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it again.”
    “What do you mean, you cheated on him? With who? When?”
    “Someone I met this summer.”
    “What? Just some random guy?”
    “Something like that.”
    I could tell she was seeking my approval. “So you kissed another guy?”
    She chewed her lip. “It was a little more than kissing,” she said. “Well, a lot more.” Now my eyes bugged from my skull. “Emma, I had to tell someone. It’s been eating me up inside.”
    “Well, sure,” I said.
    For a few seconds, I just stared straight ahead of me, taking it all in. I could tell Michelle was waiting for me to say something that would absolve her from her guilt.
    “You don’t have to seem so shocked,” Michelle said quietly, clearly disappointed by my reaction.
    But I was shocked. I had always thought of Michelle and Owen as the perfect couple—they had kind of an “opposites attract” thing going. And Owen was a complete sweetheart and didn’t deserve this.
    “Look, I know you’re good friends with Owen,” she said, “but you can’t tell him.”
    “I won’t. But don’t you think you should?”
    “No. It’ll only hurt him. Besides, it was a one-time thing. It’s over.”
    “Are you sure? I mean, who is this guy? What’s his name?”
    She looked at the ground, unable to meet my eyes. “You don’t know him. Besides, it’s . . . complicated.”
    “Yeah, because you have a boyfriend.”
    “God, Emma. You’re so judgmental. It happened, and I don’t regret it. And if you could stop being Little Miss Perfect for a second, you might understand why.”
    She lurched off my bed and continued unpacking her suitcase, leaving me no choice but to do the same. But for some reason, the conversation had made me feel incredibly lonely. I suddenly felt like I was rooming with a stranger.
    When the first day of classes rolled around, I was reminded of everything I hated about Lockwood. AP Bio was going to be my toughest course, as it would require fifty pages of reading a week and a dissection of a cat at the end of the year. Biology had always been taught by Ms. Brewster, the oldest and most crotchety member of Lockwood’s staff, who was, therefore, likely to live forever. On the upside, she seemed to loathe Elise Fairchild almost as much as I did.
    “Ms. Fairchild,” she said when Elise showed up ten minutes late for class. “I understand that your father endows the school with enough money to fund a third world country, but you’re still required to follow the most basic rules of the classroom, one of which is punctuality. I assume you have a compelling excuse?”
    “Bad hair day?” Elise said, eliciting a few chuckles from the class. Then she went to take a seat, and I was surprised that she didn’t sit with her friends. Amber and Chelsea were huddled together whispering on the other side of the room, and Jess Barrister was sitting by herself in the back.
    I almost didn’t recognize Jess. Last year, she had worn her chestnut hair long and sleek and had showcased an array of expensive tailored outfits that made her look like a Calvin Klein model. But now her hair was dyed black and cut in a chunky shag that partially obscured her face. She was sporting a stretchy black-and-white-striped shirt over black skinny jeans with black Converse high-tops. Michelle was staring at her, too, evidently as perplexed by the change as I was.
    Ms. Brewster stared at Elise imperiously and said, “You’ll have more than enough time to think of a real excuse this afternoon at detention.”
    My eyes went wide. Ms. Brewster’s detentions were notorious for being two hours long and requiring a complete cleaning of the dissection closet, among other odious tasks. Moreover, she’d given a detention on the first day. To Elise Fairchild.
    It was comforting to know there was at least one adult at Lockwood who refused to bow down to Princess Elise.
    Unfortunately, this person was not our headmaster, Dr. Overbrook, who was teaching our AP American History class