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first twelve hours, I meet an Alison, a Gretchen, an Estella (who is gorgeous, probably the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen), a Lindsey, and one of our dorm assistants, a senior named Jill. Jill is the only person who doesn’t smile when she meets me.
    The night before my first practice, I stay in my room, listening to all of their loud voices lilting down the hallway from the common room, too afraid to leave even to use the bathroom. Their laughter gets so loud that it makes me flinch in reflex a few times. They are all such good friends already, obviously so comfortable, their lives so easy, I can’t imagine what they would think of me if they knew how I’d come to be here with them.
    Since Madeline isn’t here yet, I’ve claimed the top bunk for myself. I lie in bed, listening, staring at the blank ceiling above me until it gets so dark in the room that I can’t see anything at all. Finally, a little after eleven, I hear Jill’s heavy footsteps coming down the hallway, the sound of her voice booming into the common room, ordering everyone to bed. As they trickle down the hallway into their bedrooms, one of them complains loudly that school hasn’t even started yet and she isn’t their mommy and they aren’t freaking preschoolers, loudly enough that Jill comes out of her room and screeches, “If I hear one more word you’ll all be pulling weeds outside the field house tomorrow until your fingers are bleeding!”
    I wait, staring at the ceiling, until the whole dorm is quiet, until the last giggle drifts into silence. Then I get my toothbrush and towel and sneak down the hallway to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face.
    On my way back from the bathroom, I notice a crack of light coming from the doorway that leads to the common room. Before I can hurry back to my own room, the door opens a little, and I see that it’s Estella, her back pressed against the door. She’s practically being smothered by a tall blond guy as the two of them hold on to each other like they’ll die if they let go, faces mashed together, and I stand there frozen until the boy opens his eyes a little bit and sees me in my pj’s, staring at them. He pulls away from Estella, whispers something into her ear. Estella turns and gives me a long, appraising stare. She’s wearing nothing but day-of-the-week (Sunday) underpants and a pink tank top. Her long red hair spills wet and clingy over her shoulders and down her back. She stands on her tiptoes, whispers something to the boy—who is every bit as beautiful as she is—and then gives him a quick kiss on the nose before heading back into the dorm.
    She doesn’t say anything as she passes me. She just holds a finger to her lips, which are curled into a slight smile, goes, “Shhhh,” and walks away, closing the door to her room without a sound.
    My first swimming practice starts the following morning at eight sharp. There’s breakfast beforehand in the cafeteria, everyone except me in T-shirts and Woodsdale Academy– issue maroon sweatpants cut off at the thigh to make shorts. I show up five minutes before breakfast ends so I won’t have to talk to anyone.
    Everyone looks tired and annoyed while they eat scrambled eggs and buttered toast and bacon. Nobody says much of anything above a sleepy murmur here and there. Estella is the only person whose name I know for sure. She’s sitting with the boy from the previous night. She feeds him bites of her toast and murmurs into his ear while he smiles and keeps his free hand on her bare thigh. Neither of them even looks at me.
    I’ve been swimming almost my whole life, but I’ve never been at a practice like this before. The pool seems so clean and flat and cool that I don’t dare even dip my toe in before someone tells me. Everybody but me is wearing a matching maroon swimsuit—to practice —and each of the girls has her last name printed over her right breast in delicate white lettering. They all have matching maroon swim