“No, I’m a fan of not having a roommate who screws a new girl every night, six feet away from me.” He pulls one of his Vans up to cross his other knee and picks at the black laces as if they’ll leach some of the annoyance out of his body. “At least three different guys have already made sure to tell me that they hope I like ‘the Matt Haley soundtrack.’” He sighs. “I don’t even understand why a junior who obviously has friends of his own is rooming with a sophomore transfer. I was hoping he’d ask for a switch, but—”

“Hey, I’m a sophomore transfer too. Look at that—something in common. We’re destined to be best friends.”

He glances up at my blond frizzball. “I’m gonna be honest. I have no fuckin’ idea how to braid that, so you’re gonna have to do mine first.”

My laugh-snort gets me a dark glare from Hoffman, who was clearly hoping to forget the problem of Me existed.

“This whole dorm thing is bullshit,” Salem mutters.

“I mean. I am very much suffering from exactly the same bullshit.”

He laughs, a quick, quiet puff of breath. “Yeah, I guess you are. Thanks for putting things in perspective. Your situation is way shittier.”

Well. That is not really what I was going for, but I guess I’ll take solidarity where I can get it.

Chapter Two

TURNS OUT, THERE WAS ONE free room on campus. After sitting through the rest of orientation and then waiting on the bare mattress in my soon-to-be-former room while Hoffman and Beardy (a.k.a. Mr. Dempsey, a.k.a. the housing director) conferred with everyone possible and Archie glared at me like I was leaving Girl Germs on all of his overpriced stuff, I learned that Lockwood and Rumson are each outfitted with one wheelchair-accessible room. Lockwood’s is already taken by an actual wheelchair user, but Rumson’s was taken by … Mr. Hoffman’s bike.

So, Rumson’s my official residence after all.

At least I have my own bathroom.

Does this mean phase two of my high school life has started now?

Or does it mean that it never will?