Let me tell you something about high school. 99.9% of people there are fake. The other .1% have a mental issue, and even most of them are. I am fake. I am fake as fake can be. We are all trying to be something or impress someone. I'm not sure we even know how to be who we are any more. I don't think any of us know what that is. But following Eliza to our dorms, I think she might remember the secrets the rest of us locked away when we began to fit into our parts. We all began our lives in the perfect little boxes of our roles. But it seems if Eliza was ever in a box, she was very claustrophobic. I cannot put my finger on her being any certain thing. I can't see her laughing and kissing in designer clothing she is not afraid to talk about. I can't imagine her in the back of the room listening to music and thinking in all black. I can't imagine her sitting in the front of the room with a book and pencil perfectly organized, hand in the air so long the others wonder why it doesn't fall off. She is not one of those things, she is all of them and more. And I am very intrigued by Eliza already as we get to our room. And she smiles at these people who must be her friends and I grow more and more enticed by the life I imagine her living. Then they are all looking at me. "This," Eliza begins with a wicked smile. "is my newest project."