“Guess you both survived your first night in Rumson,” Sabrina says wryly, tugging on one of her Wednesday Addams braids. “I’d say you deserve a cookie, but you wouldn’t eat it”—she nods toward Salem’s green apple—“and you … have already got plenty going on there.” She eyes the heaping pile of whipped cream on my waffles.

“Tell me you are not judging my sugar intake when you’re eating a bowl of cavity seeds for breakfast.”

Salem gives his virtuous apple breakfast an extra-large smug chomp, self-righteousness dribbling down his chin as he grins while scrolling on his phone.

“Don’t mind him,” says Sabrina with a wave of her hand. “He’s always been annoying, always will be annoying.”

“Noted,” I say with an official nod. “And how was your first night at Lockwood? Was it one big massive slumber party full of snacks and rom-com watching and everyone doing each other’s nails?”

“I can’t actually tell if you’re kidding.”

“Neither can I,” I admit in a grumble, stabbing into a waffle and dragging it through the melting whipped cream, “but I bet whatever you did, it was better than having a bunch of guys play the penis game in front of your door while you were trying to sleep.”

“Sorry, the what now?” she asks, blinking slowly.

“You know—people take turns saying ‘penis’ louder than the person before until everyone’s screaming it? Do you not have this game in … where are you guys from? Romania?”

“Yep, nailed it,” Salem says coolly.

“And we do,” Sabrina adds, scooping up another colorful bite as she too checks something on her phone. “I just wanted to hear you describe it.”

I stuff a piece of waffle into my mouth and chew. “I don’t think I like either one of you, now that I think about it.”

They fist-bump without lifting their gazes from their respective screens.

Note to self: Make new friends. I finish my waffles as quickly as I can and declare that I’m heading to my first-period English class. Turns out, Salem’s in the same one, so we head over to the charmingly nicknamed “Sac” (a.k.a. Student Academic Center) together, which is helpful, since I have no recollection of where the classroom is inside its network of hallways.

“Skeevy—” There’s a yank on the back of my shirt, and I just miss banging into a beefy guy about twice my height when Salem pulls me out of the path of hallway traffic. “We’re in here.”

I’m too flustered over nearly going the wrong way to shoot dagger eyes at Salem for the noxious new nickname. And it doesn’t make me feel better that Salem’s just as new as I am, but he’s not tripping all over himself getting lost in these new-to-us hallways.