Dorm Diaries

I knew moving into a co-ed dorm would be weird, but I didn’t expect it to feel like walking into an episode of some dramatic high school reality show. Like—straight up? I barely stepped into the lobby before someone’s suitcase went flying down the stairs, a couple was screaming in front of the vending machine, and a girl with way too much lip gloss pointed right at me and said, “You’re in my mirror.” Welcome to Crescent Hill Dorms. I adjusted my duffel bag and gave her a tight smile. “That’s… cool for you?” She blinked, flipped her hair, and turned back to her selfie cam like I was invisible. Okay, love that for me. “Ava Sinclair?” a voice called behind me. I spun around. A girl with big curly hair, hoop earrings, and the most chaotic energy I’d ever seen was waving a clipboard and grinning. “Hi! I’m Riley. Roomie, partner in crime, drama co-pilot—whatever you need.” She pulled me into a full hug before I could even say hi. I kinda loved her already. “Please tell me our room has actual walls and not like, paper-thin partitions.” Riley laughed. “Girl, we have three walls and one mysterious curtain situation. It’s giving reality show confessionals meets broke college student.” We grabbed my stuff and headed upstairs. On the way, she pointed out the important places: rec room (aka party central), shared bathrooms (ugh), vending machine (half broken), and the Glams’ hallway. “Glams?” I asked. Riley lowered her voice like we were about to summon a demon. “The elite. The rich, the ruthless, the overachieving mean girls. They run the school. Brielle West is their queen. If you hear heels clacking, look busy.” Of course, as if on cue, the door opened and out stepped three girls in matching tennis skirts, perfect ponytails, and “don’t talk to me” energy. At the front? A girl with sleek blonde hair, winged liner sharp enough to slice egos, and a face like a Vogue cover. “That’s Brielle,” Riley whispered. “Cheer captain. GPA freak. Petty level: Olympic gold.” Brielle walked right past me, stopped, and looked me up and down. “You’re new,” she said, in the same tone someone would say You smell like trash. “Yeah. Ava.” She didn’t smile. “Cute shoes. Are they… thrift?” “They’re vintage,” I replied, totally lying. Her lips curved up—not a smile, more like a smirk that said game on, newbie. Riley dragged me down the hall before I could say anything else. “Tip one: Don’t talk back to Brielle unless you’re ready to socially combust,” she warned. “Love that. Can’t wait.” Our dorm room was tiny but cute. Posters on Riley’s side, fairy lights, a lava lamp, and a giant whiteboard that said: ‘BOY DRAMA COUNTDOWN: 4 DAYS TIL CHAOS.’** “Should I be concerned?” I asked. “Oh, totally. But it’s more fun when you don’t prepare.” I dropped onto my bed, which creaked like it was holding on for dear life, and pulled out my phone. First thing I saw? A notification from the school group chat: “DORM WARS STARTS TOMORROW. TEAMS DROP AT MIDNIGHT. GET READY, FREAKS.” “Dorm Wars?” I asked. Riley grinned like a villain. “It’s a Crescent Hill tradition. Stupid challenges, messy pranks, way too much caffeine. And it gets intense. Think Hunger Games, but with glitter.” Before I could respond, someone yelled down the hallway, “FOOD FIGHT! CAFETERIA. NOW!” Riley and I looked at each other. “I’m not going,” I said. Riley grabbed my arm. “Girl, yes you are.” — Ten minutes later, I was dodging flying tater tots like I was in a war zone. Screams, trays clattering, someone chanting “Tater Tot Tuesday!” like it was a battle cry. A meatball splatted on the wall beside my head. And across the chaos? Him. Taller than I expected. Dark curly hair. Lazy smile. Athletic jacket casually draped over one shoulder like he didn’t even care that food was flying around. “Who’s that?” I asked Riley, ducking behind a chair. She smirked. “Chase Ryder. Basketball star. Brielle’s maybe-boyfriend, depending on the week.” I didn’t mean to stare, but the way he was just laughing with his friends, totally unbothered, was kind of… yeah. Cute. Annoyingly cute. Then he looked right at me. Like, dead in the eyes. I froze. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. A tray of mac and cheese hit my shoe. So. Humbling. — Later that night, after cleaning pasta off my Converse, I flopped into bed. Riley was already scrolling her phone. “Okay, so you and Chase made eye contact. Like, eye contact.” I groaned. “I literally got assaulted by macaroni.” “He looked impressed. That’s rare. His type is usually cheerleaders with six backup selfies and a secret YouTube channel.” I rolled over. “I’m not even trying to get into that mess.” The dorm group chat buzzed again. “Dorm Wars Teams: Ava, Riley, Chase, Ty, Zara, Logan = Team Blue. Good luck.” Riley screamed. “WE’RE ON THE SAME TEAM AS CHASE. AND TY.” “Who’s Ty?” “Chase’s best friend. Class clown. Probably already stalking my Instagram.” I laughed, but a tiny part of me couldn’t stop thinking about Chase. It was just a look. A stupid look. Who cares? The problem was—I did. And something told me this dorm was about to be way messier than I’d planned.