Page 43 of And They Were Roommates

Unspoken Guideline 11: We can get detention for staying out a bit too late, but the principal’s nephew can seemingly stay out every night. Doing what? He hasthatmany friends?

My mouth twists. All these guidelines are becoming about Jasper.

As I sigh and set down my backpack, his side of the room distracts me. His floor is a bog of crumpled paper, old Laney’s Bean Shack cups, and dirty clothes. But his bed is made, not a wrinkle in his decorative ambrosia flower quilt, and his Pierre-Marie Laframboise book is set on the eleven throw pillows. The only Excellence Scholar who pleases him.

Maybe P.M. is who I should emulate in my letters.

I walk over to inspect the flimsy cover.A Craving for Champagne: Poemsis encircled by illustrated forks and knives accented by gold foil. A poetry collection. About food?

I flip to the first page.

a heady rush of champagne bubbles

as we lose our sweetened troubles

a symphony of sighs and whispers

as we find each other’s kisses

I slap the book shut and hurl it at the pillows.

Not food.

I head into the bathroom to shower and try to forget that happened. If Jasper admires this stuff, then what is his like? Not that I care what his is like.

As I rip off my sweaty uniform, I catch a glimpse of my chest in the mirror. A place I try to never look. I reach for the towel on my wall hook and wrap it beneath my arms. This way, no one will spot my scars. The only way. But I could never walk around likethisduring PE.

And my training with Xavier. If I kept rushing back here instead of the locker room to shower after, would he catch on? Would everyone?

The nerves are too much, and I push them away. I toss my towel over the top of the opaque shower door, start the water, take off my glasses, and slip inside.

“CHARLIE!”

Knocking comes at the bathroom door. I screech.

“Charlie von Hevringprinz?” A shadowed hand knocks on the shower door. A bracelet jangles against the wrist. Jasper.

Blood pounds in my ears as I cross my arms and legs tight. I snatch my towel and wrap it beneath my shoulders again without thinking, water still pouring on me. I need a room to myself now. Yesterday. A year ago. “Y-yes?!”

“I—opin—boo—!” His voice is too muffled.

“What?!” I shout back.

Jasper opens the shower. He grips my damp shoulders, and I squeeze the towel so hard that my knuckles turn white. “Good, you’re in here! I need your opinion on—”

“Sir,” a deep voice calls, “where should the bookcase go?”

Jasper whips his head around so fast that his blond ponytail smacks my cheek. “Between the two beds, please.”

I peek my head out of the shower. “Who’s in our room?”

“Mailroom concierge.” His head tilts as he processes the soaked towel wrapped around me. “Freshen up first, roommate.”

In a whirlwind of red-and-black plaid, he’s gone, back into our shared room. I rush out of the shower to lock the bathroom doorknob, blood pumping so loudly everywhere through me that I don’t even hear the click—because, apparently, I even have to lock this when he isn’t here. This is seriously how guys interact.

I can’tdothis any longer.

My legs quaver. I grip the door for stability, then force myself to attempt the rest of my shower, to keep going. I’ll finish the deal with Jasper, and this will soon be a distant memory. Every bump and knock from the bedroom nearly lurches my heart out of my throat and sends it spiraling down the drain. I finish fast, then toss on my plaid pajamas and step out of the bathroom.

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