Chapter Two
TURNS OUT, THERE WAS ONE free room on campus.
After sitting through the rest of orientation and then waiting on the bare mattress in my soon-to-be-former room while Hoffman and Beardy (a.k.a.
Mr. Dempsey, a.k.a. the housing director) conferred with everyone possible and Archie glared at me like I was leaving Girl Germs on all of his overpriced stuff, I learned that Lockwood and Rumson are each outfitted with one wheelchair-accessible room.
Lockwood’s is already taken by an actual wheelchair user, but Rumson’s was taken by … Mr. Hoffman’s bike.
So, Rumson’s my official residence after all.
At least I have my own bathroom.
Does this mean phase two of my high school life has started now?
Or does it mean that it never will?
Even with my door closed (but not locked, per Camden rules for “safety reasons”) and Blackpink blaring through my laptop speakers while I make my bed and put my clothing in the provided dresser and small closet, I swear I can hear the entire school talking about me.
I’d envisioned doing the moving-in part with a roommate, then wandering the halls and meeting other girls, checking out the lounge, maybe finding other people who like card games and rom-coms and planning fake trips to places they’ll probably never go.
And it isn’t that I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake by coming here, exactly, since there was no way I could’ve stayed at GHS …
but I’m not exactly sure I’ve traded up, either.
A knock sounds at the door, and I groan under my breath, positive it’s Hoffman and praying that if I don’t answer, he’ll just go away. Of course, he knocks again, so I drag myself over to my computer to turn down the music and swing the door open, only to reveal … Matt Haley?
“Hey there.” He flashes me the smile that has apparently dropped a thousand pairs of panties. “You must be Evie.” He holds out a hand, and for a moment, I hear Salem in my head, warning me not to shake it, because I absolutely do know where it’s been.
But Matt’s being friendly, and Salem doesn’t strike me as someone who knows the meaning of the word, so I take it. “I am. Matt, right?”
“I see my reputation has preceded me.” If possible, his smile widens even further. “You need help with anything?” He peeks his head in, and I let him; there’s really nothing to see. “Looks like you’ve still got a ways to go.”
“Actually, I’m just about done.” I’m sure other people have photographs and posters and all sorts of fun things on their shelves and walls, but I wanted as few reminders of home as possible.
All I’ve got with me are some comfort reads, the deck of cards I never go anywhere without (my Emotional Support Deck, my former best friend Claire used to call it), a backup deck, and the stuffed panda I couldn’t make myself leave behind.
His smile falters into an O. “Is this seriously all you brought?”
“Of course not. My driver will be coming around with my queen-size canopy bed within the hour.”
He gives me a funny look, I guess unimpressed by my British accent, and then shrugs and asks if he can come inside.
Technically, guys and girls are only allowed in each other’s rooms during intervisitation hours in the evenings, but even more technically, that’s a dorm-based rather than gender-based rule, so I guess it’s okay?
Neither Hoffman nor Dempsey had time to get into the finer logistics, especially since Hoffman was busy pouting that his precious bike would have to live in the bike racks with the—ew—students’.
I step aside and let him in.
“You didn’t bring any pictures?”
“Who prints pictures these days?” I ask airily, holding up my own phone. “I brought plenty.”
It’s a lie. I deleted almost all of them and hid the ones I couldn’t bear to part with but also couldn’t look at ever again.
His mouth twitches like he doesn’t quite believe me but he’s wisely decided to drop it. Clearly, he’s got bigger fish to fry. “Listen, I wanted to run something by you. Not that I need you to do anything,” he adds quickly. “It’s just … you’re not a narc, are you?”
“Me?” I blink. I don’t even know what to say to that very unexpected question.
“I didn’t think so. You seem like a cool girl.
” It’s a canned line, but combined with his most charming smile and the biceps peeking out of his sleeves, I’m starting to Get It, even if he and his whole thing are not my type.
“So, listen. I’ve kinda got an in at the housing office, and I specifically chose my room for its …
discreet location. Every now and again, I get after-hours visitors who’d really like to be able to come and go as they please. ”
“And you want them to come and go through my room? That’s—”
“No, of course not.” He points at my window. “I have a rope ladder. But it will go past your window. I just wanna make sure you’ll be … looking the other way.”
A rope ladder. Jesus. Salem was not kidding. “We’re talking fully consensual visitors?”
“Always,” he says firmly.
I shrug. “Then it’s fine with me. It’s your roommate you’re gonna have to work stuff out with.”
“Psh, Salem I can handle. You’re the one who makes me nervous,” he says with a wink. “Glad you’re chill.” He gives me a little punch on the shoulder, and I’m mad that I don’t hate it. “I gotta run, but I’ll catch you later. I owe you one.”
He slips out, and I just shake my head and turn my music back up.
I know Matt was just buttering me up to buy my silence, but I can’t pretend I didn’t like being called “chill” and “a cool girl.” Back in Greentree, next to Sierra, no one would ever think of me as the cool one—not when she was dancing on tables at parties or kicking ass at beer pong or snagging every single guy (and occasional girl) in sight.
Certainly not when I was working so hard to be the best girlfriend I could be by making Craig and his stupid friends snack platters while they played video games.
Or when I was so committed to helping Claire with her art that I’d spend entire yawning afternoons modeling for portraits.
Or all the times I put my own studying and hobbies on hold so I could help them with math (Craig), English papers (Claire), or bio (both).
God forbid I be anything but the perfect girlfriend, perfect best friend. But then, a boyfriend and a best friend were the two things I had in life that my sister didn’t, and it was impossible not to want to hold them close.
Of course, she took them anyway.
But here … there’s no Sierra. I don’t have to prove I’m “good enough” to earn my space in her shadow. And now I have something no other girl on campus has or will have: a room in an all-boys dorm. So maybe this isn’t ruining what’s supposed to be the perfect reset of my life.
Maybe it’s actually the perfect opportunity to do things differently.
How? I don’t know yet. But that’s okay. I’m a blank slate with nothing but time to figure it out.