I hazard a glance at Salem, who barks “Here!” as soon as “Grayson” is called, drowning out what must be his real first name before letting her know he prefers to be called Salem. He’s a little mystery wrapped in an enigma, that one. He pretends to be annoyed by his sister, but he goes by the nickname that ties them together. And he pretends not to care about self-improvement, but he smells much better today, like clean flannel and leather, a hint of pine.

He’s kind of a jerk, kind of a mess, and definitely needs some etiquette lessons, but if I’m going to pull this miserable year out of the depths, he might be my only hope.

Thankfully, Lucas isn’t in chem with me second period. (Though the delightful Archibald Buchanan is, and can you believe he didn’t want to be lab partners?) I don’t glimpse him while traipsing through the Sac lobby at snack time for a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie, either. (I have no idea if that’s a regular thing, but I do know it’s officially my new favorite part of boarding school.) We’re seated alphabetically in APUSH, which puts us all the way across the room from each other, and in the biggest blessing of all, we don’t even have the same lunch period.

At least someone in the universe is on my side.

Still, a whole three more years of this sounds like a nightmare.

“What’s the face? Are you not a fan of frittatas?” Salem pronounces the word in the absolute most annoying way possible, with extra emphasis on every t and a few he definitely made up.

“I’m surprised you’re deigning to eat with me again today,” I say before smiling at the server and receiving my eggs with hash browns on the side. “Really, don’t feel the need to take pity on me. In fact, perhaps now would be the right time for you to discover the lost ‘good boy’ art of eating alone.”

“No can do,” he says ruefully as he gets a plate filled with way more food than could possibly fit in his string bean of a body. “See, my roommate keeps trying to take me under his wing, and he happens to be in this lunch period. So unless I want him trying to sit me with a table full of jock bros, I need a diversion.”

“Jock bros?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

I do, but more than that, I don’t have anyone else to sit with. Sabrina and Heather don’t have lunch this period either, and the only person I recognize thus far is Kayla Alton, who’s wearing headphones while she works on something, clearly not looking to mingle.