“Don’t you dare tell anyone you’re my roommate,” Archie warns me as Ginger hurries ahead, leaving us to follow in his wake. “This is not lasting past the hour.”

“I promise not to cramp your style around the other guys,” I vow with a hand over my heart.

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

We walk the rest of the way in silence, and you know? It’s just really nice to make a friend on your first day.

There are already a bunch of legitimate Rumson residents chilling in the lounge by the time Archie and I arrive on Ginger’s heels, and I’m left alone in the doorway so fast I can actually hear the breeze Archie leaves in his wake. A quick scan of the room shows a few guys who look about as fun as Archie does, a few clusters of dudes reconnecting after a summer apart, and exactly one guy sitting solo who looks like I feel, sporting a Nirvana T-shirt and appropriately looking like he’d much rather be hanging out with Kurt Cobain right now.

Ding ding, we have a winner.

I let myself into the room as quietly and unassumingly as I can, heading right for the empty chair next to my grungy new dormmate. But it’s hard to make a subtle entrance when your hair’s the color of corn and requires its own zip code, especially if you’re the only girl in a room full of guys. The whispers and stares follow me all the way over, and I know it’s only a matter of someone deciding he’s funny enough to be the one to fire the opening line.

Thankfully, the hypothetical comedian doesn’t get a chance before Ginger declares “Everyone pipe down!” with all the authority of, well, a gym teacher in charge of a bunch of teenage boys. “As you all know by now, I’m your dorm head, Mr. Hoffman. Welcome to Rumson Hall.”

“Yes, welcome to Rumson Hall!” some loser says directly to me with a huge-ass grin on his doofy face. “I see they’ve finally listened to my request to have someone in-house to do our laundry.”

Ugh, there we go—let the assholes begin. “As if I would go within fifty feet of your skid marks.”

“I don’t think she’s here for laundry,” another d-bag says with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

The room erupts before I can get a word in, and while Ginger—Mr. Hoffman, which apparently I should’ve known? How?—quickly tries to regain control, I close my eyes and tune everything out.