He slows to look at me with a curious expression. “Just off campus, with a few other guys.”

Just off campus. That’s what Reagan said when we headed out that night. Maybe there was more than one toga party that night?

“Oh yeah?” I try to make my voice sound light and relaxed. Instead I sound like someone’s choking the life out of me. “I went to a toga party on Saturday.”

He grins. “Really? Must have been my house. Not many people throw toga parties anymore.” With an eye roll, he mutters, “My roommate, Grant. He’s cheesy like that. Did you have fun?”

“Uh. Yeah.” I watch him from the corner of my eye. “Did you?”

“Oh, I was in Rochester for my cousin’s wedding,” he confirms, shaking his head. “Kind of sucked that it was the same weekend, but my family’s big on . . family. My mom would have killed me if I missed it.”

I let the air release from my lungs painfully slowly, just so it’s not obvious how relieved I am that Connor wasn’t there. Although if he had been, he probably wouldn’t be talking to me right now.

“I heard it got pretty wild, though. Cops shut it down.”

“Yeah, there were some drunk people there. . . ,” I say slowly and then, wanting desperately to change the subject, I ask, “What’s your major?”

“Politics. I’m pre-law.” He watches me closely as he talks. “Hoping for Yale or Stanford next year, if all goes well.”

“Nice,” is all I can think to say. And then I catch myself staring at those friendly green eyes and smiling.

“And you? Any ideas what you’re going to major in?”

“Molecular biology. Hoping for med school.”

A rare frown furrows Connor’s brow. “You know you can still apply to med school with a humanities major, don’t you?”

“I know, but sciences are easy for me.”

“Huh.” Connor’s eyes appraise me curiously. “Beautiful and smart. A deadly combination.”

I duck my head as a blush creeps into my cheeks.

“Well, here we are.” He gestures toward my hall. “Gorgeous building, isn’t it?”

I tip my head back to take in the Gothic architecture. Normally, I’d agree. Now, though, I find myself disappointed because it means my tour, and my time with the smiling Connor, is over. And I’m not ready yet.

I watch as he backs away, sliding his hands into his pockets. “It was nice to meet you, Livie from Miami.”

“You too, Connor from Dublin.”

He kicks a loose stone around with his shoe for a few awkward seconds as I stand and watch. Then he asks, almost hesitantly, “We’re having little party over at our house this Saturday, if you’re interested. Bring that wild roommate you talked about, if you want.”

With my head tilted and my lips pursed, I say, “But I thought you said the parties were over once classes started.”

His eyes search my face, a thoughtful gleam in them. “Unless it’s an excuse to invite a beautiful girl over.” Then his cheeks redden and his gaze drops to the ground.

And I realize that, on top of being good-looking, Connor is about as charming as they come. Not sure how to answer, I simply say, “See you Saturday.”

“Perfect. Say, eight o’clock?” He rhymes off a street name and house number and, with one last, wide grin, he takes off at a slight jog as if late for something. I lean against the bench and watch him go, wondering if he was just being nice. And then, as he’s about to slip behind a building, he slows and turns to look back in my direction. Seeing that I’m still watching, he blows a kiss my way and disappears.

And I have to press my lips together to keep from grinning like an idiot.

This day is definitely looking up.

CHAPTER FIVE

Diagnosis

While I’ve attempted to experience as many of Princeton’s campus-coordinated events as possible as a way of immersing myself in the spirit and culture, Reagan has decided to immerse herself in as many beer-and-vodka-coordinated events as exist. And she’s decided that I need immersing along with her. It’s because I want to please my lively roommate that I ended up at dorm parties every night this week and in bed each morning with heavy eyelids. That, and I also hoped I’d run into Connor again. In the back of my mind, there was a fear of running into Ashton, too. In the end, hope won out over fear.

Unfortunately, I never saw Connor. But I also didn’t see Ashton. I did meet a few more freshmen, though, including a Korean girl named Sun who’s as new to the whole partying scene as I am and sort of attached herself to me on Thursday night.

I honestly don’t know how Reagan is going to survive the heavy workload of classes here. Her books sit in a pile on her desk, unopened. Not even a flip-through. I’m starting to believe that she’s not a student, that Kacey and Dr. Stayner have somehow planted her here. I can almost picture them cackling while they hatched this plan. Student or not, though, I’m happy to have Reagan as a roommate. Except when she puppy-dog-eyes me into drinking with her.

Ceaseless knocking on our door wakes me up.

“Kill me now,” Reagan moans.

“I will, but can you get that first?” I mumble, burying my head under my pillow, pushing a textbook with exceptionally sharp corners out from beneath me. I had managed to sneak out of the dorm party two floors up and come back to get some reading done late last night. The clock read three a.m. the last time I had checked. Now it reads seven. “It has to be for you, Reagan. I don’t know anyone on campus,” I rationalize, curling my body up tighter.

“Shhh . . . they’ll go away,” she whispers. But they don’t. The knocking increases in strength and urgency, and I’m starting to get concerned it will wake up half the floor. As I lift myself to my elbows, ready to crawl out of my top bunk and answer it, I hear Reagan’s defeated groan and rustling sheets. She makes a point of stomping to the door. She throws it open with a quiet curse and something about Satan.

“Wake up, sleepyheads!”

I bolt upright so fast that the room starts to spin. “What are you doing here?” I ask in a high-pitched voice as I turn to see the distinguished-looking man in a well-tailored suit step into the room. I haven’t seen Dr. Stayner in person in two and a half years. He looks basically the same, if not for a bit more gray in his hair, which he has a bit less of, in general.

He shrugs. “It’s Saturday. I told you that we’d talk today.”

“Yeah, but you’re here. And it’s seven a.m.!”

He glances at his watch with a frown. “Is it really that early?” And then he shrugs and throws his arms up in the air, his eyes lighting up with genuine excitement. “What a beautiful day!” As quickly as they lifted, his arms drop and his calm tone returns. “Get dressed. I have a conference in the city that I have to get back to by noon. I’ll meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes.”

Before turning to leave, he spots a disheveled but curious-looking Reagan in a rumpled tank top and pink pajama bottoms. He holds out his hand. “Hi, I’m Dr. Stayner.”

She accepts it with a weary frown. “Hi, I’m Reagan.”

“Ah, yes. The roommate. I’ve heard so much.”

From whom? I haven’t talked to him since . . .

I sigh. My freaking sister. Of course.

“Make sure Livie socializes, will you? She has a tendency to focus too much on school. Just keep her away from those Jell-O shooters.” Not waiting for a reaction, he walks out as briskly as he walked in, leaving my new roommate staring at me.

“Who is that?”

Where do I begin with that answer? Shaking my head as I swing my legs out of bed, I mumble, “I don’t have time to explain right now.”

“Okay but . . . He’s a doctor? I mean, is he . . .” She hesitates. “Your doctor?”

“For better or worse, it would seem.” I want nothing more than to pull the covers over my head for a few more hours, but I know that if I’m not down there in thirty minutes, he’s liable to march down the hall shouting my name at the top of his lungs.