Page 57 of And They Were Roommates

we go

spinning, spinning

never catching up

always chasing

you

My brow spikes. This isn’t a Jasper encyclopedia like Xavier promised. This is barely poetry. Just weirdly constructed sentences. Yet he sold thousands of copies. I suppose this is what Luis meant when he called Jasper’s writingbasic.

And, without a doubt, it sounds nothing like what I wrote.

“What are you reading so passionately over there?”

I spin around on my heel. Jasper grins at the front of his office, holding two Laney’s Bean Shack cups and wearing his leather JFG bag. I didn’t hear the bookcase door open.

“Nothing,” I say, tucking the book behind my back. “What’s theFfor?”

“Excuse me?”

“On your bag. Your journal. The JFG initials.”

“Are you asking a fun fact about moi? I never thought the day would come.”

“I just see it on your stuff all the time.”

“Really? You’re not trying to distract me from that book tucked behind you?”

My cheeks burn. “I—No.”

“Firstly, it’s Ferdinand. Jasper Ferdinand Grimes.”

I thought my last name was rough. “Okay.”

“Secondly.” Jasper closes the distance between us, handing me one of his coffees. “You didn’t sleep much.”

We may be roommates, but I didn’t think he cared enough to notice. Maybe this is a perk of him thinking I’m special, like Xavier said.

A small smile creeps up my face. “Thank you, Jasper. That’s really nice of you.”

Jasper’s eyes widen a hair, shifting around my own.

A simple thank-you couldn’t have triggered his memory. No way. But why else would he be staring? I hurry to readjust my blazer collar higher up my face. “What’s wrong?”

That seemingly knocks Jasper out of his stupor. “Nothing!” He quickly gestures at the book in my grasp. “Thirdly, what do you think of my work?”

My stomach crumples into a ball. I lift the cover, focusing on the crying clown instead the humiliation confetti cannoning through me. “It’s fine, I guess.”

“Is that a compliment or a critique?”

I try to think of a kinder word thanbasic. “It’s… straightforward. Different than I expected. You always read P.M. Laframboise’s stuff, which is too deep to understand.”

Jasper scoffs and tosses his bag on the floor. A puff of dust rises into the air. He grabs the duster from the cleaning bucket and knocks away a nearby cobweb. “That strawberry shortcake doesn’t understand a lick about poetry.”

“Why do you keep calling him a strawberry?”

“Apologies, Laframboise is French for strawberry. I forgot you wouldn’t understand, not knowing such a romantic language.”

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