Ami's new dorm.

Gracie Hall, like the rest of the campus, was far older than the school that now occupied it. Drexel had purchased it from another institution that had gone under—I couldn't remember the name, but I'd definitely read about it somewhere—and apparently spared no expense outfitting it with the very best in modern comforts. As I entered the lobby, I was greeted by neo-Gothic arches lit by warm LEDs that I would've bet money were brand new or close to it.

The flow of human traffic from outside, other new and returning students with bags, carried me along toward a bank of tables that were being used as sign-in desks. Though almost everyone out on the curb had still been in street clothes, in here, there was no escaping the sight of people in the uniform; the girls staffing the tables, RAs or volunteers I guessed, all sported the blazer and blouse, though their seated position hid the rest from my angle. Following the posterboard signs that marked a couple of the lines as being for new arrivals, I soon came face-to-face with a smiling Asian girl with short hair. "Hi! Welcome to Drexel," she gushed. "Can I get your last name?"

"Uh, Largo."

She thumbed through a box of envelopes. "Amelie?"

"That's me."

"Cool." Retrieving one, she handed it to me with a flourish; it had a printed sticker with my name and some numbers, and felt heavy. "That's your room key. You're in 211—that's second floor, room 11," she explained, helpfully pointing me to those particular numbers on the label. "You should have a student handbook and your uniforms waiting for you there. Your RA is Tara, so if you need any help, just tell someone you need her, okay?" Peeling off a form from a stack next to the box, she slid it in front of me and placed a pen on top. "Sign here, initial here."

Keenly aware of the line behind me, I hastily scribbled my signature and initials and managed a breathless thank-you as I hastened to get out of everyone's way. Behind the sign-in area stood a pair of staircases; heaving my suitcase off the floor, I began the climb. As I reached the second floor, where the numbered doors on many of the dorm rooms were being propped or held open, I was immediately faced with more naked vulvas and butts than I'd ever seen at once. The crowd up here was a mix of fellow new arrivals still fully dressed and trying to find their way, upperclassmen already in uniform and looking for old friends, and—I was surprised to see—other girls who weren't yet in uniform but were still walking around without bottoms. As I worked my way toward 211, I caught sight of one girl, leaning out of her open door to call out to someone I didn't see, who was completely naked, seemingly not the least bit bothered to be hanging out into the hall that way.

Had I passed a mirror, I almost certainly would've found myself red as a tomato. All summer, ever since I'd gotten my acceptance letter, I'd tried to prepare myself for this, but now it all seemed to evaporate, and I was left feeling like the one closeted bi girl in the locker room trying not to look like I was staring. Every time I passed by a bottomless girl, I reflexively yanked my gaze away, which led to me spending a lot of time staring up at the ceiling and nearly walking into more than a few of my new hallmates. I found myself thinking, couldn't they have found some way to ease us in a little slower? The idea that in a few minutes I'd have to join the ranks of the half-naked was just too much to even think about.

The one saving grace was that I didn't see anyone doing anything more than being naked. It seemed people were too caught up with getting unpacked and settled. Thank God for small mercies.

211. The number called to me from the second-last door. I found my hand frozen halfway to the knob. Would it be empty, giving me time to screw my head back on? Or was I about to come face-to-face with the total stranger I'd be living with for the bulk of the coming year?

I took a deep breath, turned the key, and opened the door.