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and a square glass fixture in the middle of the ceiling came on, brightening the room. Her nose detected the faint scent of bleach from a recent cleaning.
    To her right, a twin bed rested against the pale brown wall—Band-Aid brown, she would hear it disparagingly called by another girl a few days later. Beyond the bed were two mirrored sliding closet doors. The opposite side of the room contained a four-drawer oak dresser and pair of blue vinyl chairs flanking a small round table. Mounted in the center of the wall above the table was a flat screen television. My tuition at work, Leesa thought as she limped across the tan industrial carpet and deposited her bag and purse on the bed. Aunt Janet and Uncle Roger followed her inside and set Leesa’s suitcases down in the center of the floor.
    “Small, yet somehow not cozy,” Uncle Roger said, smiling.
    “Oh, shush,” Aunt Janet said. “It just needs a few personal touches, that’s all.”
    “I know it’s kinda small,” Leesa said, “but I wanted my own room.” She didn’t tell them she’d spent a fair amount of time debating whether to choose a single room or one of the more elaborately furnished suites. She didn’t make friends very easily, and a suite would have allowed her—maybe even forced her—to get to know another girl or two, which would have been nice. She hoped the dining room and the communal bathroom down the hall would provide enough opportunity to meet the other girls, even for someone as shy as her. So in the end, she decided her plans might benefit from the privacy of a single room. Besides, it wasn’t like she was used to anything all that homey back in San Diego.
    “Do you want any help unpacking?” Aunt Janet asked.
    “No, thanks, Aunt Janet, I’ll be fine. There’s no orientation stuff until later this afternoon, so I’ve got plenty of time to get settled.”
    “Okay,” Aunt Janet said. “Give us a call if you need anything.”
    Uncle Roger pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to Leesa. “For any incidentals you might need,” he said.
    Leesa hugged her aunt and uncle and walked them to the elevator, where she hugged Aunt Janet one more time. Once the doors closed, she limped back to her room. She pulled the door shut behind her and let out a big sigh. She couldn’t believe she was finally here.

 
     
     
    6.  RULE SEVENTEEN
     
    “ O nce when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book about the jungle,” the Dean of Students told his audience, “and that started a life-long love of books and learning for me. I hope all of you will find the same joy in learning during your stay here at Weston College.”
    As Dean Halloway droned on, Leesa wriggled uncomfortably on her folding metal chair, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt her butt. At least she’d scored an aisle seat in the crowded auditorium, she thought as she stretched her legs out into the open space to her right. The dean was a short, sallow, white-haired man she guessed to be around sixty—though he could have been eighty for all she knew. He’d been speaking to the more than six hundred students in this year’s freshman class for twenty minutes now, and Leesa could detect no sign he was anywhere near finished. She wouldn’t have minded if any of what he was saying would be useful, but it was all clichés and platitudes about learning, college life, independence and other such rot. She hoped some of the following speakers would have more practical information to share.
    She stole a quick glance at the dorky guy with wild red hair sitting next to her. His eyes were riveted on Dean Halloway, as if he expected the old guy at any moment would share the secrets of the universe, or everlasting life, or at least how a geeky guy like him could manage to get laid. Not that she should talk, being a virgin herself, but she was pretty sure she could find someone to change that if she wanted. Her “condition” would have