Page 31 of Come As You Are

“I’m an old soul.” He purses his lips and blows at the cloud of steam that wafts from the cup. “Is your talent gonna be nagging people to death or what?”

“Talent?”

He nods toward the bulletin board. “Talent show. You haven’t seen the fifty thousand flyers already pasted up all over campus this morning?”

“I have not. Will you be showing us how to roll fifty joints in under a minute?”

“Ha ha. I am now…” He starts ticking off on his fingers, then loses count immediately. “Nearing forty-eight hours completely sober, thank you very much. But oh, right, we already got to see your talent last night. I assume you’ll be whooping some poker ass onstage for everyone’s viewing pleasure?”

“Lemme guess,” I say, putting my fingers to my temples like a psychic. “You’llbe doing some incredibly emo performance on an acoustic guitar whose name is… Jenny.No,Betty. Yes, your guitar’s name is definitely Betty.”

“Since when do I have a guitar?” His lips twitch as he brings the coffee back up to them for a sip.

“Oh, come on. You are the stereotype to end all stereotypes. Of course you have a guitar. And if I knew anything about the music you listen to, I’d tell you exactly what you’ll be playing.”

“If you want a crash course in music that doesn’t suck, all you have to do is ask, you know.”

“Oh, do you know someone who could give it?” I ask sweetly.

He just rolls his eyes and goes back to his cup o’ bitterness, and I turn back to my homework. I expect him to do the same, but instead he whips out a worn paperback from his bag—I immediately guess it’s going to be Kerouac or Vonnegut and am sorely disappointed but also relieved when it turns out to be Colson Whitehead—and we sit in strangely companionable silence for a while. But it isn’t long before the gears in my brain start turning again as I think about how I can use the talent show to my advantage.

I don’t have any talents other than cards; that’s just an unfortunate fact. But if watching old teen movies on sick days has taught me anything, it’s that you don’t need a genuine talent if you just show off hotness, and amazingly enough, I think that’s a thing I’m learning how to do.

If the talent show is a regular thing at Camden, I’m willing to bet Isabel, Jenna, Priya, and Ashleigh have some sort of routine at the ready, and what could possibly make me look coolerorhotter than joining them? Maybe it’s a long shot, but they’ve already taken me shopping and picked out my freaking underwear; is it really so beyond to think they might be willing to include me in this too?

“What’s going through your head right now?”

Salem’s question startles me out of my plotting, and I look over to see him watching me suspiciously over the edge ofThe Nickel Boys.“Nothing to worry your pretty head over.”

“Why does that feel like the most dangerous thing you could possibly say?”

Dangerous.That’s certainly a word no one’s ever used about me.

Looks like I’m making some progress.

With my homework behind me, I dedicate the afternoon to figuring out how to approach Isabel about the talent show while also thinking about what I could possibly offer. Then, of course, there’s the task of actually tracking her and her friends down, but turns out I didn’t need to worry about that; they find me first—or at least, one of them does—thanks to Camden’s all-day Sunday dorm-intervisitation policy.

“So this is your Rumson lair.” It takes me a minute torealize that the person speaking those words is standing in my doorway and talking to me. I left my door open because I’ve become accustomed to the background noises of squeaky sneakers and trash talking, even when I’m playing solitaire. I certainly never expected to find Jenna London in front of it.

Of the four girls, Jenna is definitely the scariest. I don’t know if it’s the black hair / ice-blue eyes combo or the fact that she smiles like she’s about to sink her teeth into your neck, but I physically have to push my tongue against my teeth a few times to loosen it up enough to respond. “Home sweet home,” I finally choke out.

She doesn’t enter, just lets her gaze travel over the room like she’s giving the world’s most hideous outfit a once-over. “Maybe you should use some of last night’s winnings to hire a decorator.”

I’m pretty sure it’s a joke. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to laugh.

I settle on a wry smile, but she seems to be over me anyway. There’s a light tapping on my doorjamb and she moves on, leaving me no clue what she was doing here in the first place, or where she’s off to next.

Okay, not the most promising start to getting myself included in their talent-show shenanigans. Or finding out if those shenanigans exist to begin with. Frankly, it’s impossible for me to imagine Jenna doing anything that requires looking like she cares about something. The only thing I’ve ever seen bring her joy is making fun of her friends.

Come to think of it, that’s the first time I’ve seen JennawithoutAshleigh, Priya, and Isabel. Maybe that’s what was so unsettling about her presence here.

I don’t have any more time to think about it before my phone rings, and I give it a quick glance only to freeze when I see the word “Home” light up my screen.

I’ve only spoken to my parents a couple of times since I got here, but those calls were always from cell phones—a quick dutiful check-in from my mom on her way home from work, or my dad letting me know he’s thinking of me while mixing up a stir-fry. They almost never use the landline, and I can’t help thinking it’s because it’s not them at all, but Sierra trying to weasel her way into reaching me.

I let it go to voicemail, even though I would kill to hear “Hey, kiddo” in my dad’s voice right now.

My mom and Sierra have always had thisbond.They both love going out to have parts of their bodies polished and waxed and sugared and whatever. They have the same dark, wavy hair that makes them look positively unrelated to me and has left me watching enviously while one braided the other’s hair on many a rainy afternoon. And my momlovedhow Sierra had so many boys to talk about—the guy she sat next to in French and the stranger she flirted with at the pharmacy and the line of them asking her to prom every year. It may be stupid, but part of the excitement about finally getting a boyfriend was being able to have silly conversations with my mom about Craig over cups of hot chocolate, just like Sierra did.

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