Page 31 of And They Were Roommates

Hi Delilah,

I found out about the love letter program. I’m giving this to someone named Blaze Alpha Destroyer, who apparently delivers letters to and from our campuses every week, so we’ll see if this gets to you.

You told me to call you if I start sobbing, but I don’t want to waste my emergency contact use already. I waited to tell you this, but I need to talk to someone about it: Do not set anything on fire, but I never got a single room. My roommate has already gotten naked in front of me. Knowing I was there. Do guys seriously do that?

Also, I haven’t reached top five on the second-year ranks. Not even close. Just wanted to tell you because I miss you.

Charlie

Chapter 13THE TRIAL

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 13

Thankfully, Ms. Nallos spends the remainder of the week of PE teaching volleyball, which requires minimal strength. I only have two exams in my other classes, which is actually a reprieve after the rigor of the past couple days. And English literature introduces a unit on Edgar Allan Poe, who apparently published exactly sixty-nine poems and married his cousin. We never work independently and call it a day like in online school. We read aloud, and Mr. Stern even assigns us a project to present on how each event of Poe’s life—bad and good—affected every word he wrote.

Then there’s Jasper, whose schedule I’m finding ways to work around, thanks to a Saint Valentine miracle. A terrifying morning person like himself showers before the bell tower startles me out of my sleep, which I still struggle to get enough of due to his annoying buzzing bedside lamp. He begs to get breakfast together, despite me declining nine times now, until he surrenders. After lunch, he swaps his morning and afternoon class materials, so I swap mine before. He then only ever returns at least ten minutesafterlights-out. My curiosity wonders where he is, but I can’t complain if he’s out of the room and his buzzing lamp is off.

As long as our deal works out, he’ll be gone forever.

A week later, I’m forced to be the face of STRIP.

I stare down the intimidating rows of desks, antique lamps, and chessboards in the near-silent library, only light pencil scribbles and chair squeaks to be heard. Since I’ve been able to study in my room, thanks to Jasper’s absence, I haven’t visited here since I came to hunt down STRIP in the stacks. Just like last time, nearly every station is claimed. Only lights-out forces everyone’s brains to stop.

Jasper’s instructions flood my head.Sit in front of the librarian. Place the STRIP sign on the table. Make sure employees witness you being a real tutor to get them off our trail. Is that too much for you to remember?How does his well of arrogance never go dry?

But then his instructions are replaced by Xavier’s words that have replayed nonstop in my head.Jasper claimed he never saw anything special in them. At least, until you.

A strange tingling takes root in my chest. I hold my textbook tighter to make it stop, then check the double doors. Last night, Jasper said he’d join for moral support until our love lesson. Maybe he’s running late.

I claim a table. From my backpack, I pull out theSTRIP TIMEpaper sign folded into thirds and shove aside the chessboard to make room. Step one. I spot the librarian at her desk and wave. She stops scanning a book to return it, confused. Presence detected. Step two. Finally, I sit, take out my textbooks, and start my chem homework.

A metallic bang comes at my left. Chair legs scrape against the floor.

Down my row, four upperclassmen hover over a water bottle spilled on their homework. One elbows another in a half-rough, half-playful way I’ve seen guys do before. A few quiet laughs pop up from other tables.

A sinking feeling pulls through me as I sit at my empty one-person table. Still very much an outsider.

I shake away the feeling. No one showing up is good. More study time. It’s unlikely visitors would come anyway. Every student knows STRIP is a love letter scheme.

“Bro,” a whisper comes above my head. “Please tell me you’re that new second-year Excellence Scholar.”

A guy no taller than me and with a medium-tan complexion stands by my table, a cross necklace dangling between his plaid blazer lapels. His dark curls are familiar—the same ones in my view during calculus class.

I put down my pencil and inspect his face clearly for the first time. It’s on the rounder side, and his cheeks are soft in a cute, attractive way. “I am.”

“I’m Luis.” His voice cracks. “Listen, I bombed my calc exam last week. Differential equations. You know anything about that garbage?” Another crack.

I try to ignore his voice for the sake of his ego, but my mouth crooks at the charm to it. His constant up-and-down modulation is one I briefly had when mine went through changes. Being reminded that I’ve gone through the same mortification as every other boy here admittedly dials up my pride meter. Then I realize why he looks familiar. “Yeah. You work at the gift shop? In that heart-shaped costume.”

He groans. “Say something else. Anything else.”

“You’re in my class too?”

“Oh yeah! Charlie with the never-ending last name.” Luis plops down in the seat beside me with so much force that the table rattles, echoing through the silent library. Three pieces on the chessboard fall, and heads around us turn. Luis doesn’t care, just tugs onhis curls. “Charlie, I got in trouble with my parents. ‘Just go to that tutoring program!’ they shouted. But they don’t know STRIP is really, well, you know.”

“Right,” I say, leaning back and scattering my bangs over my own face.

“But then Jasper Grimes showed up to our homeroom to say that the new second-year Excellence Scholar joined STRIP.”

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