Page 13 of Come As You Are

“Don’t mind him,” says Sabrina with a wave of her hand. “He’s always been annoying, always will be annoying.”

“Noted,” I say with an official nod. “And how was your first night at Lockwood? Was it one big massive slumber party full of snacks and rom-com watching and everyone doing each other’s nails?”

“I can’t actually tell if you’re kidding.”

“Neither can I,” I admit in a grumble, stabbing into a waffle and dragging it through the melting whipped cream, “but I bet whatever you did, it was better than having a bunch of guys play the penis game in front of your door while you were trying to sleep.”

“Sorry, the what now?” she asks, blinking slowly.

“You know—people take turns saying ‘penis’ louder thanthe person before until everyone’s screaming it? Do you not have this game in… where are you guys from? Romania?”

“Yep, nailed it,” Salem says coolly.

“And we do,” Sabrina adds, scooping up another colorful bite as she too checks something on her phone. “I just wanted to hear you describe it.”

I stuff a piece of waffle into my mouth and chew. “I don’t think I like either one of you, now that I think about it.”

They fist-bump without lifting their gazes from their respective screens.

Note to self: Make new friends. I finish my waffles as quickly as I can and declare that I’m heading to my first-period English class. Turns out, Salem’s in the same one, so we head over to the charmingly nicknamed “Sac” (a.k.a. Student Academic Center) together, which is helpful, since I have no recollection of where the classroom is inside its network of hallways.

“Skeevy—” There’s a yank on the back of my shirt, and I just miss banging into a beefy guy about twice my height when Salem pulls me out of the path of hallway traffic. “We’re in here.”

I’m too flustered over nearly going the wrong way to shoot dagger eyes at Salem for the noxious new nickname. And it doesn’t make me feel better that Salem’s just as new as I am, but he’s not tripping all over himself getting lost in these new-to-us hallways.

“It helps if you actually move,” Salem says with a snort, dropping awfully heavily into a seat for someone who probably weighs eighty pounds soaking wet.

I stick out my tongue like the sophisticated young woman I am and slide into the seat next to him. At least his obnoxiousness is a decent distraction from the hell of my brain.

Spoke too soon.While Salem may be a soul-sucking void, I catch a now-familiar blond head walking past me as I pull out my preferred pens. Apparently, I don’t get even one single period of freedom before I have to stare my newest bad choice in the face.

Well, metaphorically speaking; I’m still two rows behind him. But I hate it all the same.

Before I can come up with a good reason I must switch sections immediately, a birdlike woman marches right up to the whiteboard and stabs “Mrs. Frank” on it with a firm hand of black dry-erase marker. She’s wearing an absolutely pristine white shirt with a gray flannel skirt and the most severe loafers I’ve ever seen on someone who wasn’t playing a prison guard in a movie.

“Alton, Kayla?”

Well, no pleasantries, then.

I crane my neck for a glimpse of the girl saying “Here,” eager to put faces with names so this place can stop feeling so alien. Apparently, I’m not the only one with that idea, and I feel bad when all the prying eyes make her shrink a little in her seat, hiding her cheeks with a curtain of box braids.

“Burke, Lucas?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s a pleasure.”

Ugh, truly, he can go fuck himself. I never used to think in swear words, but two days at Camden and I’ve already learned that sometimes, you just need them. It’s truly annoying thathis accent and dimples are as cute as they are; Sierra would call him a-fucking-dorable. And she’d say it in the same tone she used to use about Craig, like he was a sweet child who probably looked like a Ken doll under his jeans.

Maybe that’s why she justhadto sleep with him.I stifle a snort, not realizing I’m scratching a groove into the desk with my pen until I’m staring the blue ink straight in the face.She had to know if he was all doll parts.

I lay the pen quietly on the wood and focus on the whiteboard, letting the names of my classmates drift around me and trying to recenter myself. I’ve played Why Did Sierra Do It? at least once a day for the last four months, and it’s a stupid and pointless game. Sierra slept with my boyfriend for the same reason she did everything: because she wanted to.

Which brings me back to the question of the day: What doIwant to do to kick off my year of badassery?

I hazard a glance at Salem, who barks “Here!” as soon as “Grayson” is called, drowning out what must be his real first name before letting her know he prefers to be called Salem. He’s a little mystery wrapped in an enigma, that one. He pretends to be annoyed by his sister, but he goes by the nickname that ties them together. And he pretends not to care about self-improvement, but he smells much better today, like clean flannel and leather, a hint of pine.

He’s kind of a jerk, kind of a mess, and definitely needs some etiquette lessons, but if I’m going to pull this miserable year out of the depths, he might be my only hope.

Thankfully, Lucas isn’t in chem with me second period. (Though the delightful Archibald Buchanan is, and can youbelieve he didn’t want to be lab partners?) I don’t glimpse him while traipsing through the Sac lobby at snack time for a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie, either. (I have no idea if that’s a regular thing, but I do know it’s officially my new favorite part of boarding school.) We’re seated alphabetically in APUSH, which puts us all the way across the room from each other, and in the biggest blessing of all, we don’t even have the same lunch period.

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