Page 84 of And They Were Roommates

“These are the only materials we got,” Luis says, sitting beside me. He sets out the plastic bag, string, scissors, and a raw egg, then slings an arm over my shoulder.

“Mhm. What can be made with a plastic bag and string?”

“Another bag.”

“No. What can get trapped inside that bag?”

“Air?”

“Yes. When considering force equaling mass times acceleration, what do you need to do to the acceleration, specifically, while the egg falls?”

That’s all I have to say before Luis connects the dots. He lifts his arm off me to cut four pieces of yarn. He feeds them through the bag, then stands, holding the egg attached to his makeshift parachute over the roof. “This better work.”

I rise to my feet too. “It’ll work—”

My left shoe hooks in Luis’s backpack strap, and then my balance is shaking, and my body is tilting, and I’m slipping off the roof on a yelp.

Luis snatches my arm and yanks me back, pulling me against his chest. “Bro, you’re not an egg!”

My heart hammers as I clutch harder to Luis’s coat. “It’s not like I meant to be!”

Clunking comes from our feet. Twelve eggs, rolling out of Luis’s backpack and off the gazebo.

Then cracking.

“AUGUH—?!”

Furrowing my brow, I peek over the roof. The shattered eggsaren’t on the grass, nor the gazebo steps, but on a blond head of hair and a cross-body bag with a JFG emblem.

Just when I thought my heart couldn’t race faster. “Jasper?”

Jasper outstretches his coat sleeves drenched in translucent goop. His fingers are taut and curled, and his mouth wriggles in revulsion. “What is on me right now.”

“What are you doing out here?”

He rakes a hand through his soaked bangs. “Eggs?”

“They look good on you,” Luis says.

I elbow Luis, and he winces. “I’m coming down.”

According to the theory of relativity, venturing back down the gazebo vine trellis should take as long as it did going up, yet the trip feels endless as my countless thoughts fight for attention. WhatisJasper doing here? How am I supposed to look him in the eye after refusing to forgive him last night? He must be angrier at me than the eggs.

My feet hit the grass. I snatch his gooey hand and lead him toward the lake, our dress shoes clumsily sinking into the sand. Once we reach the shore, I unwrap my scarf and dip it in the water. “Use this.”

“N-no, it’ll get dirty.”

Did he stutter?Jasperstuttered?

Maybe he was chattering. His thin Valentine-branded excuse for a peacoat can’t be fighting off the cold when he’s definitely only wearing a dress shirt underneath. “What are you going to use, then? Your coat caked with more egg?”

“Perhaps.”

I roll my eyes. “Come on, Jasper.”

He huffs and closes his eyes. “Thank you.”

I step closer, and his body stiffens way too much to just be from the cold. LikeI’mmakinghimnervous.

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