guess I’ll have to stick to the usual weed and truancy then.”

“I’m not peeing in a cup for you, if that’s where this is going,” I inform him, staunchly keeping my eyes away from the flame, feeling for reasons I can’t begin to understand as if it’s a challenge.

“I wouldn’t dare ask, but only because I’ve heard they can tell it’s a girl.” He tosses the lighter aside, picks up one of those minibasketballs, and starts spinning it with his fingers. “That said, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of other opportunities to cover for me, and Matt’s right—if you need to ask how to get yourself in trouble, you’ve definitely got exactly the never-touched-weed, four-point-oh kind of vibe I need.” He’s right on both counts, but I don’t like how he says it. “My parents are really fucking pissed about me getting tossed out of my last school, and if it happens again, the next one is not gonna be a castle-looking joint with a waffle bar. So you help keep me here, and I’ll help you…” He waves a hand in my general direction, as if my entire situation is just too dire for words.

It’s only the second-most insulted I’ve been today, but it still feels like too much to let slide. “I have a better idea,” I say, holding up my hand for the ball, which he tosses in my direction. It lands with a satisfying smack against my palm, and I toss it back. “How about instead of covering for you while you continue to be a parent-displeasing stoner slacker waste of space, I just… help you not to be?”

His smirk is so annoying, I wish it were physically possible to rip it from his face. “So I can be more like you, the superdork who somehow landed herself in an all-boys dorm?”

“Hey.” Again, tough to argue that point, but he doesn’t have to say it.

“ You’re the one who showed up here begging to be taught how to be cool,” he reminds me, tossing the ball back and forth between his hands. I can’t help watching the ball roll off the tips of his long, thin, surprisingly elegant fingers, like a kitten mesmerized by a yo-yo. “And I can’t argue with you needing it, because that was literally the most uncool thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”

“Yeah, well, at least I chose to come to Camden,” I snap, because it’s literally all I’ve got. Anyway, it doesn’t matter; he’s right that I’m here to change, and I will change. “Whatever, are you in or not? You teach me how to be bad, and I’ll teach you how to be good. Deal?”

“Guess so.” And then he sends the ball flying back like a boomerang, and of course, my reflexes can’t keep up and it bounces right off my face. But I guess that’s something we can work on, too. I ignore his quiet laughter, grab it from the floor, and toss it at him, making for the door. “Your first lesson is free—fold your damn clothes. We’ll start on the rest tomorrow.” I do love a project.

“You’re a peach, you know that?”

“No,” I say, yanking open the door and flashing my most charming smile over my shoulder as I make my exit. “I was a peach. Now I’m a bad apple.”