“Come on,” Jenna says authoritatively, and everyone puts back the makeup they were holding. I try to get up to join them, but she stops me. “Wait. First, you need to get that eyeliner.”

I’m about to argue—I’m already seriously overdoing the spending today, and my parents are going to kill me when they see the bill I’ve rung up on my “emergency” credit card—when I realize that buying one of the items used in my makeover is a requirement. Crap. Another twenty bucks I don’t really have.

“Gimme,” Isabel says, holding out her hand. “I’ll throw it in with my stuff.”

She says it so casually I can’t bring myself to argue, and less than five minutes later, I’m the proud owner of a fancy new eyeliner and on my way to find out exactly what “Bellas” are.

I’ve learned so many things today, like how to contour my face, how to extend the life of a blowout, and how much designer underwear can cost. (Turns out “Bellas” are an obscenely expensive brand of underwear, the official brand of the Camden Hot Girl Clique.) And right now in the food court, I’m learning how many soft pretzels Matt Haley can stuff in his face, which is, frankly, too many.

“I can’t get used to you with straight hair.” Matt cocks his head as he polishes off the last of what must be his third. “Feels wrong.”

“What he means to say,” Isabel says with an elbow to his side, “is that you look nice, and it’s fun to try new things.”

Cool, now I’m feeling even more self-conscious. I’m searching for something, anything, to change the conversation away from my appearance, but thankfully, Landon promptly does just that. “You look nice too, baby,” he says to Ashleigh, nuzzling her soft curls, which he can easily access because she’s perched on his lap. “You should wear your hair like this every day.”

“I do wear my hair like this every day,” she says, grinning while everyone else makes retching motions. It is a little nauseating how perfect they are, like it’s too much to even aspire to. He looks like he should be in a sneaker ad, dark skin glistening with sweat while he artfully skyrockets to the hoop.

“So, Matt, how’s the new roster?” Priya asks gleefully, tweaking the straw in her smoothie.

Isabel rolls her eyes. “She doesn’t mean basketball, in case you couldn’t crack that code.”

“Don’t worry, I always know where Priya’s head’s at,” Matt says with a wink, and I immediately have a feeling I know whose designer wardrobe will flash by as it scales the rope ladder tonight. “So far, the ‘one girl per dorm’ quest is moving along very smoothly.”