stairs, thinking maybe I’ll sneak up and see what the actual rooms look like. I get to the bottom of the stairs at the same time as two girls with lots of luggage, and I move aside to let them go up first.
“Thanks,” one says, with a distracted glance my way. She’s tall and skinny, with light brown skin, wildly corkscrewing black hair with gold glints that’s currently being held off her face by a wide headband, and enormous dark eyes framed by chunky glasses. She’s wearing black lace-up work boots, denim shorts, and a narrow tank top.
“No worries,” I say.
The taller girl at her side halts. “Franny? Franny Pearson?”
I whip around to get a better look at her. She’s pretty, with thick, dark layered hair and big blue eyes. And I totally know her. “Julia? Oh, my God!”
Turns out I can squeal with the best of them.
I know someone here!
Or at least I knew her, back in eighth grade. I haven’t seen her since then.
“I can’t believe it!” She drops the bag she’s carrying and lets go of the handle of her rolling suitcase so she can throw her arms around me. “Why didn’t I see your name anywhere? You didn’t join the Mansfield Facebook group!”
I hug her back. “Yeah, that’s because—”
But before I can explain, the other girl is asking, “How doyou guys know each other?”
Julia releases me. “We went to middle school together, but then we went to different high schools and kind of lost touch. But I should have guessed you’d be here, Franny. You were always one of the best actors.”
“So were you,” I say. “But I’m not actually here.”
The other girl raises her eyebrows. “You a ghost?”
“I mean, I’m not in the acting program. I’m working here this summer—helping my aunt. She’s the costume designer.”
“Oh.” There’s an awkward moment of silence. Then Julia says, “Cool. Wish I could sew.”
“Yeah,” the other girl says. “Me too.” She nods up the stairs. “Where are you staying? Here in the dorm?”
“I wish. No, I have a room in my aunt’s apartment.”
“My name’s Vanessa, by the way.”
I introduce myself and say, “Can I help you guys carry your stuff up?”
“Yes, please .” Julia instantly hands me a bag. It’s covered in Burberry plaid. “Have you seen the dorm rooms yet?”
I shake my head.
“Julia and I started talking outside and then realized we were in the same room,” Vanessa explains as we all struggle our way up the stairs, their rolling trunks making a thunk, thunk, thunk sound on each step. “We don’t know if it’s just the two of us or not.”
We reach the second floor. There’s a locked door to get onto the hallway and a sign on it that says, ONLY BOYS ARE ALLOWED ON THE SECOND FLOOR AFTER 9 P.M. !
“What do you think they think changes after nine o’clock at night?” I ask, nodding toward the sign. You can hear voices from behind the door and see some blurry movement through its smoky glass panes.
“Sex,” Julia says. “I mean, I assume.”
“I’ve heard you can have sex as early as seven p.m.,” I say. “But never before five on a Sunday.”
Vanessa laughs as we head up the second flight. “You know what’s really funny? This is an acting program—most of the guys are gay. So if they think telling girls to stay away is going to keep anyone nice and innocent, they’re nuts.”
“I’m glad we’re on separate floors, though,” Julia says as we reach the second landing and stop in front of another smoked-glass-paned door. “I have a twin brother, and believe me, you don’t want to share a bathroom with a seventeen-year-old boy. They’re pigs.”
“Your brother—” I start to say, but Vanessa’s already speaking: “Hold on, we need a key.” She juggles her stuff so she can slip the card out of her back pocket; then she unlocks the door and we step through. The hallway runs the length of the building, with doors on both sides.
“Room 307,” Julia murmurs, scanning the
“Thanks,” one says, with a distracted glance my way. She’s tall and skinny, with light brown skin, wildly corkscrewing black hair with gold glints that’s currently being held off her face by a wide headband, and enormous dark eyes framed by chunky glasses. She’s wearing black lace-up work boots, denim shorts, and a narrow tank top.
“No worries,” I say.
The taller girl at her side halts. “Franny? Franny Pearson?”
I whip around to get a better look at her. She’s pretty, with thick, dark layered hair and big blue eyes. And I totally know her. “Julia? Oh, my God!”
Turns out I can squeal with the best of them.
I know someone here!
Or at least I knew her, back in eighth grade. I haven’t seen her since then.
“I can’t believe it!” She drops the bag she’s carrying and lets go of the handle of her rolling suitcase so she can throw her arms around me. “Why didn’t I see your name anywhere? You didn’t join the Mansfield Facebook group!”
I hug her back. “Yeah, that’s because—”
But before I can explain, the other girl is asking, “How doyou guys know each other?”
Julia releases me. “We went to middle school together, but then we went to different high schools and kind of lost touch. But I should have guessed you’d be here, Franny. You were always one of the best actors.”
“So were you,” I say. “But I’m not actually here.”
The other girl raises her eyebrows. “You a ghost?”
“I mean, I’m not in the acting program. I’m working here this summer—helping my aunt. She’s the costume designer.”
“Oh.” There’s an awkward moment of silence. Then Julia says, “Cool. Wish I could sew.”
“Yeah,” the other girl says. “Me too.” She nods up the stairs. “Where are you staying? Here in the dorm?”
“I wish. No, I have a room in my aunt’s apartment.”
“My name’s Vanessa, by the way.”
I introduce myself and say, “Can I help you guys carry your stuff up?”
“Yes, please .” Julia instantly hands me a bag. It’s covered in Burberry plaid. “Have you seen the dorm rooms yet?”
I shake my head.
“Julia and I started talking outside and then realized we were in the same room,” Vanessa explains as we all struggle our way up the stairs, their rolling trunks making a thunk, thunk, thunk sound on each step. “We don’t know if it’s just the two of us or not.”
We reach the second floor. There’s a locked door to get onto the hallway and a sign on it that says, ONLY BOYS ARE ALLOWED ON THE SECOND FLOOR AFTER 9 P.M. !
“What do you think they think changes after nine o’clock at night?” I ask, nodding toward the sign. You can hear voices from behind the door and see some blurry movement through its smoky glass panes.
“Sex,” Julia says. “I mean, I assume.”
“I’ve heard you can have sex as early as seven p.m.,” I say. “But never before five on a Sunday.”
Vanessa laughs as we head up the second flight. “You know what’s really funny? This is an acting program—most of the guys are gay. So if they think telling girls to stay away is going to keep anyone nice and innocent, they’re nuts.”
“I’m glad we’re on separate floors, though,” Julia says as we reach the second landing and stop in front of another smoked-glass-paned door. “I have a twin brother, and believe me, you don’t want to share a bathroom with a seventeen-year-old boy. They’re pigs.”
“Your brother—” I start to say, but Vanessa’s already speaking: “Hold on, we need a key.” She juggles her stuff so she can slip the card out of her back pocket; then she unlocks the door and we step through. The hallway runs the length of the building, with doors on both sides.
“Room 307,” Julia murmurs, scanning the
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