Harper took Spencer’s hand. “Let me introduce you to the others.”
She led Spencer through a long hallway lit by chrome and glass lamps to a larger, more modern room in the back of the house. A wall of windows faced the woods behind the property. Another boasted a flat-screen TV, bookshelves, and a large papier-mâché statue of the Princeton tiger mascot. Blanket-swaddled girls lounged on suede couches, tapping their iPads and laptops, reading books, or, in one blond girl’s case, playing an acoustic guitar. Spencer was almost positive the Asian girl fiddling with her phone had won the Golden Orchid a few years ago. The girl in bottle-green jeans by the window was a dead ringer for Jessie Pratt, the girl who’d gotten her memoir about living in Africa with her grandparents published at sixteen.
“Guys, this is Spencer Hastings,” Harper said, and everyone looked up. She pointed at the girls around the room. “Spencer, this is Joanna, Marilyn, Jade, Callie, Willow, Quinn, and Jessie.” So it was Jessie Pratt. Everyone waved happily. “Spencer is an early admit,” Harper went on. “I met her at the dinner I hosted, and I think she’s a natural for us.”
“Nice to meet you.” Quinn set aside her acoustic guitar and shook Spencer’s hand. Her fingernails were painted a preppy pink. “Any friend of Harper’s is a friend of ours.”
“I like your guitar,” Spencer said, nodding at it. “It’s a Martin, right?”
Quinn raised her perfectly plucked blond eyebrows. “You know guitars?”
Spencer shrugged. Her dad was into guitars, and she used to go to some of the vintage expos with him, searching for new ones to add to his collection.
“How do you like that?” Jessie Pratt said, pointing to the book Spencer was carrying. It was a copy of V. by Thomas Pynchon.
“Oh, it’s great,” Spencer said, even though she didn’t really get the gist of the story. The writer barely used any punctuation.
“We’d better get going.” Harper grabbed a sweater from the back of one of the couches.
“Going where?” Spencer asked.
Harper gave her a cryptic smile. “A party at this guy Daniel’s house. You’ll love him.”
“Awesome.” Spencer dropped her duffel by the front door, waited as Harper, Jessie, and Quinn put on their coats and gathered their purses, and followed them into the cold night. They trudged down the snowy sidewalks, careful not to slip on patches of ice. The moon was out, and aside from a few cars swishing down the main avenue, the world was very quiet and still. Spencer eyed a hulking SUV parked at the curb, its motor running, but couldn’t see its driver through the tinted glass.
They turned up the walkway of a big, Dutch-style mansion on the corner. Bass thundered from inside, and shadows passed in front of the brightly lit windows. There were a bunch of cars parked in the driveway, and more kids were making their way up the front lawn. The front door was open, and a handsome guy with thick eyebrows and longish chestnut-colored hair stood in the foyer, the official welcoming committee.
“Greetings, ladies,” he said in a smarmy voice, sipping from a plastic cup.
“Hey, Daniel,” Harper gave him an air kiss. “This is Spencer. She’s going to be a freshman next fall.”
“Ah, new blood.” Daniel looked Spencer up and down. “I approve.”
Spencer followed Harper into the house. The living room was packed, and a 50 Cent track blared loudly. The guys were drinking Scotch; the girls were in dresses and heels and wore diamond studs in their ears. In the corner, people were sitting around a hookah, bluish smoke wafting around their heads.
When someone grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him, Spencer figured it was a hot guy—there were so many of them to choose from. But then she looked at the guy’s droopy eyes, dirty dreadlocks, crooked smile, and tie-dyed Grateful Dead 1986 Tour T-shirt.
“Spencer, right?” The guy’s smile stretched wide. “You missed an amazing time the other night. The Occupy Philly rally rocked.”
Spencer squinted at him. “Excuse me?”
“It’s Reefer.” The guy raised his arms in a ta-da! gesture. “From the Princeton dinner last week. Remember?”
Spencer blinked. “What are you doing here?” she barked.
Reefer looked around the room. “Well, a professor invited me to lunch. And then I met Daniel in the dining hall, and he told me about tonight’s shindig.”
It was the most preposterous thing Spencer had ever heard. “A professor invited you here?”
“Yeah, Professor Dinkins,” Reefer said, shrugging. “He’s in the quantum physics department. That’s what I’m majoring in next year.”
Quantum physics? Spencer stared again at Reefer’s dirty jeans and beat-up hemp shoes. He didn’t even look capable of using a washing machine. And was it normal for professors to invite incoming freshmen to tour the campus? No one from the faculty had invited Spencer to visit. Did it mean she wasn’t special?
“There you are.” Harper grabbed Spencer’s arm. “I’ve been looking all over for you! Wanna keep me company outside?”
“Please,” Spencer said, relieved.
“You can ask Reefer if he wants to come, too,” Harper stage-whispered.
Spencer glanced over her shoulder at Reefer. Luckily, he was now talking to Daniel and paying no attention to either of them. Maybe Daniel would realize how much of a dork Reefer was and ask him to leave.
“Uh, I think he’s busy,” Spencer said, turning back to Harper. “Let’s go.”