Chapter One
I knock seven times on Phoebe’s door, keeping the pattern fast and precise. She pulls it open just an inch, her eyes narrowing through the crack.
“User?” she asks.
I roll my eyes hard enough to strain them. “Abby2869.”
She swings the door wide, and I push past her into the warm, cluttered room. Piles of laundry and stray shoes line the floor, but I ignore the chaos and drop a heavy stack of color-coded folders directly onto her unmade bed. I wedge myself into the remaining space right next to Yasmin, adjusting my skirt so it does not touch the suspicious shadow on the carpet.
Everyone is here for our weekly Friday night sleepover. Sneaking across campus after curfew is technically not allowed, which means we have to be smart about how we move between the buildings. Campus security loves to prowl the quad after midnight, so timing is everything. Phoebe and Carmen live here in the Colt dorms, Yasmin and Tess share a room over in Max Dorm, and Gracelyn and I are tucked away in the Brook dorm on the far north edge of campus. Passing through three separate checkpoints without getting caught requires actual tactical planning, but no one seems to appreciate the effort it takes to coordinate.
“A folder seriously Abby?” Tess whines, leaning back against the headboard and kicking her feet over the edge.
“I like to be organised,” I huff, adjusting the top paper so the corners align perfectly. “Something that obviously isn’t in your vocabulary.”
“What is all that anyway?” Carmen asks, leaning forward from her spot on the floor where she is currently untying her sneaker laces.
“All the events this year,” I answer, tapping the thick blue binder sitting on top of the pile. “And since you guys are my friends, you are on the committee.”
“I didn’t agree to this,” Gracelyn says, pointing a nail file in my direction without looking up from her manicure.
“Actually, you did,” I state, pulling out a sheet of parchment covered in fine print. “That signature three months ago was it.”
They all groan in unison, a chorus of dramatic misery that echoes off the narrow cinderblock walls.
“I hate dances,” Phoebe whines, flopping backward onto a pile of crumpled hoodies.
“I’m only going to get you to do the stuff you like,” I say, already pulling out my mechanical pencil to draft the master schedule. “I will leave Yasmin and Tess for the dances.”
“Can I do the bake-off?” Tess asks, her eyes lighting up with immediate, chaotic interest.
“No,” I growl, glaring at her until she slumps back against the wall. “Not after last year.”
Phoebe bursts into a sudden, loud laugh that she has to smother with a pillow. “That was so funny seeing Mr Peterson high as a kite.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t get caught,” Yasmin says, shaking her head as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Did anyone get in trouble for that?” Carmen questions, glancing between Tess and the rest of us.
“I don’t think so,” Tess answers, wearing a grin that is far too proud. “Hell, the teachers probably loved every second of it.”
“Oh, one hundred percent,” Phoebe says, leaning back on her elbows with a grin. “I swear I’ve seen coach light up a couple of doobies after practice.”
Phoebe plays football—actual varsity tackle football—and she plays with the guys, too. When she first told us she was trying out, we all sat her down and insisted it was a total suicide mission. We genuinely thought they would pummel her into the turf during the very first drill. But then the opening night of the season arrives, and we all crowd into the front row of the bleachers to watch her play her first game.
She turns out to be completely untouchable on the field, moving like The Flash out there and weaving between players twice her size before they can even set their pads. Yeah, in the end she comes off the field with a few nasty bruises, but she still has a massive smile plastered across her face when she pulls off her helmet.
Tess used to run track with that same kind of intense focus, but then she failed the urine test at nationals last spring and got dropped from the roster immediately. She never was into running anyway; the endless laps were just a convenient way to keep her mother off her back for a few months out of the year.
Tess, Carmen, and Yasmin are triplets, and their mum is a total handful on her best days. Their dad died when they were thirteen from stomach cancer, and the sudden loss shattered the entire household. It affected their mum really bad. She never leaves her house anymore, relying on home deliveries for everything, and she has been to the whacko hospital a couple of times whenever the panic attacks get too severe for her to handle on her own. Because of that, the three of them stick together like a unit, protecting each other from the fallout.
Tess shifts her weight on the bed, nudging Phoebe’s foot with her own. “When’s your first game?”
“28th of August,” Phoebe answers, checking her phone to confirm the kickoff time.
“We will all be there,” Carmen says softly from the floor.
Phoebe’s face softens, a genuine smile breaking through her usual tough exterior. “That means a lot coming from you. I know you hate the stadium.”
“I like watching football, I just hate all the people,” Carmen mumbles, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them.
Carmen is just a little shy, always preferring the quiet corners of the room over the loud crowd under the stadium lights, but when it comes to supporting the rest of us, she never misses a single game.
“I can’t believe we are seniors,” Yasmin says, her voice trailing off into a soft, nostalgic sigh as she leans back against the wall. “I swear it was just yesterday that I was meeting all of you guys.”
My mind drifts back to that warm morning three years ago, standard orientation day chaos. The campus felt massive and overwhelming back then, a maze of tall brick buildings and unfamiliar faces. Tess, Yasmin, and I stayed glued to each other’s side from the moment we stepped out of the car. We didn’t know anybody else, so our triplet bond was the only anchor we had in the middle of all the noise.
During the icebreaker sessions, Tess got placed in a group with Phoebe and Gracelyn, while Yasmin and I ended up paired with Abigail, who was already keeping everyone in line with a clipboard and a rigid schedule. When the afternoon hit, we all sat together at the same corner table in the dining hall for lunch. We stayed there talking until the staff locked up, and we have been completely inseparable ever since.
“I can believe I’m a senior,” I say, wrapping my arms around my shins as I sit on the floor. “Not so much the rest of you.”
“Funny,” Tess deadpans, tossing a small accent pillow straight at my head.
“Watch this bitch go to Harvard while I’m stuck at community college,” Gracelyn huffs. She drops her nail file onto the bed sheet and crosses her arms, letting out a sharp breath.
“Maybe if you-” I start, tilting my head toward her.
“I’m dyslexic,” Gracelyn says, cutting me off before I can even finish the thought. “I am trying, it’s just harder for me.”
“You’re probably dyslexic cause you have square eyes,” Phoebe snorts, looking up from her phone with a wide, teasing grin.
“I was born with it, y’a dumb shit,” Gracelyn says, her Texan accent sweeping through every single word.
She tries so hard to hide the thick Southern drawl most of the time, attempting to sound like she belongs right here in the Pacific Northwest, but the moment she gets angry or defensive, it leaks right out.
“Did you go back to Texas for break?” Abigail asks Gracelyn, tapping her mechanical pencil against her chin as she looks up from her binder.
“Yeah, I did,” she answers, her expression softening as the annoyance fades. “I missed my grandparents, and I even got to see some of my cousins.”
“Awe you met, Zoe?” Yasmin whines, clutching her hands together over her chest. “I see her all over your hot cousin’s Instagram.”
“How’s his band going?” Phoebe asks, turning around completely on her stomach to face the room.
“Get a couple of gigs here and there,” Gracelyn says, running a hand through her hair. “Still working with his dad though.”
“How are Steve and Charlene?” I ask, looking up at her from the floor.
“They are well,” Gracelyn says, looking down at me with a soft smile. “Misses you though.”
Steve and Charlene are my godparents, and we have always had an extraordinarily close bond. Back when Dad was alive, I was undisputed daddy’s little girl. Wherever Dad went, I was right there attached to his hip, tagging along like a tiny shadow. Most of the time, that meant hanging out in Steve’s grease-stained garage while the two of them tinkered with engines for hours on end.
Tess, Yasmin, and I were actually born in California, enjoying the sunshine and constant beach days, but our entire world shifted when Dad got sick. We moved back to Texas the moment his diagnosis came through because he wanted to be close to his family before the time came. Leaving California was tough, but those years in Texas with Steve and Charlene around kept us grounded through the worst moments.
“Yeah, I will call him during the week,” I murmur, tracing a loose thread on the carpet with my thumbnail.
“I can’t believe you got Steve and Charlene, while I got smelt like vomit Aunt Chelsea,” Yasmin huffs, throwing her hands up in dramatic frustration.
“Hey, I’d take Aunt Chelsea any day over Uncle Jim,” Tess says, pulling her knees into her chest and making a sour face. “How he’s allowed near children is beyond me.”
“I could never wear a bikini around him,” Yasmin says and shudders, visibly cringing as she pulls her knees tighter against her chest.
“Your whole family sounds fucked up,” Gracelyn says, shaking her head as she picks up her nail file again. “But who am I to judge, my dad, is an abusive asshole.”
“My mum had schizophrenia,” Phoebe says, resting her chin on her fist as if she is simply stating the daily weather forecast.
The entire room goes dead silent for a second. We all turn to Abigail, waiting for her contribution to our collective disaster roster.
She looks around at all of us and shrugs. “I’m related to Jeffrey Dahmer.”
We all burst out laughing, the sudden, sharp humor breaking the heavy air and sending echoes bouncing off the dorm walls.
Looking around the crowded room at everyone snickering into their pillows and wiping tears from their eyes, it hits me all at once. None of us come from normal, picture-perfect backgrounds, but sitting here together in the middle of the night, it feels like we finally built one of our own. Maybe this was why we were all friends.
