“Yeah, clearly your mom raises charmers.” I wipe off my face and return my gaze to Farmboy’s table. French Braid is practically in his lap, which I’m sure doesn’t mean anything. They’re probably cousins, or even siblings. They kind of look alike, if you squint hard enough until all you can see is that they’re both white.

“You’re pretty superior for someone who gave my roommate the green light to hang a sex ladder from our window.”

“As if you won’t find any way to benefit from that.” I roll my eyes away from Farmboy and dig in to my baked potato. Mmm, the ultimate comfort food. “You’re living on a campus full of horny teenagers with minimal supervision. Go wild.”

“Oh yeah? Is that what you plan to do here? Go wild?”

“Oh no, Evie Riley does not go wild,” I tell him, gesturing with my fork. “My sister does that enough for the both of us. I am the one who behaves and then gets treated like shit as a result.” Whoops, maybe a little too much information there. Thankfully, I’m talking to someone who definitely does not care and will not be internalizing any of it. “But I’m not gonna begrudge Matt enjoying himself. Unless I have to listen to squeaky springs through the ceiling. Then I may have to get him expelled.”

Salem eyes me like he’s not sure I’m kidding, and I just shrug and take another bite. Farmboy is a nice fantasy, but when it comes down to it, what am I really gonna do—make an excuse to talk to him, maybe exchange names, and then what? I was with Craig for six months, and most of that time was spent holding hands at school and hanging out with his friends in his basement while they played video games. I wouldn’t know how to “go wild” even if I wanted to.

People would probably be so disappointed in the Rumson Girl if they knew.

I spend the rest of the afternoon buying my books and meeting with my academic advisor, and after, I have just enough time before our individual grade activities start to let myself into Lockwood to catch a glimpse of where I was supposed to be, and hopefully meet some of the girls I was supposed to be living with.

It’s a twin building to Rumson, so the blueprint is the same in mirror image, but it’s easy to see little differences right off the bat—a vase of fresh flowers in the entryway where Rumson has nothing, cute signs on the doors as opposed to hastily scrawled names on whiteboards, the smells of scented candles and hair products rather than sweat and cheap cologne … This is definitely where I was supposed to be.