Page 102 of And They Were Roommates

Eventually, I walk up to Robby’s side amid the crowd swarming P.M. According to Jasper, P.M. should be bragging about the places he’s visited and the followers he’s gained. Instead, everyone else does the talking, spitting back and forth their hypotheses about the starring man himself as he stays quiet at the center, shoulders scrunched in a way that negates all intimidation, even at his six-foot height. Every once in a while, his attention shifts around the classroom—the old ceiling chandelier, our Edgar Allan Poe projects lining the back wall, the desks—like he’s trying to drink in Valentine before he leaves. Like he cares.

“Are you close with Jasper?” P.M.’s voice comes from nearby.

When I look at who he’s talking to, his gaze is locked on me. He’s stepped closer, farther from the other conversations.

My eyes blow out. “What?”

“You sit beside him.”

“I mean, I’m in STRIP. I write letters with him.”

His head tilts in a way that’s difficult to interpret. “Oh?”

“They’re roommates,” Robby says, joining the conversation. He’s giving me a strange look. Am I sweating as much as I feel like I am? “And Charlie’s the new Excellence Scholar.”

P.M. smiles so genuinely that it stuns me. Up close, he really does echo Jasper with the slender fingers, narrow shoulders, and straight hair that wisps around the face. Must be a requirement to be a poet. But where Jasper’s whirlwind of a personality distracts from his delicate features, P.M.’s shyness enhances it. “Has Jasper spoken of his resentment toward me?”

Areallpoets also this forward?

“Um,” I say slowly. “Just that you left without any warning.”

“I see. I have faith you don’t harbor the same emotions toward me. Leaving was for the better; I promise you that with my heart.”

“What do you mean—?”

“Charlie.” Robby leans toward me. “The combo of his poetry collection and influencer stuff has made him rich.”

P.M. laughs lightly. “Not rich. But the Excellence Scholarship deserved to go to someone new who”—his stare lingers on me—“needed more help than I did.”

“That’s mad selfless,” someone mutters from across the circle.

If there are other eavesdroppers, I don’t hear them. According to this story, I do owe P.M. for that. But something still feels off. “You could’ve stayed.”

“Well, I did always plan to visit,” P.M. says. “If you’re roommates, then you must know how Jasper is. A bit dramatic.”

Dramatic.

Because P.M. left Valentine without asking how anyone would feel. Because one day, he was there, and the next, he was gone. Because this wasn’t the first time Jasper watched someone slip through his fingers when, in his eyes, I’d done the same to him.

“It wasn’t because he’s dramatic,” I say, and the rush of my own complicated guilt sharpens every word. “It’s because he cares.”

P.M.’s and Robby’s brows lift in unison.

Voices surge through the closed window so loudly that it interrupts our conversations. Red-and-black-clothed bodies, swarming the ranking board.

Robby taps my shoulder. “Ready to go look?”

Chapter 38HIS LAST BOW

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 13

SECOND-YEAR LISTINGS

1. Jasper Grimes (100/100)

2. Robert Walker (99.92)

3. Bingo A. Dixon (99.73)

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