“I’m not hiding in the closet. You’re eighteen,” I argue. Tessa rushes over to the mirror, closely inspecting her face and smoothing down her wild hair. She hurries to the other side of the room with a tube of toothpaste in her hand, squeezes a dollop from it, and rubs it onto her tongue. It’s like I’m watching a teenage girl get caught sneaking out of her mummy’s house. She’s frantic as she walks to the door. Her hand shakes when she turns the brass knob.

“Hey. What are you guys doing here?” Tessa asks her mum as she walks through the door. Her mother commands the room for the brief moment before another person joins us.

It’s the guy from before. Noah.

I can see that Tessa’s mum is coming straight toward me, but I’m too focused on the boy. Tessa’s boyfriend, the infamous Noah. His blond hair is a few shades lighter than Tessa’s, and his cardigan is smooth, resting over his neatly pressed khaki pants. It’s kind of amazing that at this early point in the morning he so resembles a freshly minted preppy action figure, still in the packaging.

But why is he here? Are they that serious?

Did he call her mum like some sort of morality police?

Her mother takes a deep breath and then lets it all out. “So this is why you haven’t been answering your phone? Because you have this . . .”—she waves her hands around in the same way her daughter does—“this . . . tattooed . . . troublemaker in your room at six a.m.!”

Tattooed troublemaker? What is with these women and their primary school insults?

Tessa squares her shoulders, and I watch as her back straightens, ready for a fight.

Well, now I know where Tessa gets her judgmental bullshit. Also where she got her frame, curves, and fire. She’s shooting daggers at her mum, but the woman doesn’t seem to notice the way her daughter’s fingers are digging crescents into her palm. Or the way the skin on her neck has turned slightly pink. She doesn’t seem to notice. Neither does Mr. Rogers.

This irritates me—that Tessa is being chastised for behaving like a normal college freshman. If anything, she’s much tamer than anyone else I know. Her mum should be proud of her.

“Is this what you do in college, young lady? You stay up all night and bring boys back to your room?” the woman fumes. “Poor Noah was worried sick about you, and we drive all this way to find you running around with these strangers.”

Strangers? The way Noah’s backing up slowly toward the door without noticing it as the woman’s voice grows louder . . . I get the feeling he’s even more brainwashed than Tessa-dearest.

I can’t help it; I speak up before Tessa gets a chance to reply. “Actually, I just got here. And she wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Tessa gapes at me like I’m insane to go up against her mum. For her part, her mother can’t seem to believe it either. And their disbelief makes me laugh inside; these people have no idea what I’m capable of.

“Excuse me? I certainly was not speaking to you. I don’t know what someone like you is doing hanging around my daughter anyway.”

The douche in the corner stays silent, as he should.

“Mother . . .” Tessa says, attempting to be as threatening as possible. She looks at me briefly, her eyes are harder than usual. I can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or anger that there’s such fire coming out.

Her mum isn’t fazed. “Theresa, you’re out of control.” She speaks through her teeth. “I can smell the liquor on you from here, and I can only assume that this is the influence of your lovely roommate and him,” she says, looking directly at me. Pointing at me.

If she knew me, she would put that finger right back down.

“I’m eighteen, Mother,” Tessa begins, but she already sounds defeated. “I’ve never drunk before, and I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just doing what every other college student is doing. I’m sorry that my cell-phone battery died, and that you drove all the way here, but I’m fine.”

Tessa sits on the edge of her chair. I don’t like how uncomfortable they make her. She’s like a stranger to me as she sits, timidly waiting for the next blow from the bitch.

I don’t move. Even when the hurricane in this woman’s eyes focuses back on me.

“Young man, could you leave us for a minute?”

She’s not really asking. And her “young man” might sound polite, but really she’s just trying that bitchy thing where she talks down to me while seeming reasonable. I grew up around rich kids; I know that move.

I look over at Theresa, making sure she understands that I won’t leave unless she’s okay to face her mum and boyfriend alone. She nods, but I can see the confusion in her gray eyes.

I go, as requested, my chest burning.

eleven

When he began to see her in his dreams, it terrified him. She was now swallowing him whole, taking every ounce of him and running off with it. It terrified him to think about the things she could do to him once she was in. He didn’t want to allow it, but he didn’t have the strength to fight it. He had always thought of himself as strong. He ruled everything, until she came in and took his crown.

I wait and wait for Tessa’s dorm room door to open and for her mum and her minion to leave. Minute after minute goes by, and I begin to question my sanity.

Why am I waiting for her? What will I even say to her when her visitors leave? Will she want to talk to me at all? Maybe she will if I apologize for letting her kiss me. That may solve all of the problems here.

Finally, the door opens and her mum walks out, casting an imperious eye down at me where I lean against a neighbor’s door. On her heels is Tessa, her hand snugly wrapped around Noah’s.

I get to my feet, not quite sure what to say, but feeling the need to say, to do, something.

“We’re going to go into town,” Tessa tells me, and what can I do but nod and let them go on their way?

I can’t stop looking at Tessa’s hand in her boyfriend’s. She flushes and pulls away as her mum gives me the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.

“I really don’t like that guy,” I hear Mr. Rogers say.

“Me either,” Tessa quietly responds.

Which is for the best. Because I don’t really like her either.

WHEN I GET TO MY car, my phone’s vibrating in the cup holder. I reach for it and answer when I see Molly’s name across the screen. She says one word—“hairpulling”—and hangs up.