I'm walking from the bathroom down the hall to my room when I hear people talking and an open door. Being curious, I poke my head in. I find two boys and a shitload of clay. One of them is feverishly bent over a desk, molding the little limbs of clay figures while the other is snapping pictures of the ceiling and eating a slice of watermelon.

"Blink," picture boy complains, putting down his watermelon. "This watermelon sucks. I can't taste the vodka."

I'm only mildly surprised. Judging by the earthy smell in the room, I also suspect these boys had been getting high. At least picture boy. Feverish clay boy—Blink, apparently—turns and glares at him.

"Mush, complain to Jack. It was his watermelon."

Then he turns and notices me…and I notice that he's wearing an eye patch. What the fuck?

"Hi," he says.

"Shit!" picture boy squeaks. "You aren't gonna grass on us, are you?"

Eye patch McGee waves a clay-covered hand. "Ignore him. He gets stupid when he gets wasted. You're new right?"

"Yeah," I reply. "David Jacobs, uh, junior."

"Alex Bennetson, or, Blink as Jack calls me," he smiles. "Senior."

"'Cept he's sixteen. He got skipped ahead 'cause he's so smart," drunken boy prattles on. "'Cept he never knows when I want sex."

I begin to think that there are no straight boys in this school.

"This is Mush," Blink continues. "He's not as dumb as he looks…or acts. He's a junior. So what are you here for, Davey?"

I step in the room, feeling awkward standing like a dork in the doorway.

"Writing," I say, waving my hand in the smoke smell. "You?"

He gestures to the clay. "Filmmaking."

I furrow my brow. "What?"

He smiles. "Joking. Partly. I'm in here for art and film. You know Aardman?"

I shake my head.

"Wallace and Gromit? Chicken Run? The Presentators?" his smile widens.

Mush rolls his eyes. "Blink loves talking about this."

"Fuck up," he says, smile not fading. "Well yeah, my dream is to be like those guys. So that's why I'm here. Mushy, however, is here for photography."

"And drugs," I add.

Mush sticks his tongue out but he's smiling. Blink wipes his hands on a dishtowel resting by his little figurines and stands.

"Want the rundown on the hall?" he asks. "Because I haven't seen you leave."

I nod, why not?

"Okay. There's me and Mush here with Jack and Spot. Jack's an actor. Amazing, really amazing. He can do any accent, I swear. He's also one hot piece of ass."

"Hey!" Mush kicks him.

Blink kicks him back. "Hay is for horses. Anyway, Spot's an artist."

He points to prints on the other side of the room that make Edgar Allen Poe's poetry seem sunny and bright. I take these in with a mortified look.

"Is everything he paints…"

"Creepy, disturbing, scream for a straightjacket?" Blink offered. "Yup. But that's Spot for ya."

"Next door to us is Snitch, Nero Rizzio. Our future Fellini. You'll probably see him out and about, filming cigarette butts or a line of ants. He's a filmmaker," he shrugs. "He rooms with Skittery, Oscar and Racetrack. Race is a writer. Probably in your classes. Short, loud, Italian."

"Sounds familiar."

"Thought so. Morbid poet surprisingly," he blinks his, uh, eye. "Yeah, I know everything. Everyone comes to our room for pot and tend to spout things about themselves. Okay, Skits is an actor too, also pretty good. Oscar's in music and we only give him pot to pacify him since he's fucking nuts. Like, really."

"He has anger management issues," Mush explained.

"Putting it lightly. His entire family's like that, I'd guess. Thems DeLanceys are the epitome of Guido anger."

That last name sounds slight familiar and, for some reason, my sister's voice—also a student here, not that I ever see her—comes to mind.

"But yeah, he plays guitar but plays sax in the school band. He and Skittery used to have a thing," Mush says. "Now they're friends."

Blink snorts. "Friends. Mush, managing not to kill each other is not friends."

He shrugs. "Whatevs."

I sit on the edge of Blink's bed…I think it's his anyway, the bottom bunk.

"Dutchy, music boy. Pie, culinary master. Only one better than him is your roommate, Swifty. He's mostly for use, not fancy. Uh, Jake and Snoddy are dancers although all they do is dance with each other…if you catch my drift."

"I do."

"And that's pretty much it for the hallway," he lets out a breath. "Except for Crutchy but he doesn't room in here anymore. He got moved to the Hearst building, which sucks because he's the master of digital graphics. He helps me with my stuff."

I nod my head, absorbing all of this. Something, however, is bugging me.

"Okay, two questions. First, this Oscar…does he have a brother?" I cross my fingers, hoping the answer is no.

"Yeah," Mush says. "A dumbass named Morris. He was supposed to graduate last year but totally showed up for final exams baked and didn't pass."

Fuck. Now I know why the name sounded so familiar.

"He's dating my sister," I moan. "Shit."

"My heart goes out to you," Blink says. "Now, your other question?"

"Where do you guys get those nicknames?"

"From me."

Like a scene in a cheesy teen movie, I turn and see him. Him. The boy I had seen in the hallway. In my head, I had already put two and two together figured that the boy I had seen and the one people keep mentioning, Jack, are the same person. And now he's standing in front of me in all of his hunky glory.

"Schba?" I offer lamely.

He smiles. "Greetings and salutations, new kid. You a Heather?"

I have no idea what he's talking about.

"No he's a David," Mush answers. "I don't know his last name though."

"Jacobs?" I manage.

"Heya," he says again, flashing this amazing smile at me. "We haven't met. Jack Kelly."

He sticks his hand out and I take it, feeling one with the world. I love my life. Then I open my mouth and shit comes out.

"Yeah, hi. I, uh, saw you in the hall. I mean, I didn't mean to but I heard you and I looked and I saw and yeah, I saw you. I mean, you're really good at acting but I'm sure you hear that all the time and—"

He smiles. "Well boys, we got ourselves a walking mouth. So Mouth, enjoy the school."

I realize I'm still holding his hand. I hate my life.