Page 18 of And They Were Roommates

“Right…,” I say. For now.

“We heard your mother was also a Scholar.” Principal Grimes motions toward a framed painting of the Valentine crest behind her. “We cherish these moments that highlight our passion for tradition. Did your mother tell you how we have the largest secondary-education library collection in the nation? Or about our student-beloved mixer each November? Although I want to make it clear, you were not chosen because of legacy. Your accomplishments are your own.”

First the familiar electric hum to her tone. Now the persistent topic changing. This must be Jasper in disguise. “Thank you.”

“Anyhoo, sorry for pulling you out of class, but this is a bit time-sensitive.”

“Okay,” I say, folding my hands so tightly that my knuckles burn.

“Have you heard of the Student Tutoring Remediation Interdisciplinary Program run by a few of your classmates?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Although other students volunteer as tutors, I’ve noticed a lack of improvement in those who use this service lately. Would you assist our members?”

She’s asking for a favor.

Relief floods through me. My secret is still a secret. Jasper didn’t sell me out. He doesn’t know who I am.

“The previous Scholar for your class used to help many of our students, but he”—Principal Grimes hesitates—“left halfway through last year. That’s what we believe changed.”

From that hesitation, he didn’t simply leave. Maybe too much pressurewasthe reason.

My relief twists into something less so. “Thank you, but I should focus on study—”

“This would reflect wonderfully on your college applications.” She hits me with another too-bright smile. “This program is another long-standing tradition, and that’s important to the board of trustees, you see. I’m admittedly in a tough spot the longer this continues.”

The board of trustees again. Some omnipotent power who must have puppet strings on Principal Grimes. Maybe they lay the groundwork for the guidelines. I can’t say no to them.

My heart sinks, the words dying in my throat.

“I get it,” I say slowly, twisting Mom’s varsity ring on my finger.

“Excellent! Please speak with the members after class.” Principal Grimes whips out a notepad and scribbles something down before handing me it.

Student Tutoring Remediation Interdisciplinary Program

Scholar Research Library 3 p.m.–5 p.m.

Chapter 7PERSUASION

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4

When I pull back the library door, the hinges shriek louder than Delilah when she’d chuck her shoes at bugs during camp. Yet no students glance up from their textbooks. After a long day of classes, they remain absorbed at desks that stretch back to the stacks. A few play on marble chessboards at the center of each, but most have books loaded so high that they touch the green-shaded antique lamps curved over them.

My footsteps echo as I walk through the middle aisle, keeping an eye out for a sign or group marked withTUTORING. The farther I venture, the more a familiar scent of ink and paper chemical breakdowns floods my nose, transporting me back to Queens. Mom always said her used books section made her store smell sweet, like acidic vanilla.

Two students rush past and through a high arch leading into the stacks, so quickly their backpacks jostle against their backs.

“—we won’t get any help,” I barely hear one hiss to the other.

Tutoring help? Back in the stacks?

I follow them through the arch, only to go still from awe. No matter how far back I tip my head, the bookcases rise. A forest of stories lives back here.

The two students round the corner. I catch up, dodging rolling ladders and step stools until I reach a section markedTRAVEL & TOURISM.

A figure stands at the end. Blond hair pulled into a short, messy ponytail. Red-and-black-plaid blazer slung over a shoulder. Cross-body bag with a sparkling JFG emblem. Jasper, trailing a finger along a spine of books.

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