Page 103 of And They Were Roommates

4. Nicolas Burton (99.08)

5. Kamari Barrera (98.99)

6. Charlie von Hevringprinz (98.90)

My knees give out, and I collapse in front of the board. A startled yelp comes from somewhere. Someone tries to grab my arm. Robby, maybe.

Sixth.

I’m leaving Valentine.

“Charlie?”

P.M. is kneeling on the pavement beside me, his brow tense in a way that doesn’t suit his soft face. He holds out a hand. “Let me help you up.”

I don’t take it. “What am I supposed to do?” A crack cuts through my words, but I barely notice. No sleep. Constant studying. Xavier’s training.

For nothing.

“Sorry,” I say, lifting my glasses to scrub my face. “I don’t even know you.”

“But I know it’s unfair. I faced this too.”

“You never ranked?”

P.M. takes my hand to pull me up himself, and I’m so disoriented that I let him. He won’t meet my eyes, though, like he regrets revealing what he just said. “I left before I could find out. But I knew I wouldn’t.”

“So, that’s why you left?”

He sighs deeply. “I suppose there were many circumstances at play, and they all merged in an unfortunate way.” He looks to the top of the list as a way to deflect, indicating he won’t share more than that. “Six is still impressive, Charlie.”

“Thanks,” I force myself to say.

Because P.M.’s words should help. I fought longer than him and got closer than he ever believed he could. But six doesn’t keep me at Valentine, and now I can only think about how the one person I want to talk to isn’t here.

I flick my head to the left, where the Gothic turrets of the library rise into the overcast sky. Yesterday, Jasper and I agreed to pull an all-nighter tonight to finish the mixer letters by tomorrow, starting at the library and then moving to our room. It’s possible he’s being reprimanded in the office after his class outburst, but as the principal’s nephew, also doubtful.

I make my way to the library and my usual STRIP Time desk. It’s empty. With finals being over, the other nearby desks are too. No Jasper.

“Charlie, I need you more than anything.”

My stomach flips. I whirl around on my heels.

Luis stands before me, holding a stapled packet far away as if it’s poisonous. His curls are the frizziest I’ve ever seen, proving he’s been tugging them for hours. “Bro. It’s my score. Calc final. Help.”

Why did I think that washim? In what world? “What’d you get?”

“You think I’m looking? I need you to tell me how bad it is.”

“You know the ranks are up now, right? You can go see where you fell.”

“We worked on calc together, V.H. This is history.”

I try to push aside my own problems eating away at me. Luis has relied on me for too long for me not to.

The moment I take the packet, Luis covers his already squinted eyes. Although the exam isn’t mine, my heart skips a beat. At our first tutoring session, Luis’s parents demanded that he get an A. For that, he’d need to score at least a 95. I slowly check the paper.

On top, circled in black ink, is a 97.

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