Page 22 of And They Were Roommates

I grip my forehead, as too much keeps getting thrown my way at once. Even with Excellence Scholar to my name, I can barely tell the difference between the truths of this program and Jasper’s regularly flawed opinions. There’s no way I can join.

Except. Jasper’s principal’s nephew powers might be enough to get me what no one else can.

Standing before him, I square my shoulders to look more like his. It’s a risky idea. He’s the one person I should avoid. Every second we spend together helps him remember who I am. But I nudge my head toward a corner of the room where no one can overhear, then walk in that direction. He gets the hint and follows.

“I’ll consider being your face,” I say. “If you do something for me.”

Jasper leans forward curiously. “Yes?”

Just one word, but he speaks with such a balanced blend of confidence and judgment that it holds as much weight as a speech. I struggle to not let it get to me. “Convince your aunt to move you into a single room so I get the double to myself.”

Jasper’s expression flickers with shock, like he had a list of possible answers I’d provide, and this didn’t match any. A weak, almost hurt chuckle trickles from his lips. “You dislike me that much, von Hevringprinz?”

“Ah, no,” I lie, feeling a twinge of guilt myself. “I requested one before I even knew we’d be roommates. You said you nevercomplained to your aunt, right? Doesn’t that mean you have the power to?”

Jasper nods slowly.

“Is that a yes?” I ask.

“I want more from you. Help me write letters until the winter mixer in November.”

“What?” I say. “How is that fair?”

Jasper shrugs. Because he holds the power, and he knows it. “More students in every grade keep finding out my poetry is award-winning, so the demand for me to write letters on their behalf keeps rising. On top of that, I write all the confessional love letters for anyone who wants to ask their sister-academy crush to the mixer. I could use another hand. Although we should keep your involvement from the other members a secret. Especially from our visitors. They come here for my brand, you see. Not yours.” He places a hand to his chest. “After, I’ll ask my aunt.”

“No way,” I say. “Ask now.”

“If I ask today, what forces you to hold up your end?”

November is better than an academic year. Still, my heartbeat thrums in my neck. The idea of me, who hasn’t dated anyone since my lips touched Jasper’s, writing love letters is laughable on its own. But helping Jasper write what he once used to break my heart?

“I won’t be good at it,” I mumble, even though Valentine would expect me to excel at anything this campus presents me, including poetry. Insecurity burns in my chest for admitting this, but it’s the truth.

“Of course you won’t be as good as me,” Jasper says, tossing a hand. “There will always be someone better at fine literature than you.Such is the circle of artiste life.”

I stare back, stunned by how big his head truly is.

How did I ever consider striking a deal with him?

“Forget it,” I say through a huff. “Figure out a new face on your own.”

Jasper’s brow lifts in surprise, but I’m already heading for the door, leaving him and this deal behind.

Chapter 8THE REMAINS OF THE DAY

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4

At least, until I return to our room that night.

When I arrive after a solo study session in the Halo, Jasper is digging through his desk drawer, tossing aside dog-eared books and half-drank coffees from Laney’s Bean Shack. He spins around in the dress shoes that he didn’t bother taking off—animal. “You’re back!”

I blink from the doorway. Everywhere smells like cinnamon and hints of smoke from his guideline-breaking fire-hazard candles. I sneeze. “You’re making a mess.”

“For good reason.”

“And that is?”

“I’d like to convince you to assist me with my letters.”

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