“Oh, good. You’re here!” the confident one says, walking over to me with her hand outstretched, almost like she’s welcoming me into her home. This is not going to be good; I can tell.

“Hi, I’m Rowe,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. I don’t talk often, so sometimes it takes me a while to warm up my vocal cords, but I know I was loud enough for her to hear, which makes her reaction that much more offensive.

“I’m sorry…did you say Rose?” she says loudly, her face all bunched, like I just fed her stale broccoli. Everything about her is harsh and abrasive.

“Rowe,” I repeat, and she just continues to stare. “Like…like a boat?” I actually start paddling in the air.

“Ohhhhh. Cute,” she says, turning her attention to her bed, which is layered with piles of clothes. “I’m Paige. And that’s Cassidy.”

“Cass,” the other one pipes in, shaking her head with her lips tight and gesturing toward Paige. I think she’s telling me not to take her personally. Not a problem, I’ve already filed her and this room into the how-fast-can-I-get-out-of-here category. “I like to be called Cass. And Paige and I are glad to meet you.”

Paige isn’t even listening to our conversation anymore, already more interested in whoever just sent her a text on her phone. I’m in a freshman dorm, but nothing about Paige says freshman. Her body is tall and curves in all of the right places, and her skin is a warm bronze, like I’d imagine a lifeguard in Florida looks. Her blonde hair is long and layered, and every strand sits in the perfect place, like a golden frame around her crystal blue eyes.

Cass is blonde, too, but she seems more like a real person. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and I can tell she had light makeup on at one point today, but the humidity has worn most of it away.

It’s clear my role here will be the oddball, the one who doesn’t fit. Honestly, that’s what I expected. Two years ago, I was doomed to never fit in again—like a wounded superhero tattooed by kryptonite. And standing here, no makeup, brown eyes, a plain shirt and denim shorts, my walnut-colored hair twisted in a bun, still crunchy from my shower almost a full day ago, only makes the differences between me and everyone else that much clearer.

“Paige and I both got here yesterday. We sort of picked beds; I hope that’s okay?” Cass says, sitting down on her mattress, which thankfully is the one closest to mine.

“It’s fine. I’m good with whatever,” I say, knowing my mom will be happy to hear me going with the flow. Internally, I make a note to check with the front desk the second my parents leave, hoping like hell there’s a bed open somewhere on this campus that isn’t steps from the door.

After an hour of unpacking and small talk with Cass, my parents finally leave. I couldn’t mask the tears building up in my eyes when my mom hugged me goodbye, and my dad only waved from the door, knowing he’s the weaker of the two of them and that he’d cave in if I asked him to take me home.

Disappointment only continued when the front-desk girl told me every room on campus was full. She told me to check back after rush week because a lot of students end up moving into the Greek dorms. But that would be a month from now. A month—I could survive a month. Couldn’t I?

Paige disappeared almost the minute I met her, which was a relief. I’d have to work my way up to her personality. Thankfully, Cass had a lot of unpacking of her own to do, so I’ve spent the rest of the late afternoon with my ear buds pressed into my ears and my music turned up loud enough to drown everything else out.

I could probably find a way to keep myself busy with my clothes and music and silly pictures for the rest of the night, but Cass is waving her hands animatedly, pointing to her ears and mouthing her lips to get my attention, so I finally relent and put my headphones away. “Sorry, I had it up kind of loud.”

“Yeah, I could tell. You have good taste in music, by the way.” I like Cass. Her smile is genuine, and she reminds me of the friends I used to have at Hallman High. Plus, she recognizes things like the greatness that is Jack White and Broken Bells. I bet Paige is more of the Katy Perry sort.

“Thanks.” I don’t know how to carry on a conversation, so my eyes dart around her things, looking for something to reciprocate the compliment. “Your quilt is pretty.”

It’s possibly the most ordinary quilt on earth. It’s gray and there’s a tag on it, so it’s not even homemade. The second I say it, I feel ridiculous, but the way Cass smiles and laughs doesn’t make me feel stupid or small, so I join her. For the first time in two years, I feel like a teenager again—the normal kind that doesn’t wake up with nightmares and hear screaming in her dreams.