"How many secrets can you keep?"

-Do I wanna know? Arctic Monkeys

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I make it to the bottom of the stairs, where I turn to face Sky. "Thanks for letting me sit at your table," I say more awkwardly than intended.

She grins a set of white pearly teeth, and I question how this girl could have ever had depression. But I guess you can never really tell those things. "No problem. Are you sure you don't want to join us in the Common Room for social time?"

I shake my head. "I'm kind of tired actually, I think I better head up."

"Okay." She begins to turn around. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure," I reply before she smiles and turns the other way, catching up with Daniel who had stopped to wait for her.

I turn to the stairs, and it's only when I reach the top step that I realise that I have no clue if my room is down the corridor on my left or the one on my right.

I take a guess since it's a 50/50 chance, and head left, treading slowly down a dim corridor that looks exactly like all the others.

When I see the door with 256 on the front, I turn the brass handle and swing it open.

Looks like I chose wrong.

This room is pretty much the same as mine. The bed is beneath the window and the desk is against the opposite wall, but apart from that and the fact that this room doesn't have a suitcase sat untouched on the bed, it's almost exactly the same. However, in this room there is a boy sitting on the bed reading a book.

I freeze, especially when I realise the boy is the same boy with the blue eyes that had winked at me at dinner. His eyes lift a fraction above the top of his book and when recognition settles in, a smirk stretches across his lips. He carefully puts his book down, and from this close, I can see his features more clearly. His hair is a rich golden colour, soft and swept in a few different directions. His nose is curved, his frame broad beneath a designer navy tee, and his eyelashes are long, stretching above his blue eyes. Damn.

But I keep my distance, wary of trusting anyone here. Especially since he was sitting with the Socios crowd. Maybe he's the one who turned his cat into a rug.

Jeez, a calmer voice in my head murmurs, that really stuck with you, huh?

I know I should move. Run. But I can't. His captivating eyes hold mine, luring me in.

"New girl, what do I owe the pleasure?" he says smoothly, his voice dark but tempting all the same.

"I'm sorry, I...I think I'm lost," I mutter eventually, my hand still gripping the handle.

He stands from the bed and clamps his hands onto his hips, stance firm. He tilts his head to the side, eyeing me curiously, and purrs through a smirk, "You don't say."

He's tall, maybe a little over six foot, and I reckon he's about a year older than me at least- seventeen to my sixteen.

"The door says 256 on it. The same as mine," I explain quickly.

"The rooms in the east and west wings are symmetrical. Room numbers are separate but identical in each wing," he says, but I'm listening more to his voice than to what he's saying.

I nod and I'm about to turn to leave, maybe curl in a ball in my room and cry with humiliation, but I stop and murmur, "You winked at me at dinner. Why?"

"My mind's way of responding to seeing a new girl," he says without a hint of hesitation. "And a pretty one too."

I scoff and fold my arms across my chest. "You use that one a lot?"

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Just you, I promise."

I glance at the posters above his bed, photos as well, but they're too far away to identify properly. I turn back to him and ask, "You're not here for turning a cat into a rug, are you?"

He blinks, and then bursts out laughing. It's a magical sound, but it's also rich, like you could run your finger through it. Between his laughter, he questions, "Who is your information source?"

"Sky," I say, grinning at his hysterics.

"Don't listen to her," he says in a matter-of-fact tone, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

"Oh yeah? Then who should I listen to?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Me."

I grin at my feet. "You? I don't even know your name."

He runs his hand through his hair and says, "Jasper. My name is Jasper."

"Jasper," I repeat, liking the way it feels on my tongue. And by his content reaction to hearing me say it, he likes the sound of it too.

Just before he can respond, someone approaches behind me, cutting him off. When I turn around, a part of me deflates, since all I want to do is continue this conversation, even though I have no clue who Jasper really is.

"The boys' wing is off-limits to all girls, Miss Mitchell," Rosa says, pressing her lips together into a tight line.

"Sorry, I got lost," I mumble, and share a look with Jasper, who is grinning to himself.

"Follow me, I'll escort you back to your own room," she says, and turns around, walking away.

I spin around to follow her while Jasper calls, "Hey, I didn't even get your name!"

Without stopping, I call over my shoulder, "Olivia."

And then I'm gone.

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