I decided to find out where Mendez’s room was. I had an idea it was on the same floor, but I wasn’t quite sure.

As I knocked on the R.A.’s door, I suddenly realized I didn’t know my R.A.’s name. In fact, I didn’t think anyone did. All I knew about him was that he looked like he was pushing thirty, had a bald spot the size of Texas, was really tall and gangly, and had very bad skin. Tom called him “Pizza Face” behind his back. I thought that was mean. Then again, I did call him “Lurch.”

The door swung open before I could finish knocking.

“What do you want, Brewster,” he said in that disconcertingly deep voice of his.

“Um, I was just wondering if you happened to know what Mendez’s room number was. I’m pretty sure it’s on this floor-”

“That’s classified information.”

“But, I live here. Mendez is my friend.”

“If that’s true, then why does he call you nancy-boy?”

“Look, just give me his freaking room number,” I growled through gritted teeth.

“Sorry. Classified.”

Then he slammed the door in my face.