I toss my heavy tote bag on the bare dorm room mattress and let go of my grip on the suitcase in my other hand. As soon as I let go, the unbalanced luggage piece tilts over, clattering against the cheap tile floor. I exhale heavily. "Ugh. That was a long haul up the stairs."

I make a mental note to find out where the school's gym is located; four flights of stairs and two suitcases and I'm winded enough that going to the gym has got to be on my agenda.

My father sets one of my boxes down on the floor just inside the doorway, his face ruddy. He wipes sweat off of his brow. "Not having a working elevator in this building is a safety hazard. All of these students are moving in and the elevator is broken? With how expensive this school is, you'd think they could afford a decent elevator. You know, this is really just another reason you shouldn't be going to school here. What happens when you break your neck walking up and down those stairs?"

I try very hard not to visibly roll my eyes. "I'm not going to break my neck walking up the stairs."

"There's still time for you to withdraw," he notes. "You can still put aside all of this nonsense and come back to South Hollow with me."

Go back to South Hollow and live under my father's roof until it's time for me to marry his protégé Justin and pop out a million babies? Yeah, I think I'll pass on that one. In fact, I'd climb a hundred flights of stairs to get to my dorm room every day if it meant getting some breathing room away from my father and South Hollow.

I take a deep breath and remind myself that my father will be headed back home soon. He insisted on dropping me off at school, and I didn't push the issue because, well, I never push issues. Maybe I'm spineless, or maybe it's just easier to avoid confrontations with my father. He'll be leaving soon and I'll be on my own. Finally.

"It's okay," I tell him, my voice calm. It's important to stay calm when it comes to my father, because he tends to spin out of control, especially when it comes to me. He's only happy when he feels like he has control over me.

"No, it's not okay," he says gruffly, turning to leave. "I'm going to go talk to someone about it. There has to be a maintenance person around here."

He huffs off without another word, leaving me to exhale a sigh of relief at the momentary reprieve from my father. I used to think the fact that I wanted so badly to get away from him – and out of South Hollow – made me a bad person, a disrespectful daughter.

Sometimes I still think that.

I was raised to respect my elders, to be agreeable and do what I'm told without question. I was raised to stay in South Hollow and get married and have babies and be happy doing just that. I was raised to think it was a sin to dream of something more than that life.

Sometimes I worry it is.

"Hey." A girl's voice breaks through my thoughts. She steps just inside the open door and gives me a lackadaisical wave.

Whoa.

This is my new roommate??

My stomach immediately ties itself into knots because I'm completely intimidated. This girl can't be my roommate. She's … cool. There's no other word for it. She's dressed in black sneakers with a geometric neon design peppered across the sides, torn jeans, and a black t-shirt with a faded logo on the front. She's sporting multiple piercings in both ears, a diamond stud glistens in her nose, and tattoos wind all the way around her left bicep.

And her head is shaved on both sides, leaving a strip of long hair in the middle that she runs her hand through – but not nervously, because she's cool and self-confident and cool girls aren't ever nervous, are they? This girl is definitely not the kind of girl who would be nervous anywhere. She's the kind of girl who could walk into a bar full of bikers and look like she owns the place.

Meanwhile, here I am, a fish out of water in my long frumpy dress and my plain hair that falls down my back. This girl should be sharing a room with another cool girl, not the home-schooled daughter of a preacher.

We'll have nothing in common and she's definitely going to despise me.

What if everyone at this school is cool like this girl?

Maybe my father was right. Maybe running off to college was a mistake.

My roommate raises her eyebrows. "Are you okay?"

"I'm Purity." I can barely choke out the words, and I'm embarrassed by my own name, which seems as outdated as my lame dress. I hold my breath, waiting for the girl to smirk or make a snide comment about my name.

But she doesn't. Instead she just nods, her look totally expressionless, which makes me even more nervous. "Luna."

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask, confused.

"Luna," she repeats. "That's my name."

"Don't scare the poor girl, Luna." A woman glides into the room, a breeze of tie-dye and scarves and crystal pendants. Her curly greying black hair tumbles over her shoulders and down to her hips, parted in the middle and anchored to her head by a bright beaded headband. She's carrying a satchel made of patchwork fabric pieces and she smells like incense and patchouli.

"She's not scaring me," I protest, but my voice cracks. It's sort of the truth. My new roommate isn't scaring me; this whole experience is terrifying. "I'm okay."

I add the "I'm okay" bit in order to reassure myself that I am, in fact, fine.

Before I can say anything else, the hippie's hands are on my arms and she's gazing intently into my eyes. "Luna can be a little intense, I know."

Beside me, Luna snorts loudly. "Yeah, okay. I'm totally intense. Says the woman who is currently accosting my roommate. Back off, Mom."

"Violet," Luna's mother announces, still staring at me, her palms still on my arms. Violet what? Is that her name? I glance over at Luna for help, but all I get in response is a shake of my new roommate's head and another roll of her eyes.

"Nice to meet you… um…Violet," I say tentatively.

Luna laughs. "Oh, she's not Violet. She's just reading your aura, Purity. She's saying your aura is violet-colored. You'll get used to it. It's something my mom does – even if there's literally zero scientific basis or rationale for it."

"That's enough negative energy, Luna," her mother chides. "You're going to fill the room with it and then I’m going to have to do a cleansing ritual."

Luna groans a response. "You're not burning anything in here, Mom. It's against the dorm rules."

Her mother sighs as she looks at me. "Luna's aura is red. She's passionate and motivated and goal-oriented, but she always insists on finding a logical explanation for things."

"I know," Luna declares as she collapses onto her bed. "It's completely insane that I demand actual scientific evidence for beliefs, right?"

"You see what I mean, Purity?" Luna's mother asks. "She's always questioning things. Not that there's anything wrong with that, Luna Moon, because I accept you for who you are. Unconditionally."

Luna Moon??

"But you, darling." Luna's mother returns her focus to me. "You're violet."

"Violet?" I stammer. I don't know how to react to this woman who's still standing here, for what has now become an insanely uncomfortable length of time, with her hands on my arms as she squints at my face. This isn't exactly my element, being at a new school in a new dorm room with a new roommate who looks like she's a member of a punk rock band and a mother who seems to have been transported here straight from Woodstock. "I'm still not sure I understand."

"The color of your aura," Luna's mother elaborates. "You're empathic and quiet… a people-pleaser… the opposite of Luna's aura. She's headstrong, doesn't care what people think of her."

Basically, she's trying to tell me nicely that I'm the doormat with no backbone and my roommate is the self-aware, self-assured one. Awesome.

"Don't give me that look," Luna's mother chides.

Is she talking to me?? "I'm … I wasn't… What look?" I stammer.

"You're not a doormat," Luna's mother says, as if she can read my mind.

Oh, crap. Maybe she can read my mind. Maybe she's a psychic hippie.

"Um… okay?" Those are the only two words I can seem to manage now.

"You're not," she insists as she takes my hands in hers, her eyes on mine. "It only seems that way at first because you haven't found your way quite yet, that's all. People with violet auras are creative. You know that saying about still waters running deep, don't you? That's you, Purity." She finally lets go of me and claps her hands together. "This is actually perfect, you know. It's as if the university selected you two as roommates based on your psychic compatibility. It's a match made in the stars, really."

"Psychic compatibility, Mom?" Luna interjects. "Seriously, stop. You're freaking her out, and with good reason. Isn't it enough that you already walked down my dorm room floor handing out safe sex brochures and condoms?"

She did what??

I've never heard anyone use the words safe sex and condoms so casually in normal conversation. The extent of my sex education was my father telling me not to "do it" until I got married, and here's a woman passing out condoms to random students?

What have I gotten myself into?

"You know, move-in day is a prime opportunity for a representative from the student health center to be in the dorms passing out condoms," Luna's mother muses. "I always say it's better to be prepared. Oh, speaking of which, should I leave the rest of the condoms here in your room, maybe in a little decorative bowl? That way you'll have easy access to them, or you can hand them out when your friends visit, as needed. I brought a whole case with me."

My eyes go as wide as saucers as the woman reaches into her patchwork purse and pulls out a recyclable grocery bag filled with condoms, the shiny wrappers every color of the rainbow.

Oh, no. My father will be back any minute to see this. He's definitely going to create a major scene, and I'm going to hyperventilate.

"Are you okay, honey?" Luna's mother asks. She shoves the bag of condoms into my hands.

No, no, no. This is not happening. My father is going to walk into this room and see me holding a thousand condoms.

"You're looking a little faint. Here, take a whiff of this." Luna's mother shoves a vial of something under my nose.

Luna jumps up and snatches it. "Oh my God. Do not just smell something my mother gives you," she advises, looking at the bottle. "What is this, Mom? Is this even legal?"

"It's peppermint oil, Luna Moon," her mother replies. I watch their interaction with a strange sense of detachment and fascination, even through my haze of panic. "She thinks all of my remedies involve weed."

Weed?

I'm too bombarded by information to process any of this, so I just nod mutely and take a tentative sniff of the vial Luna's mother holds. The peppermint scent fills my nostrils and does actually make me feel less shaky in a matter of seconds.

"My mom owns a pot shop," Luna informs me. "You should be skeptical of any baked goods she offers you."

"Okay." I can't seem to manage any other words.

Luna just laughs at my reaction. "I know. We're exactly the kind of family you'd expect to meet at a school like this, right?"

It takes me a second to realize she's being sarcastic, because the irony is that this is probably exactly what my father expected. He's convinced that college is a den of sin. Luna and her mother are just about his worst nightmare – or this is exactly what he'd hoped would happen, the kind of thing he'd believe would send me running right back to the safe haven of South Hollow.

"That's a terrible thing to say, Luna." Her mother slides her arm around Luna's shoulder. "My daughter is a brilliant computer programmer, and I'm so proud of her – even if she's attending a school that produces Wall Street assholes and corporate psychopaths like it's going out of style."

"You realize that my new roommate could be an economics major. Right, Mom?" Luna teases. "Maybe she wants to be a Wall Street banker when she graduates."

"She certainly does not," Luna's mother protests. "Not with a violet-colored aura. She's an artist – a painter, sculptor, actress?" She ticks off each career on her fingers, furrowing her brow as I shake my head no in response. "Oh, wait. A writer!"

"Oh, I don't know – " I start. "I mean, I haven't written anything, not really. I can't exactly call myself a writer and –"

I can feel my face flush warm as I stumble over my words.

"Oh, that's so fantastic. Writing is so perfect for you," she gushes. For some reason, as nervous as I am, I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm. My father doesn't gush about anything ever. "Oh, what was I saying before I was side-tracked? I do get a little distracted; Luna will tell you that much. That's right – the condoms."

I realize I'm still holding the shopping bag.

"You need a decorative bowl for them," she recommends, taking the bag from my hands. "Oh, well. There's probably a thrift store around here someplace where you can put up a cute little bowl to display them. I do need to take my grocery bag with me, though, so I'll just empty them out onto the bed and you can find something to put them in."

She's about to empty a gigantic bag of condoms right onto the bed when my father walks into the room. He's holding a bright pink flyer in his hand that declares in giant block letters: STAY SAFE THIS SEMESTER!

There's a condom and a lollipop taped to the flyer.

"NO!" I yelp at Luna's mother.

Then I do the only thing I can think of to stop this impending train wreck. I wrench the bag from her hands and put it behind my back.

Luna's mother gives me an odd look, but is quickly distracted by the presence of my father. "Oh! I see you found one of my –"

Oh, no. She's about to claim responsibility for the flyers – and my father is about to say something terribly judgmental that will make my new roommate and her mother hate me forever.

"This is my new roommate, Luna, and her mother!" I interrupt, chirping far too brightly and loudly.

"I'm Jezebel," Luna's mother says. She puts out her hand to shake my father's.

I nearly choke. I'm standing here hiding a giant bag of condoms behind my back while my preacher father meets my roommate's hippie mother, Jezebel.

If my father wasn't convinced that this college was the work of the devil before, he surely thinks that now. In fact, he looks like he's about to have a stroke this very moment. Reddish streaks move up his neck and his face appears to be turning purple.

"Everyone just calls me Jez," Luna's mother explains, oblivious to anything wrong. "Isn't the flyer so cute –"

No. Please don't claim responsibility for that flyer.

"Hi, everyone!" a chirpy voice interrupts us, apparently attached to a blonde girl wearing a polo shirt and khaki shorts, a ponytail perched high atop her head. I silently breathe a thank you heavenward for the interruption. "I'm Caroline, and I'm your Resident Assistant. If you need anything, my room is right around the corner."

"I need to know who's passing out these completely inappropriate and ungodly flyers like –" my father blusters.

"It's soooooo nice to meet you Caroline!" With one hand still gripping the bag of condoms behind my back, I reach out in front of my father to shove my hand toward the RA. There's nothing like experiencing total panic to convert an introvert into a sudden extrovert. "I'm Purity, and this is Luna. This is my father, Paul Taylor."

I intentionally leave off the "Reverend" part of his name, but he immediately adds it. "Reverend Taylor."

"Ohhh, that makes sense," Luna's mother muses.

"Just what's that supposed to mean?" my father asks.

"Oh, nothing," Jez says smugly. "It's just that your aura was black and –"

"My aura?" My father bristles. "Just what kind of nonsense are you –"

"You know, a lot of parents are interested in a tour of the campus when they arrive," the RA interrupts, clearly sensing a potential catastrophe here.

"Is there a vegan café nearby?" Luna's mother asks.

"Vegan?!" my father blurts. "I should have known."

"Or a bar," Luna mutters. "I need a drink."

"Oh, hah-hah-hah," the RA giggles nervously. "A bar. Of course we don't condone underage drinking here at the university."

"You know, actually, my father has quite a drive back to Tennessee, and I'm sure he'd like to get on the road." I step between everyone, my cheeks burning with embarrassment as I try to unobtrusively hand the bag back to Luna's mother. Taking my father's arm, I steer him toward the door. "It was so nice to meet everyone!"

"I don't want you in the same room with that… that girl and her mother," my father says loudly as we walk down the hallway. My stomach churns as I try to keep him from causing a massive scene right here in my dorm.

"She seems nice," I say softly.

"Nice?? That hair… and the tattoos… and the piercings… and the mother." He randomly babbles all of the things he finds objectionable about the situation.

"The roommate assignments are random," I remind him, taking a deep breath as we make our way down the stairwell. I remind myself that I'm eighteen years old. I'm an adult, and I can make my own decisions about going to college and being away from South Hollow.

I don't have to adhere to my father's expectations and all of his rules for my behavior.

I can wear a skirt above my knees if I want to do it.

I can wear makeup.

I could go on a date.

I'm heady with the possibilities, but I'm also more nervous than I've ever been in my entire life. I've never done anything on my own. I've been under my father's thumb forever.

"I'm an adult," I assert, my voice unwavering. My father isn't used to me standing up to him. I'm not used to standing up for myself, but I suddenly feel emboldened by all of the craziness that just transpired in my room.

I mean, it is a little funny when you think about it. The virgin preacher's daughter gets assigned to a room with a tattooed girl whose pot-shop-owning, condom-distributing mother is named Jezebel.

My father must literally think I wandered straight into Satan's lair.

A giggle starts to bubble up in my chest, and I have to bite my lip to suppress it. This is not the right time to start laughing hysterically, not when my father is standing here staring at me like he's about to kidnap me and forcibly take me back to South Hollow.

I shouldn't laugh, because I wouldn't put that past him.

"I don't want you spending time with that girl," he says sharply. "I'll be keeping tabs on you. I asked Mr. Ryan to look out for you, too."

Heat floods my body at the thought of spending time with Mr. Gabe, and I have to remind myself that no matter how hot he is, the guy is a condescending jerk.

When we reach his car, my father pulls out his briefcase and hands me a piece of paper. "I found a list of churches for you. You can make some appropriate friends there."

I clench my jaw at his use of the word. Luna seems pretty nice, after all. Her mother might have been a little eccentric, but the pair obviously cared about each other – which is more than I can say about my father and I. But I don't want to argue with him, so I just say, "Yes, father," and take the piece of paper.

"I got you a going-away present," he says, handing me a bag. "You don't need to open it now. But there are some things in there that you'll need for the school year."

For a second, I get all choked up. My heart softens as I give my father a hug and tell him goodbye. As I walk back to the dorm room, I think that maybe I've been a little hard on him – an ungrateful daughter. After all, he did sacrifice most of his life to raise me after my mother left us. He spent his time teaching me and home-schooling me because he cares about me. Sure, he might want me to return to South Hollow and marry Justin, but that's only because he wants what's best for me.

Maybe I'm the one being selfish by choosing a college that's hours away from home in order to pursue my dream of writing. Maybe I should be a little more appreciative of the good things that small town life can offer.

When I get back to my room, Luna and her mother are gone. I sit down on my bed and open my father's gift. My heart sinks as I look at the books: Why Good Girls Get Married, Abstinence and You … and a CD collection of my father's sermons.

I don't even bother to stifle my groan at the things he thought I'd need for college. Most parents get their kids something for their dorm rooms; mine gets me a collection of his sermons on CD.

I swallow hard and shove the gift into my desk drawer. I'm going to make it here, I resolve, no matter how nervous I might be. Going back to South Hollow is simply not an option.