It’s only the second-most insulted I’ve been today, but it still feels like too much to let slide. “I have a better idea,” I say, holding up my hand for the ball, which he tosses in my direction. It lands with a satisfying smack against my palm, and I toss it back. “How about instead of covering for you while you continue to be a parent-displeasing stoner slacker waste of space, I just … help you not to be?”

His smirk is so annoying, I wish it were physically possible to rip it from his face. “So I can be more like you, the superdork who somehow landed herself in an all-boys dorm?”

“Hey.” Again, tough to argue that point, but he doesn’t have to say it.

“You’re the one who showed up here begging to be taught how to be cool,” he reminds me, tossing the ball back and forth between his hands. I can’t help watching the ball roll off the tips of his long, thin, surprisingly elegant fingers, like a kitten mesmerized by a yo-yo. “And I can’t argue with you needing it, because that was literally the most uncool thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”

“Yeah, well, at least I chose to come to Camden,” I snap, because it’s literally all I’ve got. Anyway, it doesn’t matter; he’s right that I’m here to change, and I will change. “Whatever, are you in or not? You teach me how to be bad, and I’ll teach you how to be good. Deal?”

“Guess so.” And then he sends the ball flying back like a boomerang, and of course, my reflexes can’t keep up and it bounces right off my face. But I guess that’s something we can work on, too. I ignore his quiet laughter, grab it from the floor, and toss it at him, making for the door. “Your first lesson is free—fold your damn clothes. We’ll start on the rest tomorrow.” I do love a project.

“You’re a peach, you know that?”

“No,” I say, yanking open the door and flashing my most charming smile over my shoulder as I make my exit. “I was a peach. Now I’m a bad apple.”

Chapter Four

NOW 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.