Of all the things Tinsley Carmichael had done at Waverly—many involving alcohol, some involving drugs, almost all involving boys—she had not once sneaked into a boy’s dorm room—or, at least, not alone. And certainly not a freshman’s dorm room, not even as a freshman. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Around nine o’clock, just as the carpet-munching meeting was winding down, Tinsley slipped into a pair of dark Citizens jeans and pulled on her thick black Patagonia fleece over her tissue-thin white T-shirt, zipping it up all the way so that she could sort of disappear in the dark, her cloak of invisibility. As she dropped out her window, her rarely used vegan hiking boots (a Christmas gift from her vegetarian father) sinking softly into the mulchy dirt, she felt a thrill of excitement. All right, so she didn’t exactly need to sneak out her window, since it wasn’t curfew yet … but it made things so much more exciting if she felt like she was being devious.
