Page 80 of And They Were Roommates

“Which will be?” I ask uneasily.

Robby grimaces in a way that makes my heart drop.

Thirty minutes before lights-out, the five of us make a break for the cockblockade.

By the time we reach the path that leads up to the checkout booth, the sun is already setting beyond the surrounding woods. We crouch behind a shrub by a lamppost, observing the alleged security guard inside, doing some sort of crossword puzzle on the desk.

“On three,” Robby whispers, his breath visible in the cold air. “Ready?”

Jasper and I trade a look. Tonight, we need to be partners no matter our feelings.

“One—” Robby starts.

Blaze lunges for the booth, his sneakers kicking up dust from the sheer speed. Once he’s almost there, he trips, falls, and face-plants on the ground. Grabbing his ankle, he wails to the treetops.

Robby worriedly reaches forward, but Xavier lowers his hand. Maybe Blaze’s execution was more extreme than planned, but this is what we wanted.

The guard scuttles outside. In the dull lamppost light, I barelymake out her windbreaker that shoutsSECURITYon the back. Same for her slightly confused but mostly concerned expression. No walkie-talkie on her hip. Just as we hoped with Valentine’s disdain for technology. “What are you doing out here?”

Blaze screeches again. “My ankle is…fragmented.”

“You need Health Services. Can you walk?”

Blaze rises on a shaking arm. “No…” He collapses again.

The guard pulls Blaze up by the waist, and they head toward the center of campus. Robby and Xavier split off to keep watch. Jasper and I snatch our bags of letters and race toward the cockblockade gate, but mine slips and hits the ground. A slew of letters falls out.

Jasper stops, his laugh as bubbly as always.

I shove my fists against my hips. “Focus, please?”

He kneels to help me fix the mess, but he’s still laughing under his breath. We shove a stack of letters back in at the same time, our fingers grazing, and my heart leaps.

“You all right?” Jasper asks, his words turning to fog between us.

It’s because we haven’t interacted in weeks. That’s all. “Yeah.”

The worried crease in Jasper’s brow doesn’t leave. He’s wearing a beige Valentine-branded sweater over his red dress shirt tonight—his number-one enamel pin still shimmering for all to see on the popped-out collar—and the lack of visible chest and collarbones strangely has me staring. Typically, he looks the way the Sexiest Poet of the Year should, but with this sweater up to his neck, he looks more charming and sweet.

My throat goes dry.

A whistle cuts through the night.

Our eyes open wide. The signal that the coast is no longer clear. Already?

I look both ways, but there’s nowhere to hide. No trees or buildings.

Jasper drops his bag of letters, then tugs my own out of my grasp. He scoops up my arm and drags us toward the booth.

“What are you—?!” is all I manage to say before we’re standing in front of the sliding door. He throws us inside, slamming it shut behind us. As I stumble to regain my balance, I scan the glass walls boxing us inside like a fish tank.

I face Jasper perfectly parallel, crossing my arms. He’s so winded that he’s leaned a palm against the door. “Hey.”

Jasper just keeps huffing and puffing.

“Hey,” I repeat. “Do I need to sound angrier to get your attention?”

“No offense, Charlie, but you tend to always be angry at me. I don’t exactly know when I’m supposed to be paying attention.”

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