Mean Girls. Louise Rozett

of Manderley. I’d imagined myself prancing down this very path full of optimism, maybe already with a brand-new friend acquired on the ride in, ready to have an adventure.

      I felt a little silly thinking about it, but something in me still had a flicker of that same excitement.

      Once in the hall, I saw that there was a woman directing each wave of students to a line for the cell phone drop. Yes. Oh-ho yes.

      The cell phone drop. In an effort to be more “traditional,” the school mandated that we could use cell phones only between seven and nine at night or on weekends, and we had to check them out, leaving our room keys behind as collateral. Leah and I’d read all about it in the letters. We’d sat on her back porch in the gray-blue of a mosquitoey twilight waiting for her dad to finish grilling the burgers and hot dogs, and read all about the new restrictions I’d be living with.

      I’d be living in a dorm with a girl I’d never yet spoken to, sleeping in a twin-size bed. There would be no interdorm visitation between guys and girls, no social-networking sites except on a special computer in the library. We’d be wearing uniforms, and, perhaps most disappointingly as a new student with no friends here, the no cell phones thing.

      It was like prison. Without visitors.

      After reluctantly dropping off my beloved, brand-new iPhone and getting my key, I realized I didn’t know where to go.

      I got up the nerve and approached two girls standing by the stairs. “Hi, um, I’m sorry, but do any of you know which way I go to get to room fifteen?”

      The girls exchanged a meaningful look I didn’t understand. I resisted the urge to shrink away.

      The brunette with big pearl earrings and a very thin nose tossed her hair and looked at me. “So you’re the new girl?”

      “Yes, I’m—”

      “Great. My name is Julia, and this is Madison. We live right across from you.”

      “Oh, good.” I smiled.

      She did not.

      “You can follow us, we’re going up.”

      “Okay.”

      Follow seemed like a weird word to choose. Walk with. Or, come with. Instead, I got trail pitifully behind like a stray cat.

      They started off, and I tried to keep up.

      “So did you two know whoever used to live in my room?”

      Another exchanged look.

      The one called Julia looked straight ahead and responded, “Yep.”

      “Ah.” I nodded. Trying to fill the silence I said, “That cell phone drop blows, doesn’t it? How do you guys survive?”

      Madison looked back at me. “You get used to it.”

      It was clear that I shouldn’t ask any more. I stayed silent for the next two flights.

      The hallway was all open doors and girls gabbing and shrieking. The noise quieted as we walked up. Everyone was looking at us. Or at me. I didn’t know whether to wave or what, so I just walked on.

      “There it is,” Julia said, and pointed at the only shut door on the hall.

      Everyone was silent now, and no one tried to conceal their stares.

      I went for the knob, hesitated, and then knocked. No answer. Pushing the door open, I was surprised to find that the lights were on and my roommate was there, reading a book.

      “Hi, are you Dana?” I asked, and then realized that both sides of the room were fully decorated. “Am I in the wrong room?”

      Was that why everyone had stared? They were just trying to embarrass me for some reason?

      “No.”

      “No you’re not … Dana, or—”

      “You’re in the right place,” she said impatiently, not looking up at me. A curtain of shiny black hair hid her face.

      I stood there, feeling like an idiot. She wasn’t being helpful at all, but still I felt like I was harping on the subject. “Sorry, but … then why is there someone else’s stuff over there?”

      “Those are Becca’s things.”

      Another few seconds of silence passed as she slowly, deliberately, turned a page in her book.

      “Um. Okay.” I cleared my throat again and shifted my weight to my left foot, still aware of the quiet outside as everyone listened to this conversation. It seemed that Dana would be perfectly content with me standing here for the rest of my life trying to figure out if, in fact, I should take another step in or not.

      Finally she revealed to me her face. She looked like a skeleton. The skin that stretched over her high, sharp-looking cheekbones was as white as Julia’s pearls. Her lashes were black and long, and trimmed narrow eyes. Thick black liner encircled them, and she looked distinctly exotic. I didn’t think I’d ever seen someone who looked quite like her.

      I immediately felt the twinge of intimidation.

      “Is … she coming to get her stuff?” I asked, when she said nothing.

      “I don’t know.”

      “What am I supposed to do with it, then?”

      I blushed as my confidence promptly ebbed.

      Her cat eyes moved to look at the other side of the room. “I already put some of it away for her.”

      I followed her gaze and spotted a Louis Vuitton suitcase underneath the bed.

      “I see,” I said.

      A thoughtful moment passed before she said, “You shouldn’t sleep in the sheets.”

      “No.”

      I took a few steps toward the bed. The floorboards groaned.

      “Stop.” She said it quietly, but exhaustedly. As if she’d told me a hundred times to stay away from that comforter.

      I backed away, watching as she very slowly and carefully removed each layer. When she got to the pillow, she stopped for a minute and gave it a very slight squeeze before removing its case. Odd. But I said nothing.

      When she finished, Dana walked silently back to her side of the room, and removed her own sheets, replacing them with Becca’s. I got a chill, and then realized the noise had resumed outside.

      Once she’d finished, she lay down in the sheets and closed her eyes. I averted mine quickly, feeling as though I was spying on someone unaware of my presence.

      My suitcases hadn’t arrived yet, so I just sat down on the nylon-encased mattress that was begrudgingly left for me. With a furtive glance in my roommate’s direction, I leaned forward and looked at the Polaroid pictures on the wall across from me.

      Most of them starred a pretty girl with long, platinum-blond hair. She was pretty in that sort of affected way that you can tell she practiced. Maybe I was wrong, maybe that’s how she always looked, but to me she seemed a little pinched. I noticed in one picture that she was one of those girls who looked good in a hat. I always look stupid in them.

      I scanned the snapshots of her with different friends, almost always posed and never candid, and usually including someone who was probably her boyfriend. There was more than one picture of them kissing. He was really good-looking. Not just hot or sexy, but handsome in that kind of old-fashioned way. His hair was dark and his eyes were light. He wasn’t smiling in any of the pictures, and something about him made it hard to look away.

      All the girls stood with their stomachs sucked in and their hands on their hips, either squinting “sexily” at the camera or making some other very-on-purpose facial expression. Madison and Julia, the girls I’d just met, were in several of them. I could already tell that they weren’t