EVEN IF I DIDN’T KNOW Isabel lived in Hillman House, I would’ve known she lived in Hillman House. Tucked away in a lush green corner of the campus that is going to be next-level stunning when the leaves change, it’s a stately Victorian with a glorious wraparound porch and room for only twelve girls. Of course, it costs twice as much as living in Lockwood or Ewing, so it wasn’t even on my radar of possibilities, but there’s still enough competition for it that they have to host a lottery for residency.

How incredibly lucky that somehow Isabel, Jenna, Ashleigh, and Priya have managed to win spots every year for three years. What are the odds, et cetera et cetera.

Unsurprisingly, the inside is as beautiful as the outside, and as soon as I enter I’m hit with the scents of fresh flowers and lemony wood polish. I could not feel farther right now from the locker-room smell of Rumson. The bedroom doors also don’t have the same whiteboards that hang on the doors of every other dorm—presumably so they won’t destroy the painted wood—so I have to check the polished brass boxes in the mail room to find that Isabel’s single is upstairs, room 204.

At least the dorm doesn’t sound any different from Lockwood—roaring blow-dryers competing with Beyoncé and Harry Styles—and I use that to center myself as I take a deep breath and knock.

The door swings open almost immediately, as if Isabel had been on her way out at the same time, but if I’ve interrupted something, it doesn’t show in the broad smile that sweeps across her face. “Evie! What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to ask you about something.” God, I hear the nervousness in my voice, and it’s so pathetic. We may not be besties, but we definitely count as friends, right? I mean, she took me to the mall so recently that my hair’s still straight.

“Ooh, I’m intrigued.” She steps aside to let me in, and I take a few more breaths as I enter, trying to remind myself for the millionth time that this is not Greentree, I am not “Sierra’s little sister” or “Craig’s girlfriend” or “the weird girl who hangs out with that other weird girl who draws all the time,” and all my good-girl spinelessness should be as far in my rearview as the life I left behind.

By the time I turn around, my gaze is steady and firm, and I settle into the cozy armchair in the corner as if I’ve been there a thousand times. “Do you guys have any plans for the talent show that might need an extremely charming fifth person?” I flutter my newly mascaraed lashes.