Page 37 of And They Were Roommates

“Isn’t he that Excellence Scholar who flopped on the grade ranks?”

“No way he’s writing our letters.”

“Be for real. We came here for an actual poet.”

Spotlight number one million. My stomach twists.

Jasper holds up a defensive hand. “Since my student is in training, I promise, your letters will still be written by moi. I give my gift to you!”

Even though Jasper Grimes may be a triple threat—perfect face, grades, and poetry career—he sucks at lying. I’m not the only one who can tell. The looks around the crypt have grown more suspicious.

“It’s true,” I say. I won’t let my classmates run me out of STRIP until my own room is secured. “I’m his loyal student, here to watch.”

Jasper looks my way to send a covertthank you, then over to Robby. “Who’s the first horse?”

First, Jasper lights a taper candle in a brass fixture set on the tome table—the only light source in his office now that he’s turned off the antique lamps.

Next, he leans toward our first patron sitting across from us. Faint mumbles come from a line beyond the brocade curtain, waiting to be served. “Thank you for trusting me with your love story today. What is your name?”

I sit in silence beside him, staring nervously at the candle releasing a semisweet cherry blossom fragrance only someone like Jasper would enjoy. Our bedroom was pushing it, but flammable objects in a building full of paper? Maverick the Residential Retainer would cut him like a fish.

“My name is Eli,” the patron says shyly despite the office’s privacy, playing with his Shetland pony card on the table. His blazer sleeves hang to his fingertips. Either he’s a first year who hasn’t figured out the unspoken guidelines, or even a size S is too big on him to maintain the rolled sleeves look.

“Tell us about yourself,” Jasper says.

“I’m fourteen. On the debate team.”

From his JFG cross-body bag, Jasper reaches for his broken fountain pen and journal to jot notes. Immediately, red ink smears across his right hand and the page. He glances at my closed backpack on the floor. “Not taking records, student?”

“You’re not giving said student any guidance,” I say, frowning.

“You’re the second-year Excellence Scholar. Shouldn’t you be capable on your own?”

I stiffen, unsure if that’s an insult or a compliment, and catch myself hoping it’s the latter before shutting that feeling down. I don’t care whatJasperthinks. I reach for my mechanical pencil and composition notebook, which look mediocre next to Jasper’s bajillion-dollar pen and journal. Despite what Jasper likely believes, holding a bougie pen doesn’t dictate note quality. I’ll take great notes. The best notes.

“When did you meet her?” Jasper asks Eli, voice repulsively soothing.

Eli stares over my shoulder as if a shimmering sunset has appeared behind me, full of longing. I turn around. Only a concrete wall. He snaps back to reality. “Sorry. Fifteen days and three hours ago.”

“You met during orientation?”

“One day after. During the debate team’s first meeting of the year. We got special permission to visit the sister academy’s team and plan the flower sale fundraiser we held this week. She’s on their team.”

Jasper writes more. I don’t. Wouldn’t it be nice if my love tutor gave me directions?

Guess I’ll go with what’s always the most logical. Facts.

Patron Name: Eli

Date Met: One day after orientation.

Location: First debate meeting.

Other: Not even three weeks have passed, and he’s acting like he’s lost his princess to a witch handing out free apples.

“Her name?” Jasper asks.

“I was too nervous to ask.”

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