It could be getting into the back seat of Ashleigh Cartwright’s Land Rover, where I squeeze between Priya and Isabel for a ride to the mall and pray I’m wearing a sufficient amount of deodorant and my legs aren’t stubbly.

It could be the way a single question about my hair somehow leads to a whirlwind makeover, complete with hair straightening and a makeup tutorial.

It’s very potentially the fact that the four coolest girls in school are giving me fashion advice and picking out clothing for me like I’m some sort of project, which sounds terrible except that I was badly in need of both advice and fashion sense and now I have new stuff that looks amazing.

But mostly, it’s just surreal how interested they are in me.

“So what’s it like, living in a boys’ dorm?” Priya asks as she pokes at her skin in a magnifying mirror.

“Anyone look surprisingly hot in a towel?” Ashleigh wants to know.

“Most importantly, who’s dropping by your room after hours?” Isabel wonders aloud, her eyes twinkling as she lifts one scent after another to her nose.

“What makes you think anyone’s dropping by my room after hours?” I ask as my face is blushed and contoured and highlighted. I keep my tone playful, as if there were even a snowball’s chance in hell that I might have a gentleman caller, but at this point, there’s no one I can even imagine getting with, especially at Rumson.

Though Archie and I sure would have a great meet-cute to share with our kids.

“Oh, come on.” Jenna points a coal-black eye pencil in my direction. “You have your own room, you don’t have to head back after curfew, and you live below a guy who keeps a rope ladder swinging from his window to yours at all times. Don’t tell me you’re staying squeaky clean. We’re meeting up with Matt and the other guys in half an hour, and he’s going to tell us whether you’ve been naughty or nice.”

The other girls look at me knowingly and I don’t even know what to say. I haven’t stayed entirely squeaky clean, but they sound seductive and worldly when they talk about guys, and I’m … not that. But if I do tell them I made out with someone, they might try prying for who, and that is not something I’ll be sharing.

Is it better if they think I’m a boring prude who can’t even get a guy when she’s constantly surrounded by them, though?

“You know what you need?” Isabel asks, spritzing the inside of her wrist and lifting it to her nose. “Bellas.”

“Bellas!” Priya and Ashleigh cheer.

“What are Bellas?” Why am I always the last to know everything?