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N OW THAT SALEM AND I are—well, not friends, but partners in a pact, at least, I decide we’re tight enough for me to sit with him at breakfast. “By the way, I met your sister yesterday,” I tell him as I plunk my tray down next to his, my stack of waffles with a dollop of whipped cream a heaping contrast to his omnipresent sad green apple.

“I know.” He pulls a paper clip from his pocket and twists it out of shape with his free hand. I know before it even touches the table that he’s going to use it to scratch his name into the tabletop. I don’t know where her never-ending supply of paper clips came from, but Sierra used to do that all the time.

“You know? I didn’t think you and your sister talked.”

He gives me a quick side-eye before returning to his task. “She’s my sister. I talk to her every day, whether I like it or not. Do you not have siblings?”

Well, that’s a loaded question. And oh, how I love the idea of Sierra not existing in this new world of mine. But still, it feels like too big a lie. And anyway, I can’t imagine Salem will care to do too much digging. “One. And we do not, in fact, talk every day. Or at all.”

“Oh.”

“You didn’t tell Sabrina about our… arrangement, did you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like I’m dying to share that you slipped a note under my door this morning outlining a basic hygiene regimen.”

I was actually particularly proud of my first contribution, and he can pretend his nails aren’t cleaner this morning than they were yesterday, but I know better. Still, I keep my smugness to myself so I can scout the room while he goes back to his rabbit food. I know it’s inevitable that I’ll see Heather and Lucas together at some point, but I’d like to push it off for as long as humanly possible.

Thankfully, when Sabrina rolls in a few minutes later, she’s sans roommate, buying me at least a little more time before I have to face the very nice girl whose boyfriend I accidentally-ish made out with. I wave to get her attention so she knows we have a seat for her, and she joins us a couple of minutes later with a heaping bowl of cereal as rainbow bright as her all-black ensemble is… not.

“Hark, the goth princess has awoken.” Salem flicks a bright pink O off the top of her breakfast as she forcefully nudges his tray aside to make room for hers. “Does your vampire clan know you’re up before nine A.M. ?”

“Does your face know it’s hideous?” she returns without so much as a glance in his direction as she shoves a spoonful of sugar in her mouth.

“Do your faces know they’re the same?” I ask, and receive disgusted looks in return.

“Guess you both survived your first night in Rumson,” Sabrina says wryly, tugging on one of her Wednesday Addams braids. “I’d say you deserve a cookie, but you wouldn’t eat it”—she nods toward Salem’s green apple—“and you… have already got plenty going on there.” She eyes the heaping pile of whipped cream on my waffles.

“Tell me you are not judging my sugar intake when you’re eating a bowl of cavity seeds for breakfast.”

Salem gives his virtuous apple breakfast an extra-large smug chomp, self-righteousness dribbling down his chin as he grins while scrolling on his phone.

“Don’t mind him,” says Sabrina with a wave of her hand. “He’s always been annoying, always will be annoying.”

“Noted,” I say with an official nod. “And how was your first night at Lockwood? Was it one big massive slumber party full of snacks and rom-com watching and everyone doing each other’s nails?”

“I can’t actually tell if you’re kidding.”

“Neither can I,” I admit in a grumble, stabbing into a waffle and dragging it through the melting whipped cream, “but I bet whatever you did, it was better than having a bunch of guys play the penis game in front of your door while you were trying to sleep.”

“Sorry, the what now?” she asks, blinking slowly.

“You know—people take turns saying ‘penis’ louder than the person before until everyone’s screaming it? Do you not have this game in… where are you guys from? Romania?”

“Yep, nailed it,” Salem says coolly.

“And we do,” Sabrina adds, scooping up another colorful bite as she too checks something on her phone. “I just wanted to hear you describe it.”

I stuff a piece of waffle into my mouth and chew. “I don’t think I like either one of you, now that I think about it.”

They fist-bump without lifting their gazes from their respective screens.

Note to self: Make new friends. I finish my waffles as quickly as I can and declare that I’m heading to my first-period English class. Turns out, Salem’s in the same one, so we head over to the charmingly nicknamed “Sac” (a.k.a. Student Academic Center) together, which is helpful, since I have no recollection of where the classroom is inside its network of hallways.

“Skeevy—” There’s a yank on the back of my shirt, and I just miss banging into a beefy guy about twice my height when Salem pulls me out of the path of hallway traffic. “We’re in here.”

I’m too flustered over nearly going the wrong way to shoot dagger eyes at Salem for the noxious new nickname. And it doesn’t make me feel better that Salem’s just as new as I am, but he’s not tripping all over himself getting lost in these new-to-us hallways.

“It helps if you actually move,” Salem says with a snort, dropping awfully heavily into a seat for someone who probably weighs eighty pounds soaking wet.

I stick out my tongue like the sophisticated young woman I am and slide into the seat next to him. At least his obnoxiousness is a decent distraction from the hell of my brain.

Spoke too soon. While Salem may be a soul-sucking void, I catch a now-familiar blond head walking past me as I pull out my preferred pens. Apparently, I don’t get even one single period of freedom before I have to stare my newest bad choice in the face.

Well, metaphorically speaking; I’m still two rows behind him. But I hate it all the same.

Before I can come up with a good reason I must switch sections immediately, a birdlike woman marches right up to the whiteboard and stabs “Mrs. Frank” on it with a firm hand of black dry-erase marker. She’s wearing an absolutely pristine white shirt with a gray flannel skirt and the most severe loafers I’ve ever seen on someone who wasn’t playing a prison guard in a movie.

“Alton, Kayla?”

Well, no pleasantries, then.

I crane my neck for a glimpse of the girl saying “Here,” eager to put faces with names so this place can stop feeling so alien. Apparently, I’m not the only one with that idea, and I feel bad when all the prying eyes make her shrink a little in her seat, hiding her cheeks with a curtain of box braids.

“Burke, Lucas?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s a pleasure.”

Ugh, truly, he can go fuck himself. I never used to think in swear words, but two days at Camden and I’ve already learned that sometimes, you just need them. It’s truly annoying that his accent and dimples are as cute as they are; Sierra would call him a-fucking-dorable. And she’d say it in the same tone she used to use about Craig, like he was a sweet child who probably looked like a Ken doll under his jeans.

Maybe that’s why she just had to sleep with him. I stifle a snort, not realizing I’m scratching a groove into the desk with my pen until I’m staring the blue ink straight in the face. She had to know if he was all doll parts.

I lay the pen quietly on the wood and focus on the whiteboard, letting the names of my classmates drift around me and trying to recenter myself. I’ve played Why Did Sierra Do It? at least once a day for the last four months, and it’s a stupid and pointless game. Sierra slept with my boyfriend for the same reason she did everything: because she wanted to.

Which brings me back to the question of the day: What do I want to do to kick off my year of badassery?

I hazard a glance at Salem, who barks “Here!” as soon as “Grayson” is called, drowning out what must be his real first name before letting her know he prefers to be called Salem. He’s a little mystery wrapped in an enigma, that one. He pretends to be annoyed by his sister, but he goes by the nickname that ties them together. And he pretends not to care about self-improvement, but he smells much better today, like clean flannel and leather, a hint of pine.

He’s kind of a jerk, kind of a mess, and definitely needs some etiquette lessons, but if I’m going to pull this miserable year out of the depths, he might be my only hope.

Thankfully, Lucas isn’t in chem with me second period. (Though the delightful Archibald Buchanan is, and can you believe he didn’t want to be lab partners?) I don’t glimpse him while traipsing through the Sac lobby at snack time for a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie, either. (I have no idea if that’s a regular thing, but I do know it’s officially my new favorite part of boarding school.) We’re seated alphabetically in APUSH, which puts us all the way across the room from each other, and in the biggest blessing of all, we don’t even have the same lunch period.

At least someone in the universe is on my side.

Still, a whole three more years of this sounds like a nightmare.

“What’s the face? Are you not a fan of frittatas?” Salem pronounces the word in the absolute most annoying way possible, with extra emphasis on every t and a few he definitely made up.

“I’m surprised you’re deigning to eat with me again today,” I say before smiling at the server and receiving my eggs with hash browns on the side. “Really, don’t feel the need to take pity on me. In fact, perhaps now would be the right time for you to discover the lost ‘good boy’ art of eating alone.”

“No can do,” he says ruefully as he gets a plate filled with way more food than could possibly fit in his string bean of a body. “See, my roommate keeps trying to take me under his wing, and he happens to be in this lunch period. So unless I want him trying to sit me with a table full of jock bros, I need a diversion.”

“Jock bros?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

I do, but more than that, I don’t have anyone else to sit with. Sabrina and Heather don’t have lunch this period either, and the only person I recognize thus far is Kayla Alton, who’s wearing headphones while she works on something, clearly not looking to mingle.

And so, it is with a heavy sigh that I follow half a step behind Salem to get drinks and then snag an empty table, where I slide my tray down next to his.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. “What’s with you?” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a sandwich, ignoring the huge heap of eggs and hash browns on his plate. “I feel like you’re usually… bouncier.”

“Again, you’re thinking of my hair,” I tell him, digging into my lunch. I’m not sure I’ve ever actually had a frittata, but it basically just looks like a fluffy egg pie, and that cannot possibly be bad. If I were at GHS right now, I’d probably be poking at a soggy slice of pizza or a mound of beef stew that resembled neither beef nor stew.

Camden’s menu is a clear upgrade, but for the briefest of moments my heart aches anyway, because I’d also be feeling Craig’s ankle hooked around mine, and hearing Claire quiz herself with her trademark flash cards between bites of a bagel with cream cheese and cucumber cut into fourths.

Well, once upon a time I would have, anyway.

I watch as he takes a bite of the sandwich, which looks to be peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat. “You brought your own sandwich to lunch?”

He shrugs. “So?”

“You…” I gesture at his egg mountain. “What was the point of—”

“Hey, roomie.” Before I can finish my sentence, a huge hand claps Salem’s shoulder so hard he almost coughs out his sandwich. “Mind if I join you?” Matt doesn’t wait for an answer before taking a seat. “And Evie! I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

The innuendo in his tone has me nearly choking on a piece of fried potato. “So much,” I say, my eyes watering as I take a sip of water. “Salem and I were about to bang on this table.”

“She wishes.”

“Hey, I told you,” says Matt, grabbing Salem’s fork and helping himself to the hash browns he’s clearly not eating. “If you’ve got a lady—or anyone else; you do you—in the room, just hang a sock on the door.”

“I did that. Last night. You came in anyway.”

“Yeah, but I covered my eyes, didn’t I?”

I narrow my eyes at Salem. “ You had a girl in your room last night?” For a brief moment, I have to wonder what it could possibly look like for Salem to lay on the charm enough to convince a girl to hook up with him, and I simply cannot. She’d have to be the type very easily seduced by a bit of swagger and a pair of gorgeous eyes. Not that I have thoughts about Salem’s eyes; I’m just saying—

“No, I just wanted the place to myself.” He swallows the last bite of his sandwich and stands up. “Well, this has been real, but I gotta go be not here.” He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder and starts to stand, but Matt pushes him back down.

“You’re being rude to the lady.”

I nod. “Your roommate is not the friendliest, I’m finding.”

“Eh, he’ll warm up,” Matt says confidently. “You gonna come cheer for him on Thursday night?”

“I haven’t made a single plan for this week further than attending the club fair after classes today.” I glance at Salem, who seems to be trying to laser-beam an exit portal into the tabletop using the power of his stare. “What’s Thursday night?”

“Nothing,” he mutters.

“And I thought I was a bad liar.” I take a noisy sip of my fountain Coke and turn to Matt. “What’s Thursday night?”

“My parents are making me try out for the basketball team, okay?” Salem spits. “Now shut up, both of you.”

I try not to laugh. I really do. But the image of the skinny goth boy next to me ambling slowly up the court in a jersey and shorts is way too much.

“Oh, fuck you.” Salem starts to gather up his stuff again, but this time I push him back down.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I use my free hand to dig my nails into my thigh, which finally helps me stop laughing. “Anyway, isn’t basketball a winter sport? Why are there tryouts already?”

“It’s for the intramural team, technically,” Matt explains. “We play Tuesday and Thursday nights. But Coach basically handpicks players from it to make varsity in November and uses those games as preseason training. He’s not supposed to, but.” He gives a big, showy shrug. “Anyway, your boy here’s just lucky to have a roommate who knows the ins and outs and convinced him of the importance of showing up.”

“Strategic thinking,” I say, tapping my temple. “I dig it.” I turn to Salem. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s awesome that you’re trying out, and I will definitely come cheer you on.”

“Please don’t.”

“He doesn’t mean that,” Matt assures me.

“Oh, I know. What time are tryouts?”

“After your bedtime,” says Salem at the same time Matt says, “Seven.”

“Great!” I smile toothily at Salem, whose eyes are absolutely brimming with murder. “Oh, and I’ll bring Sabrina! I bet she’d love to cheer on her bro.”

“I will kill you in your sleep.”

“Thursday night, seven o’clock,” I confirm, taking another huge bite of eggs. “Can. Not. Wait.”

At GHS, the extracurricular offerings were pretty standard, and since I didn’t have the athletic ability to do volleyball like Sierra, or the musical talent to do marching band like Claire, I resigned myself to afternoons of studying, crappy TV, watching Craig and his friends play video games in his basement, or playing poker, when I could get a decent game together. (And before people got sick of me taking their money.)

At Camden, extracurriculars—well, cocurriculars, technically—are mandatory from four to five every weekday afternoon, and judging by the club fair, there’s plenty to fill the time. Who needs tennis or debate when you’ve got baking and board games? (Yes, I obviously sign up for both of these.)

I’m trying to size up both the Book Club and Quiz Bowl tables at once when I realize I know the pair standing in front of the Business Investors League booth. Sure enough, there’s a French braid grazing the sign-up sheet as Heather bends over to scrawl her name, and next to her, Lucas’s deep dimples are in high relief as he chats with the besuited upperclassman rep.

I immediately head in the opposite direction, but I don’t get far before I hear my name being called, and slowly turn to find Heather smiling and waving me over. I have no choice but to drag myself to the Business Investors League table. “Hey, Heather. I didn’t take you for the investor type.”

“I’m not—yet,” she says with a hint of the warm smile that seems permanently affixed to her face. “But it seems like something I could stand to learn. My mom’s always saying she wishes she knew more about the stock market, so I figured I could learn for us both.”

“Love that,” I say, and the way Lucas is looking at her, it seems like he loves that too.

Or maybe he’s simply trying to avoid eye contact.

And then, because the bile in my stomach hasn’t come all the way up yet, her smile widens and she says, “Evie, have you met Lucas?”

“Met” is just such an interesting word for what I’ve done with Lucas, and when I meet his eyes, I expect to see them widen in fear or prayer or something. But there’s no reaction, like either he’s so confident I’ll play along, or he’s already forgotten who I am.

Either way, fuck that guy.

“He’s in my English class.”

He swallows, nods, jerks his thumb toward the table. “You joining up too?”

“Not my type of gambling, personally. But I expect to make a mean cinnamon bun by the end of a semester of Baking Club.”

“Definitely a worthy choice,” he drawls, as if I care about his approval. Heather’s already checked out of this conversation, eagerly flipping through different binders and pamphlets laid out on the table, and I take that as a sign that I’ve put in enough time.

I glance around for a smooth exit strategy, my eyes lighting on a familiar face on the row of athletic booths. “Speaking of worthy,” I say, infusing my voice with as much “unlike my present company” as I can, “I see a friend I’ve got to say hi to. Good to see you, Heather.” And then I turn my back on Lucas Burke to sail right over to Matt Haley, and I can feel him watching me every step of the way.

“Dormie!” Matt throws his arms wide when he sees me walking up to the basketball booth, where he sits next to a hot Asian dude whose jaw could cut glass. His teammate is staring at his phone as if it holds the secrets of the universe, but every ten seconds or so, he glances up at the absolutely stun ning girl standing across from them, looking like he wishes he could literally drown himself in her strawberry-blond waves. “You coming to join the team? I knew you were a Cougar at heart.”

“Yes, Matthew. I’ve decided to join the boys’ basketball team to add further confusion and ensure I will never get out of Rumson. I thought you guys would really benefit from my extra height.”

The girl gives me a toothy smile, and even though I am reasonably certain I am heterosexual, I also feel like I would give her all my earthly possessions if she’d smile at me like that again someday. “Oh, I like you. You’re the Rumson Girl?”

I resist the urge to grimace. “Evie.”

“Isabel McEvoy.” There’s a brief moment where I feel like everyone’s waiting to see if that means anything to me, but it’s over so quickly that I must’ve imagined it. “Matty and I go way back.” Before I can respond to that, she tips her head to the side, her gorgeous hair flowing over her shoulder. “Hey, what did you sign up for on Friday afternoons?”

“Nothing yet, I don’t think.” I glance down at the haphazard schedule I’ve been jotting down in my Notes app. “So far I’ve got Book Club, Baking Club, and Board Games Club, so I guess I need something else with a B ? Not basketball,” I clarify to Matt before he can get any ideas.

“Well, ‘community service’ starts with a C, ” says Isabel, “but we do collect bottles for recycling sometimes? And bring food to the elderly?”

I nod. “That counts.” Not exactly the Friday night of my dreams, but it’s not like I have any plans, and anyway, how does one say no to community service? Or to Isabel McEvoy? “Where do I sign up?”

“Oh, I got it. Don’t worry,” she says with another smile that has undoubtedly brought at least 50 percent of the student body to its knees. “I won’t forget you.”

She says it like I’m memorable, like I’m somebody, like I’m not just a campus punch line or a warm body or a gateway to somebody else, and in that moment, she is my favorite person at Camden.

“You know,” she adds, “I thought you’d take a little more convincing.”

“Do I not look like someone who would service my community?” I bite my lips as even Matt’s teammate looks up from his phone at that one. “Hold on, I hear how that sounds.”

“No judgment from me,” Matt says with a shrug. “I am all for servicing the community. I know that’s what I’ll be doing on Friday night.”

“Let me guess—there may even be bottles involved?”

“Probably not bringing food to the elderly,” he admits, his mouth widening into the cocky grin I’m coming to know very well, “unless you count—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Isabel and I say simultaneously.

“You’re both no fun,” Matt says, but the smile on his face doesn’t fade in the slightest. “And speaking of people who are no fun! Grayson! Come over here!”

I turn to see Salem not-so-subtly looking for an out, but finding none, he trudges over to the basketball table, hands jammed in the pockets of his hoodie. “I already told you, I’m coming on Thursday. You can chill on the hard sell.”

“Can’t a guy just say hi to his roommate?”

“And a girl say hi to her bestie?” I can’t resist adding.

His answering scowl does not disappoint, but you can see the exact moment he spots Isabel standing behind me, because he stands up a little straighter, adding inches to his height in an instant, and adjusts the strap on his messenger bag as if it’ll make him look even 5 percent less like he just rolled out of bed. The urge to tease him is so strong, I have to change the subject in order to stop myself.

Of course, what comes out of my mouth is “I’m going to service the community on Friday night.”

Well, at least that drops the scowl from his face, though his smirk isn’t any more welcome. “Thanks for the advance warning. I’ll make sure to wear earplugs.”

Oh, I am going to cheer extra loud at tryouts.

Extra, extra loud.