Page 56 of And They Were Roommates

“Tell me about it. I study every second and barely stay Rank Four in my year, yet the guy barely does for a second.”

“Not even that. He’s at a hundred numerical class average. That means he’s never gotten a single point off an assignment?”

“Oh, Jasper can take one more core class than the rest of us because he’s gotten out of the PE requirement. Even though Valentine readjusts our classes out of a hundred, he’s inflated over that. They just don’t show it, or there’d be revolts.”

“Wha—?” So much rage boils inside me that I can’t see straight for a second. “How’d he get exempt?”

I’m not sure why I bother asking. I already know the answer.

“Principal’s nephew powers,” we say at the same time.

I try to ignore my jealousy over how easy his life is, but I barely can. “If his aunt weren’t the principal, you think he’d still hit top five?”

“To be real? I think so. It’s like he has a photographic memory. Instructors could be being lenient on his essays, I guess, but most scores come from our multiple-choice tests. His always come back perfect. Not much subjectivity there, man.”

I huff. Jasper’s book smartsarewhy I fell for him at camp.

“Anyway,” Xavier says, “Jasper has a few copies of his book lying around his office in the crypt. Maybe you’d get the answers you’re looking for.”

Chapter 21THE BOOK THIEF

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 11

By a few copies in his office, Xavier meantthirty-eightcopies.

Only Saint Valentine knows how many copies ofLove Is a Broken Party Clownare also on our Mr. Grimes and Mr. von Hevringprinz bookcase back in our room. Jasper claimed we would meet here after STRIP Time for him to grade my love letters, but he hasn’t shown up yet, and that’s left me studying the bindings designed as red-and-white-striped circus tents. At least, until a pang snakes down my leg. I wince, but Xavier insists that pain means trainingisworking.

I hope that methodology applies to these love letters I nearly ripped my hair out over to finish with Blaze’s help. These last two weeks, my combined STRIP hours, gym training, and midterms workload kept me grinding until the witching hour, so much so that my chemistry quiz slipped my mind. I had to skip lunch with Luis to panic cram. Thankfully, Mr. Stern waited until today to introduce our project on Benjamin Franklin’s neighbor—a man who apparently invented blackout poetry with newspapers. If I’d been given more poetry on top of my love letters, I’d have jumped off the Dixon Writing Gazebo.

While I wait for Jasper, I could sneak a peek atLove Is a Broken Party Clown.

My original mission was to uncover his love life in order to craft letters he’d undoubtedly appreciate, but with this week’sworkload, I forgot to read his poetry like Xavier suggested a couple of weeks ago. Really, there’s no reason to dig anymore, since I’ve already finished my letters.

Yet I still glance both ways and grip one of the spines. No footsteps. Just the unsettling silence of the crypt. I snatch the copy from the shelf, a few horse trading cards tucked underneath it falling onto the floor. The clown’s beady eyes on the cover stare at me judgmentally, like it knows I’m sticking my nose into something I shouldn’t.

“Listen, this will help me predict the grade I’m about to get from Jasper,” I insist to the clown. The clown doesn’t respond.

So I flip to the first page.

1.

love is a broken party clown

who has forgotten his lines

after a thousand performances

who honks a horn

and no sound comes

speechless

2.

round and round

the carousel of love

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