"This is your first strike, Miss (y/n). Two more, and I will personally expel you from Nevermore."

The cloud of silver hair atop Principal Weems' head bobbed as she gave a curt nod. She swept your papers across her mahogany desk, studying them critically. The bright white papers shone contrastingly against the dark wood. On the desk, raven statuettes rigidly extended their shiny black wings, beaks frozen in silent caws.

Earlier that night, Weems had collected you from Sherrif Galpin, lavishly promising you would be punished for your disrespect. She'd confiscated your driver's license, given you a strike, and sent you a putrid, haughty glare. Oh, and the mandated community service in Jericho, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

Weems had briskly assigned you to some local coffeeshop: the Weathervane.

You sincerely hoped you wouldn't encounter the Sherrif's enigma of a son, Tyler, in Jericho. After the silent car ride, Tyler had faded into the shady nooks of the police station, slipping away with scarcely a word to you. He'd glanced over his shoulder, his green eyes brushing over you with an odd expression you couldn't name. Regret? Fear? Anger?

You had a new, mysterious school to navigate; the last thing you needed was attention from somebody's rebellious, jaded son.

You crossed your arms, huffing out a sigh as you reclined in your black leather chair. Great. Somehow, you'd gotten not only the town sheriff but also your principal to dislike you, all before the start of the semester.

"Whining may have worked for you at," Weems quickly checked your papers, "Tuppett Academy back home, but it will certainly not at Nevermore."

"Fair enough." You shrugged, wriggling out of your chair. A yawn tugged on your lips, and you allowed its delicious warmth to spread. "It's almost midnight. I'm assuming you have beds somewhere in Dracula's Castle?"

Maybe you'd finally meet your new roommate. A tiny thrill rushed through you like a shot of expresso. You fiercely resolved to become best friends with whatever girl Weems chose.

"Normally, Nevermore wouldn't allow a co-ed dorm," Weems slowly began, bristling at your comparison of her beloved school with an ancient castle. "But I've made an exception based on your individual needs." She paused, fixing you with a hard look. "And your accident last Christmas."

You uncomfortably dropped your gaze. You'd hoped your mother wouldn't have included that in your papers. Of course, Weems would know about the accident. Or what you'd told everyone, at least.

"Don't fret, quite a few of our students have secrets," Weems said, attempting a kind smile. It resembled the bared teeth of a werewolf. A werewolf with really, really white teeth and a dental plan. "I intend to keep yours, as well."

"Your key. Room 17." Weems held out a key, pinched between ruby-red nails. She deposited it into your open palm. Dusting off her shimmery, bodycon dress, Weems rose to her feet and gestured toward the door. "(Y/n), I believe you will learn to like it here."

"Thank you, Principal Weems," you dipped into an obsequious curtsy. She nodded with a suspicious smile, unsure if your curtsy had been sarcastic.

Your three cream-colored suitcases rolled behind you like baby ducklings. As if towed by invisible butlers, their wheels bumped across the dusty chestnut and cream tiles that checkered the floor. Being able to move objects with your mind had its perks.

You tossed your head back, studying the cavernous ceiling. The craggily staircase spiraled high overhead, and swirly golden raven designs chased each other around the domed ceiling. You grinned, spinning in a giddy circle. The tap of your tennis shoes echoed in the secret midnight of the Nevermore lobby. Nobody was awake but you; it felt like the cryptic school itself was throwing you an exclusive welcome party.

Okay, this is pretty cool.

Your telekinesis wasn't strong enough yet to make all of the suitcases float at once, so you took three exhausting trips up the winding stairs.

A golden number 17, the size of your thumb, was fancily engraved beside your door.

Time to meet my new roommate.

With a rush of excitement, you pushed the door open. The wood swung soundlessly, rigid against your palm. Two sets of eyes warily stared at you, confused. Your heart plummeted, chagrined.

You'd forgotten. Weems had assigned you a co-ed room.

Which meant a room with boys.