I push up the window, and am absolutely horrified when Salem unfurls his fist to reveal a couple of tampons and an overnight pad. “You’re welcome,” he says dryly when I just stare at his open palm, but gratitude has taken about a thousand back seats to wishing I could simply die, thoroughly and immediately.

“Is this what having one of those dreams where you go to school naked feels like? It must be. Oh my God.”

He rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna take ’em, or should I just save it all for the next time I get a nosebleed?”

I snatch everything from his hand and immediately chuck it to the side, as if out of sight will put it out of his mind that he went on this recon mission. “I cannot believe she sent you for this.”

“It’s really not a big deal, Skeevy. She knew I had the ladder, and I did guess you were PMS’ing earlier, so I’m feeling pretty vindicated right now.”

“Oh, shut up before I knock you off that rope and onto your ass.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I might.” But I’m lying, because he just climbed out of his room after hours and brought me tampons and now he’s here in front of my window, clinging to a rope ladder, looking surprisingly manly with his biceps glowing in the moonlight. Ever since I found out about Salem and Jenna, I’ve been wondering how exactly he landed her, and right now, for half a second, I get it.

“That’s the cramps talking,” he says with a grin, and once again, I wanna die. “G’night, Skeevy.”

“G’night, Salem. And thanks for … this.”

“I’d say ‘anytime,’ but I wouldn’t mean it.” And then he shimmies up the rope and is gone.

I don’t even have the energy to yell at Sabrina right now, especially since I’d still have nothing without her, so I drag myself back to the bathroom and thank past me for at least remembering to pack painkillers. As I put myself to bed, wincing against the pain of cramps while I wait for the meds to kick in, I can’t help thinking about the fact that Salem Grayson—Salem fucking Grayson—came to my menstrual rescue.

I am never gonna live this down.

And I have to get the hell out of this dorm.

No one in the housing office displays any semblance of caring for my newest petition to move to a girls’ dorm, with the argument that I’m the only girl on campus without easy access to menstrual products—the girls’ dorms have machines, plus everyone knows you can go to the dorm heads for them.