Page 15 of And They Were Roommates

Jasper’s mouth twists as he reaches the base step. The sun brightens his blond hair a shade and forces his sensitive blue eyes to squint. “Shame. I’m still so excited for us to learn more about each other, roommate. Rain check?”

I try and fail to hide my wince. “Maybe.”

“Wonderful! Until then.”

With that, Jasper wanders deeper into the Halo.

I want to feel like I won, but my stress only builds. When Ireturn to my room tonight, we’ll be forced to spend thatintimate timetogether. He’ll keep pestering me with those icebreakers from yesterday, demanding to know my favorite color and hobbies and siblings that don’t exist. I barely kept my identity hidden last night. How can I survive that again?

Glancing back at Jasper, I see that two plaid figures have already replaced me at his side. Sleeves rolled, slacks cuffed, charming faces that readrich parentsand confident auras that signalpopular. Maybe Jasper falls into the same bracket.

Another comes, shyly rubbing the back of his neck. He’s only as tall as Jasper’s shoulders, and his ripped, knockoff-brand backpack matches mine. Maybe a first year. Jasper gives him attention, throwing my deductions off.

If I’d gone with Jasper, I could’ve gotten to know all these people.

Regret pulls through me, but I shake it away.

Too risky. No friends.

While I’m searching the campus for a food source on my own, Laney’s Bean Shack catches my eye first. The outdoor coffee stall advertises the infamous chocolate-caramel “Jesus” lattes for double-digit prices, as if I can afford them. Nearby is a building with a gift shop sign, where a vending machine sticks out by the entrance.

Pulling my embarrassingly thin wallet out of my pocket, I survey the options behind the glass. Dining hall food is covered by the Excellence Scholarship, so this move is impressively devoid of intellect. But how can I go in when Jasper is there too?

Gradually, my attention is pulled toward the gift shop door, left open, and the burst of bright red beyond. Valentine-crested backpacks priced in the hundreds.VALENTINE DADmugs. Academy slogan sweatshirts bragging about how old the campus is withEST. 1899written in bold lettering. Behind the cash register, the classmate who sits in front of me during calculus wears an anthropomorphic, heart-shaped sandwich board sign. A costume.

So, some students do sacrifice their self-worth to afford lattes. Even during lunch hours.

I focus back on the vending machine, where chip bags are so faded from the sun that they look older than Mom. My void of a stomach forces me to select one.

“Are you serious?!”

Four guys surround a nearby sign under an awning. One is groaning, and he’s wearing his blazer sleeves rolled to his elbows, reminding me to fix my drooped one. “Why do ranks carry over from last year?”

“The rankings barely changed,” another responds.

“I wish it was the mixer already. I need a dopamine hit.”

As they drift away, I take their place at the sign titledWEEKLY GRADE RANKS. It’s divided into four columns, one for each class year. UnderSECOND YEAR, full names are paired with numerical grade averages ranked from one to forty-six.

All our grades. Publicly shown.

Unspoken Guideline 3: Students perform the best in the nation because they fear humiliation in a public forum.

My insides twist. I must be ranked first. Second. My gaze zaps to the top of the second-year list. The first five names are marked with heart stickers.

Jasper Grimes (100/100)

That’s not my name.

I slap my palm against the sign and lean closer, squinting hard. Jasper is first. Yet he didn’t pay attention during classes. To receive a perfect hundred, he could never get a point off. Not even on a subjective essay. Clearly, I underestimated him.

Deep breaths. My name must be close.

Robert Walker (99.89/100)

Bingo A. Dixon (99.13/100)

Frankie Schultz (99.05/100)

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