Page 33 of Come As You Are

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’thave 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’tsoundany 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, Ihearthe 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.

Isabel breaks out into a hearty laugh, and instantly I knowI’ve made a mistake. “You think this is like one of those old rom-coms where the hot girls have a hot routine they break out at every talent show?”

Do not shrink. Do not shrink. Do not shrink.I shrug casually, as if my ridiculous naivete is whatever, and try to think of an answer that wouldn’t make Salem roll his eyes. “Well, a girl can hope.”

Isabel drops onto her bed and folds her legs seamlessly into a lotus position on her pastel bedspread without even using her hands. “Unfortunately, I am utterly devoid of talent. Ashleigh does hip-hop with her team, Priya has the voice of an angel, and Jenna—well, Jenna is a classically trained pianist, but she’d enter a talent show over her dead body. Sorry to disappoint.”

“No worries,” I say as brightly as I can, which ends up coming out way too brightly.Dial it down, Skeevy,I hear in Salem’s obnoxious voice. “I, too, am utterly devoid of talent. Just thought it might be fun to do something.”

“You’re not utterly devoid of talent, though,” Isabel says with a wicked grin. “I watched you slay at that poker night.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a ‘talent show’ kind of talent.”

“Okay, but do you have any other talents with cards? Something thatcouldbe a talent-show talent?”

“I mean, I do card tricks, some really basic cardistry—”

“Perfect!” Isabel lights up. “Who cares if it’s basic? You can be a magician and I can be your assistant. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t actually do any tricks other than card tricks.”

“So? You’ll brand yourself as a card magician. I mean, if you really wanna do something.”

“I do,” I say firmly.

She snorts. “Did you lose a bet or something?”

“Ha, not exactly.”How to put this…“I’d like for some people to know me as something other than the Rumson Girl, even if it’s the Talent Show Dork.”

“Ah. Well. Don’t you worry about that,” she says, sashaying over to her closet to pull out a sleek black pantsuit that would probably be perfect if Isabel wasn’t at least half a foot taller than me. “We’re going to make you the hottest magician Camden has ever seen.”

I smile and put the pantsuit in front of me to get an idea of the general look, and yeah, I could make something in the right size look good. “I’m counting on it.”

With my next phase of planning in the works, I spend a couple of days pondering exactly how to make being a card-trick expert look cool. Unfortunately, my partner in crime does not seem to realize that when you enter into a pact with someone, you are expected to be at their beck and call at all times for brainstorm sessions, which is how I end up banging on Salem’s door on Tuesday evening.

I’d let myself in, but I have already twice learned my lesson in Rumson about barging into a room of boys without first alerting them. Then again, Salem’s already plenty alert to my presence, which I know because, well, the sound of a shoe hitting the door is pretty distinct.

“I’mstudying,Skeeveball!” His voice is just loud enough over his omnipresent blasting music to penetrate through the door that he still has yet to open. “You know, like you reminded me to do fifteen times today? I’m being good. You should be proud.”

“I’d be prouder if you opened your damn door like a gentleman.” Finally, I decide it’s time to drop my ticket in. “Plus, I come bearing baked goods.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then finally, “You may enter.”

Inside, the music is twice as loud but every bit as incomprehensible as it was on the other side of the door. “Whatisthis,” I ask, gesturing to where his phone is hooked up to a speaker, “and how the hell are you studying with it on?”

“It’s Rage Against the Machine, and it is extremely on topic for studying revolutions, thank you very much.” Still, he turns it down a little. “Anyway, I was promised baked goods?”

---