Page 7

D ESPITE THE LATE NIGHT, I wake up relatively early the next morning—in time to catch breakfast at the Beast, which is so empty it feels like offering it on Saturday mornings is basically a formality. I’ve always been an earlier riser; just feels like there’s too much to do with the day to sleep through it. Once I’ve eaten my weight in waffles and disposed of my tray, I start to head out and am surprised to see not just Isabel but all three of her besties enter the cafeteria.

“Evie!” I love how Isabel always sounds so utterly delighted to see me. “Come sit with us.”

I realize with my tray already gone, there’s no way for them to know I already ate, so I grab a little fruit salad and fancy myself looking dainty and ladylike with it. “We were just talking about you,” Isabel tells me once we’ve taken seats. “I didn’t realize you were with that boy.”

Once again, it’s time to figure out how to play this—would it be a good thing, or a bad thing?

Before I can even try, Ashleigh chimes in. “That’s Salem Grayson, right? Landon says he thinks once they whip him into shape, he’s gonna be a serious star on the team.”

“He’s certainly got the height,” Isabel adds.

“And the hands,” Priya says with a giggle, her long, thick black hair bouncing.

The other girls smirk and I suddenly feel very young and out of my element. “I… yeah. I mean, we’re not. We’re friends. Dormmates, too. But yeah, just friends.”

Judging by the glances they exchange, it feels like that was the right answer, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell you why.

“He lives with Matt, too, right?” Priya asks. “Have you ridden that train yet?”

I have to steel my jaw in place to stop it from dropping at the idea, only to realize Matt still would’ve been better than the station stop I actually did make the first week of school. Even a train that stops at every station is more appealing than one that… Okay, I’m losing this metaphor, but the point is, Matt’s cool and Lucas sucks.

“Don’t be embarrassed if you have,” Ashleigh adds knowingly. “Everyone’s gone through a Matt phase. Well, except me.”

“That’s Ash’s way of segueing into the fact that she’s been with Landon since the dawn of time.” Only when I hear Jenna’s wry voice does it strike me it’s the first time that I’ve ever heard her speak; she’s usually a quiet, somewhat unsettling ice-blue-eyed force. “We know, Ash. We all have our wisteria bridesmaid dresses picked out.”

“Periwinkle!” Ashleigh corrects her with a note of panic, as if these dresses have already been designed and ordered. Then she catches herself. “I mean, they’re not the same.”

Next to me, I sense a movement in Isabel’s hands, and realize she’s digging her nails into her palms. A quick glance at her face confirms she’s trying not to laugh.

“Of course, Izzy here insists she’s never had a Matt phase either.” Priya’s voice and smile are both sugar-sweet, a lovely pairing with her candy-floss sweater and matching dagger-sharp nails, but the waggling of her enviably thick eyebrows suggests she doesn’t believe it. To me, Matt and Isabel give off a brother-sister vibe, but then, what I don’t know about sex could fill the Beast, so.

“So?” Ashleigh asks. “Are you into Matt?”

Talking to these girls is dizzying, and I’m having trouble keeping track of the impressions I’m trying to be giving. If I want to be a cool girl, a hot girl, a badass girl—these are the girls I need to impress, which means my answers need to be right.

“I’m still scouting my options,” I say in a breezy voice I don’t think I’ve ever used in my entire life.

I’m convinced they’ll be able to see right through me, but thankfully, Priya claps. “My kind of girl. Now let me think who’s got potential…”

“Ooh, what about Nick?” Ashleigh offers.

“Ontiveros or Brenner?” Isabel asks.

“Ontiveros, obviously,” Jenna says, at exactly the same time Priya says, “Brenner, definitely.”

I glance back and forth between them, and get the feeling I’m being caught in a very weird standoff. “Two options sounds good to me,” I say cheerfully, hoping to defuse some of the tension I still don’t really understand.

“Like I said.” Priya smiles smugly. “My kind of girl.”

“And what are you up to today, Evie?” Jenna asks, swirling a spoon through a bowl of berry-studded yogurt.

They all turn their eyes on me, and I have no idea what exciting things I could possibly pretend I have lined up. “Not sure yet,” I say slowly, trying to remember the suggested options for Saturday afternoons. Most of them are nature-y—rafting and hiking and climbing—the kinds of things my parents would drag me and Sierra to on weekends in the Before Times that I’m not ready to revisit. The rest are sort of blurring at the moment.

“Good,” says Isabel, booping my nose like I’m a child. “You’re coming shopping with us.”

Shopping? With the four most perfect-looking humans to grace the entirety of the Camden campus? I am so, so out of my league here.

And yet, there’s only one possible response, despite the fact that I definitely cannot afford to shop wherever these girls do: “When do we leave?”

It’s hard to say what’s the most surreal about what follows from there.

It could be getting into the back seat of Ashleigh Cartwright’s Land Rover, where I squeeze between Priya and Isabel for a ride to the mall and pray I’m wearing a sufficient amount of deodorant and my legs aren’t stubbly.

It could be the way a single question about my hair somehow leads to a whirlwind makeover, complete with hair straightening and a makeup tutorial.

It’s very potentially the fact that the four coolest girls in school are giving me fashion advice and picking out clothing for me like I’m some sort of project, which sounds terrible except that I was badly in need of both advice and fashion sense and now I have new stuff that looks amazing.

But mostly, it’s just surreal how interested they are in me.

“So what’s it like, living in a boys’ dorm?” Priya asks as she pokes at her skin in a magnifying mirror.

“Anyone look surprisingly hot in a towel?” Ashleigh wants to know.

“Most importantly, who’s dropping by your room after hours?” Isabel wonders aloud, her eyes twinkling as she lifts one scent after another to her nose.

“What makes you think anyone’s dropping by my room after hours?” I ask as my face is blushed and contoured and highlighted. I keep my tone playful, as if there were even a snowball’s chance in hell that I might have a gentleman caller, but at this point, there’s no one I can even imagine getting with, especially at Rumson.

Though Archie and I sure would have a great meet-cute to share with our kids.

“Oh, come on.” Jenna points a coal-black eye pencil in my direction. “You have your own room, you don’t have to head back after curfew, and you live below a guy who keeps a rope ladder swinging from his window to yours at all times. Don’t tell me you’re staying squeaky clean. We’re meeting up with Matt and the other guys in half an hour, and he’s going to tell us whether you’ve been naughty or nice.”

The other girls look at me knowingly and I don’t even know what to say. I haven’t stayed entirely squeaky clean, but they sound seductive and worldly when they talk about guys, and I’m… not that. But if I do tell them I made out with someone, they might try prying for who, and that is not something I’ll be sharing.

Is it better if they think I’m a boring prude who can’t even get a guy when she’s constantly surrounded by them, though?

“You know what you need?” Isabel asks, spritzing the inside of her wrist and lifting it to her nose. “Bellas.”

“Bellas!” Priya and Ashleigh cheer.

“What are Bellas?” Why am I always the last to know everything?

“Come on,” Jenna says authoritatively, and everyone puts back the makeup they were holding. I try to get up to join them, but she stops me. “Wait. First, you need to get that eyeliner.”

I’m about to argue—I’m already seriously overdoing the spending today, and my parents are going to kill me when they see the bill I’ve rung up on my “emergency” credit card—when I realize that buying one of the items used in my makeover is a requirement. Crap. Another twenty bucks I don’t really have.

“Gimme,” Isabel says, holding out her hand. “I’ll throw it in with my stuff.”

She says it so casually I can’t bring myself to argue, and less than five minutes later, I’m the proud owner of a fancy new eyeliner and on my way to find out exactly what “Bellas” are.

I’ve learned so many things today, like how to contour my face, how to extend the life of a blowout, and how much designer underwear can cost. (Turns out “Bellas” are an obscenely expensive brand of underwear, the official brand of the Camden Hot Girl Clique.) And right now in the food court, I’m learning how many soft pretzels Matt Haley can stuff in his face, which is, frankly, too many.

“I can’t get used to you with straight hair.” Matt cocks his head as he polishes off the last of what must be his third. “Feels wrong.”

“What he means to say,” Isabel says with an elbow to his side, “is that you look nice, and it’s fun to try new things.”

Cool, now I’m feeling even more self-conscious. I’m searching for something, anything, to change the conversation away from my appearance, but thankfully, Landon promptly does just that. “You look nice too, baby,” he says to Ashleigh, nuzzling her soft curls, which he can easily access because she’s perched on his lap. “You should wear your hair like this every day.”

“I do wear my hair like this every day,” she says, grinning while everyone else makes retching motions. It is a little nauseating how perfect they are, like it’s too much to even aspire to. He looks like he should be in a sneaker ad, dark skin glistening with sweat while he artfully skyrockets to the hoop.

“So, Matt, how’s the new roster?” Priya asks gleefully, tweaking the straw in her smoothie.

Isabel rolls her eyes. “She doesn’t mean basketball, in case you couldn’t crack that code.”

“Don’t worry, I always know where Priya’s head’s at,” Matt says with a wink, and I immediately have a feeling I know whose designer wardrobe will flash by as it scales the rope ladder tonight. “So far, the ‘one girl per dorm’ quest is moving along very smoothly.”

I know what Jenna’s gonna say before the twinkle in her eye and smug tilt to her smile even herald it. “Does that include Rumson?”

Heat rises in my cheeks at everyone’s smothered laughter, but Matt takes it in stride. “Would you believe the one girl in Rumson has been totally resistant to my charms so far? It’s like she doesn’t even know who I am.”

God, he really might be my new best friend. “Or maybe it’s like she knows exactly who you are,” I say sweetly, dragging a spoon through my frozen yogurt.

Now everyone laughs for real while Matt puts on a pout, and I take a bite of my melting vanilla with rainbow sprinkles.

“You know, Evie won’t tell us a thing about living there,” Isabel tells him. “We might need to pay a visit to see for ourselves.”

Oh good, just what I need—for these ridiculously well-put-together people to see my weird prison-cell-like room.

And then suddenly, the perfect idea for both recouping the money I didn’t actually have to spend today and bringing everyone to Rumson without making my room the centerpiece of the visit comes to mind.

“You should. Matt’s a great host, and I was just thinking that we haven’t had a decent poker night yet.”

“Ooh, poker party sounds like fun,” says Matt, flashing a wicked grin as his waggles his eyebrows at Isabel. “Remember that game—”

Isabel cuts him off immediately. “I don’t think the girl meant strip poker, Matty.”

“No, I definitely did not.”

“Well, nevertheless, sure, let’s do it,” he says casually. “I’ll invite some guys from the floor. Does this mean you play, dormie?”

“I do.” I take another bite of fro yo to hide my smile. “I used to play a lot with friends back home.”

“Shouldn’t you ask your roommate if he’s on board before inviting a whole bunch of people over?” Isabel suggests, examining her perfect peach nails.

“I’ll take care of that,” I say, and instantly regret it when everyone’s gazes swivel to me. “I mean. We’re friends. It’ll be fine.”

I do not want to attempt to decipher the look exchanged between Matt and Isabel at that point. It feels like it’s at my expense somehow, but Matt just says, “I’m sure it will be,” and the conversation easily flows from Salem back to the basketball team, the first thing to take Landon’s attention off Ashleigh’s mouth in at least five minutes.

Having nothing to contribute, I finish my fro yo in silence, and try not to think about how much Salem is absolutely going to kill me.

The rest of the group splits up for various activities when we get back to campus, but I head straight to Rumson and dash up the stairs to bang on Salem’s door.

“What do you want, Skeevy?” he calls without opening it.

“How do you even know it’s me?”

“Because you always fucking knock like you’re in a horror movie and you just came upon a lone cabin in the wilderness.” He swings the door open, and I’m gratified to see his eyes widen at my makeover. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Oh, just the mall with some friends,” I say casually, possibly stepping on his foot a little as I let myself inside and drop onto Matt’s bed, knowing he’s currently meeting up with his designated Ewing Hall conquest. “The blowout was Jenna’s idea. Priya picked the outfit. And Isabel treated me to the eyeliner so I could get a free makeover. Isn’t that sweet?”

“Is it?” He’s still staring at me, but like I’m a strange, unfamiliar animal, rather than a hot girl who got a spectacular makeover, and it’s really killing my buzz. What is it about these guys and an aversion to a change in hairstyle?

Whatever, it doesn’t matter; it’s not like I’m trying to impress either of them. “It is. And you might like to know that you came up several times on this outing. Of course, they thought we might be a thing after seeing us at the movie together last night, but don’t worry, I let them know you’re single and ready to mingle.”

“I can’t help feeling like I absolutely do not want you meddling in my love life. Ever.” He scowls as he shoves aside the mass of flannel blanket on his bed and sits down on the edge.

“Okay, well, that might be a problem, because I’ve already made us plans for tonight, and they involve a party in your room that includes four of the hottest girls at Camden, three of whom are single.”

“Evie, what the fuck. You invited them here ? Why?”

“Matt thought it would be fun to have a poker night,” I tell him, patting Matt’s pillow in lieu of indicating his actual roommate. “Tonight, Salem Grayson, we are going to raise your social profile and introduce you to some hotties.”

“Has anyone used the word ‘hotties’ in the last twenty years?”

“Salem.” I walk and sit at his feet, taking his lightly callused fingers in mine. “This is as well-adjusted as you’re ever gonna get. You know what helps parents get over being expelled for smoking weed in the principal’s office, of all the stupid, godforsaken places? Showing them that you are really and truly changing into a normal human being.”

He pulls his hands away and braces them on the thighs of his basketball shorts. “Sabrina told you why I got expelled?”

Whoops. It honestly hadn’t occurred to me that it was a secret. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like it’s news that you have a… penchant for cannabis.”

“You know you can just say I like weed, right?”

“Heard that, too.”

He exhales a frustrated breath, and I cock my head, taking in his pinched expression. “Seriously, Salem. It was a stupid thing to do, but I’m willing to bet a lot of us are here for stupid reasons. I know I am, even if it wasn’t my fault.”

“Can you all just stay the hell out of my business, please?”

“After tonight, yes,” I promise, though we both know I’m lying. “But the girls are already coming, and Matt invited a couple of guys, too. It’s just gonna be a few people, playing poker. That’s it.”

“Why poker?”

Okay, well, at least his curiosity is beating out his anger. That’s a positive sign. We’ll see how that holds when I tell him the truth.

“Um, because I spent a ton of money I don’t actually have today at the mall, and I need to win it back.”

He snorts. “You know poker’s not, like, an automatic win, right? What if you lose even more money you don’t have?”

“I won’t.”

Silvery-gray eyes narrow to slivers. “Do you cheat?”

“I don’t have to,” I say honestly, because I have exactly one useful skill in the world and this is it. “I’m just really, really good.”

He cocks his head and sizes me up, clearly trying to decide if I’m being serious, and finally, he blows out a breath. “Okay. Fine. You can have your stupid party here,” Salem concedes, “but only because this is something I absolutely have to see.”

“You won’t regret it,” I say sweetly. “Well, unless you try playing against me.”

“Trash talk! From the little Barbie literally kneeling at my feet! I’m terrified.”

“You should be.” But I do get up and dust myself off, heading to the door. “Wear something decent. Jeans, at least, and the cologne you were wearing on Friday. Do not be barefoot. No weed. And clean up. If you want a girl to even think about getting into that bed, you need to make the damn bed.”

“Weren’t you leaving?”

“Try not to miss me too much.” But when I’m just about to step out the door, I hear Salem’s voice again, so quiet I’m almost not sure whether I was intended to hear it.

“I liked the unbraidable hair.”

My breath hitches, and for this of all things, I don’t have a comeback. So I simply pretend I did not, in fact, hear it, and leave.

I shuffle my favorite deck for the fifteenth time that hour, feeling a fizzing in my blood at the thought of getting to play tonight. I love pretty much all card games, and they love me back, though the people who play with me generally don’t. Sierra hasn’t been willing to play with me since I shot the moon in a family game of hearts without her realizing it when we were eight and nine. Claire used to like to watch me play solitaire and FreeCell—said she found it soothing—but hated anything that had even the tiniest tinge of competition. Even my parents gradually shifted from indulging me in games of rummy or spit to giving me Concerned Parent Talks about gambling addictions.

My love of competitive card playing is something I’ve mostly tried to shut off here, because the money-making games in particular bring out a more aggressive side of me than I need anyone seeing. But if I’m not trying to be Nice Evie, or Good Evie, then who cares?

Let them all see how badass I can be, without any help from Salem.

Ordinarily I’d wear sweatpants and a T-shirt to go upstairs, but with my hair in rare straightened form, my eyebrows newly shaped, and my cheekbones beautifully highlighted, I feel like I have to do my look justice. I don’t want to overdress, but I put on one of my nicer T-shirts with my best jeans, throw on a cute cardigan, and painstakingly refresh my makeup while trying to recall all the instructions from the woman at the makeup counter.

I even contemplate changing my underwear to the expensive Bellas Isabel and Co. insisted I buy in a signature color, just as they each have. (They assigned me “virginal pink,” ha ha.) But it’s not like anyone will be seeing it tonight. By the time I’m done, I barely recognize the girl looking back at me in the mirror. But that’s a good thing, right? I wanted to be someone new. I wanted to be someone who makes you look twice. I wanted to be someone who looks like she regularly stays up past nine on a school night.

And I definitely do, finally, look like a girl who knows how to have fun.

Now, off to have it.

I practically skip upstairs to Salem’s room, visions of royal flushes dancing in my head.