You used to say there was no such thing as too much pink.

And then you met Enid Sinclair.

Everything about Enid radiated pink, bubbly energy. Her cheerful, heart-on-sleeve smile. Her expressive, vivid eyes. Her cotton-candy, bold hair streak.

"Howdy, desk partner!" Enid squealed, effusively clasping your hands in hers. Her sapphire eyes glittered with the promise of exciting, wonderful things. Enid naturally leaned forward when she spoke, as if sharing the illicit secret that something exotic might happen at any second.

Smiling, you slid into the joint desk. You had a delicious, sparkling feeling that Outcast Cultural Studies wouldn't be as boring as you'd feared. "Hey, I'm-"

"(Y/n) Austin," Enid cheerfully recited. "Telekinetic from Florida. Totally rich." She grimaced; a wide-eyed, sympathetic expression. "And totally humiliated by Bianca at the fountain yesterday."

"Fabulous." you wryly grinned at Enid. "News spreads fast here, huh?"

"Like the wind," Enid agreed, pulling a neon-pink-zigzagged notebook out of her backpack. You set your identical notebook on the desk, and the two of you exchanged a knowing smile. "It's pretty much my job. Being Nevermore's gossip queen and all."

"You're the school's gossip queen?" Your eyebrows raised, intrigued. "Tell me something interesting."

"Okay," Enid giggled, a contagious, thrilling sound that stilled your breath with anticipation. "See Kent over there? He had a nasty foot fungus last semester. He claims it's gone, but I'd stay away."

"Noted." You made a face.

"That's Mack." Enid subtly angled her blond head toward a sour-faced, angular boy. Underneath his striped uniform jacket, Mack slouched in a tattered, grey hoodie. "He claims to be a siren, but nobody's ever seen him swim. Rumors say he's nothing but a normie in blue contacts."

"No. I can see it." You gave Enid a silent, scandalized gasp, eyes sparkling.

You liked Enid. The two of you were like different styles of bags from the same designer. Unique, but both Prada in the end.

"Wewewolf cultuwe," the instructor began, smacking scratchy chalk letters on the board. Professor Ruther was well-groomed, with slicked black hair, a dimpled smile, and an atrocious speech impediment that blurred his "r"s into "w"s.

Throughout the lesson, Professor Ruther weaved through a disturbingly graphic description of werewolf mating that made you and Enid cringe at each other.

"The wewewolf mates fow life," Ruther jumbled, staring seriously at the classroom. "They often live in packs composed of up to five families. A wewewolf without a mate will never be accepted into these communities. Sad, but twue." Beside you, Enid released a stressed, irritated huff. You wondered if the material confused her.

After Outcast Cultural Studies, Enid whirled on you with an urgency that swished her papers off the desk like autumn leaves scattered by wind.

"I pretty much zoned out that entire awful lesson," she admitted, but her eyes glowed with an unspoken idea. "Let's hangout tonight. I know how you can make your epic social comeback."

"Oh my gosh, I'm so down," you agreed, enthusiastically shoving your notebook back inside your bag. "I could use some girl time."

After your last class, you trekked up the steep staircase, slightly winded as you approached room 17.

"What do you mean we can't hang out in your room anymore?" An outraged, rich voice slithered out with the yellow lamplight from underneath the door.

"Bianca, c'mon, baby." Xavier's voice, softer and gentler than you'd ever heard it. The thought of your reclusive, steel-eyed
roommate's romance directed at a girl like Bianca repulsed you with an unpleasant emotion akin to jealousy.

"What's with this ridiculous 'roomie rules' paper?" The sharp shhh of tearing paper. A breathy scoff.  "Why does it look like a girl wrote it?"

"My new roommate's a girl, Bianca."

"Oh, yeah? Who? I'll get her to drop out of Nevermore in three weeks, tops."

Silvery bells tinkled in your mind like a stage cue. With a dangerous rush of confidence, you stalked into the room, fluffing your hair in the door mirror and pretending not to notice your shocked, contemptuous intruder. After performatively spritzing yourself with vanilla sugar perfume, you deliberately turned around and feigned a surprised smile.

You had a thing for dramatic entrances.

"Why, Bianca. I see you've met my roommate."