Cecily Von Ziegesar by Cum Laude (v5)

such a seductive way that Nick was sure he was onto something:
    â€œOn clear nights you can lie inside the yurt and see the stars through the open crown. In poor weather there is plenty of room for you and your friends to sit comfortably around a warm stove, listening to the storm rage. From outside, the yurt radiates a welcoming glow….”
    It didn’t have to be big. Just big enough to lie down in and entertain a visitor or two. And the smaller it was, the easier it would be to erect. Nick was no carpenter. The most complex structure he’d ever put together was a balsa wood airplane.
    At last he discovered an outfitter in Colorado who sold yurt kits with the timber cut to size, the screw holes already drilled, and a weighted wax canvas cover and flap door that Velcroed on and off. The company claimed it would only take six hours to put it together. Nick ordered the fourteen-footer—the smallest and most inexpensive kit they offered. He used his mom’s credit card number, promising to pay her back with the earnings from his AV job. Three days later, the giant box arrived via Federal Express.
    He’d borrowed a stepladder and tools from the guys at Buildings and Grounds, found the perfect building site bordering the woods behind Root, and followed the kit’s simple instructions. Six days later, it was still a wobbly work in progress and his handswere blistered from hammering, but he was determined to get it done. Once it was complete, he could sleep there instead of staying up late reading in the library or watching TV in the common room until Shipley and Tom had finished fooling around and gone to sleep.
    This was just such a night. From outside the door, Nick could hear Steve Miller Band’s “Fly Like an Eagle” playing on repeat, a good sign that Tom and Shipley were still naked. Nick wandered down the hall to Root’s ample kitchen, where Grover, Liam, and Wills, the juniors who made up the Grannies, were making curry. Unlike the residents in Dexter’s other dorms, Root residents could opt out of the meal plan and cook for themselves. This was particularly attractive to students with special diets, like the Grannies, who were vegan.
    â€œAll right, man?” Wills greeted Nick.
    Nick had met the Grannies in person a few weeks before when he’d missed breakfast in the dining hall and wound up in Root’s kitchen, foraging for cereal. Most of the food in the kitchen belonged to the Grannies, and they were generous with it. They were also generous with their pot. They’d already given him a Ziploc bag full of it for $20, way less than it cost in the city. Nick had only just finished smoking a joint out behind his unfinished yurt. Now he was starving.
    â€œBrewtarski?” Wills opened the fridge, pulled out a can of Busch, and handed it to Nick. Tonight Wills wore a red tiered skirt with black cats batiked all over it and a red and black plaid wool shirt. His platinum blond hair was plaited into messy half cornrows, half dreadlocks that pattered against his shoulders as he stirred the enormous pot of curry simmering on the electric stove.
    Nick cracked open the beer and pointed at the curry. “Hey, you guys mind if I have some of that?”
    Wills grimaced. His bloodshot eyes rolled around dramatically. “Aw, man, we just chucked in a gigantic eggplant. Stuff’s raw. Plus, we need more tasty vegetable ingredients. Wanna come divin’ with us?”
    â€œDiving?” Nick wasn’t sure he’d heard right. The nights were already cold, and the coast was at least an hour away.
    Grover hitched up his blue-and-white-striped OshKosh B’Gosh train conductor overalls and stuck a wad of chewing tobacco in his bearded cheek. Nick had heard that Grover was from Bethesda, Maryland, an affluent suburb of Washington, DC, but he dressed like someone from the Deep South at the time of the Great Depression.
    â€œDumpster diving,” Grover