Page 45 of And They Were Roommates

Jasper scoffs so aggressively that spittle flies from his mouth. “He’sknown as the Prince of Passion in the poetry scene. Him! How can that be when I’m lying here? And as of this month, that strawberry shortcake has sold twenty-seven thousand three hundred sixty-two more copies of his pompous poetry collection than I have. At least, according to reporting sources.”

“If you don’t like him, why are you reading his work?”

“Because I wish to understand why people like him more!”

I blink. “Did you admit to someone being better than you?”

“I—” Jasper’s lips purse, considering the question too. “No.”

“Weren’t you the one telling me there will always be someone better than you?Such is the circle of artiste life?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

A laugh bubbles out of me.

Jasper sits up to get a better look at me, his wispy hair scatteringacross his constantly rosy cheeks—which apparently flash redder when he’s worked up like this. “You—” His gaze drifts to my lips. No, my laugh.

He can’t be. He didn’t.

My heart pounds through me. “What?”

“Your laugh is…” His surprise turns into a glare. “Wait, now—what’s funny about my suffering?”

He couldn’t have recognized me. That was in my head.

“Nothing,” I quickly say, shoving aside my nerves. Even Jasper Grimes, Rank One and famous social media poet, has someone he can’t beat. I still have no hints about what writing he prefers, but this discovery was worth it. “I just never expected you to be so fussy about this.”

“I’m notfussy.”

“You are.”

“I’m reading.” Snatching another book on his bedside table—Sense and Sensibility—Jasper burrows into his blankets. He flicks on his reading lamp, filling the room with its buzzing, and rolls to face the wall.

I look toward my desk, where my love letters wait for me to stay up all night and finish them. If not that, homework. Always. But my exhaustion weighs down my eyelids, and Jasper is quiet now. A rarity. Instead, I walk up to our bookcase, pick upKafka on the Shore, and crawl into bed to do the same.

As the minutes tick by, a familiar calm settles over me. One I felt whenever I hid in the aisles of Mom’s Bibliobibuli Bookstore to read. I haven’t experienced it since coming to Valentine. It’s nice, sharing that communal silence with somebody else.

Well,almostsilence.

“Can’t you turn that thing off?” I ask him, pointing at the lamp on his bedside table.

Jasper follows the direction with his eyes. “How else will I read? By candlelight? That could hurt my eyes.”

I don’t know what else I expected.

I sigh and go back to my book.

Jasper stays silent too. A little too silent. Like he still really is hurt.

“P.M. couldn’t handle Valentine like you can, right?” I say to him slowly. The reminder of someone so successful failing to achieve what I need to dampens my own mood, but I keep my voice level. “You’re always ranked top five. You both have strengths.”

Jasper huffs, his back still turned.

“And even though I haven’t read your writing,” I add, “I would guess it’s better. I’d prefer not to understand a word of that guy’scravings for champagneor whatever.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

“Good night, Jasper.”

---