“But you forgot the ching-chang,” Slurpee Boy says while sucking on his straw.

“There was no ching-chang,” I reply with aggravation. “It clearly said, knock three times, kick the footer, and then say walla-walla-bing-bang. I know this because I read the, uh . . . thing, twenty-seven times precisely. So either this is not the right door, which perhaps it’s not, or you two have not read the instructions yourself, and in which case, I demand to speak to an authoritative human.”

“An authoritative human?” Slurpee Boy asks. “Is that a professional term?”

“Dumbing it down for you,” I say with snark. “You know, since you have that look.”

“What look?” he asks.

“One that’s lacking intelligence.” Call it my nerves or my irritation, or just the fact that I can’t hold anything back, but I just let my insult fly.

Thankfully, that smile of his once again tugs on the corners of his lips right before he says to eyeball, “She’s good, man. Let her in.”

“What?” I ask, so utterly confused that I wonder if being part of the SSS is even worth it.

But then the door opens, revealing a very large room, larger than all the other dorm rooms, and it’s a haven to all the things I love. Off to the right is a raised bed with a desk underneath which holds three computer screens, speakers, a massive keyboard as well as a giant mouse and mouse pad that expands the length of the desk . . . Lord of the Rings themed. Hanging on the beige walls are posters, flags, and framed art ranging from Star Wars to board games to a large yellow-and-blue model airplane suspended from the ceiling. To the left is a futon sofa with a coffee table and crates with cushions all along the edges. In the middle, a Scrabble board on a turntable—the fancy kind.

I could totally spend an hour nerding out in this room.

The whole collection of Harry Potter books rests on the bookshelf—and they look like the originals. My mouth salivates.

A framed poster of Adam West as Batman hangs over the sofa, Adam standing tall with a “Kerpow” in comic detail directly behind him.

And under the small television on a flimsy-looking TV stand is what looks to be an original Atari game console. If the owner of this residence owns Pitfall, we will be best friends for life.

“Wow, cool room,” I say. The fantastic décor speaks to my geeky heart. And the precise organization, from the labeled folders on the bookshelf next to the desk to the stacked shoes on the shoe rack, is next level.

“Thanks,” Slurpee Boy says. “It’s mine. I’m also the authoritative person, as you like to call it.” He holds his hand out. “Breaker Cane. It’s nice to meet you. Maybe as you hang out with us more, you can lower yourself to my lack of intelligence on a more personal level.”

My mouth goes dry.

The tips of my ears go hot.