Page 95 of And They Were Roommates

He’s in here?

“You’re in here?!” flings out of my mouth.

Jasper turns around in his chair. His eyes lock on the last place I’d ever want them to.

A shirt. I need a shirt. Now.

I sprint to my dresser and snatch my sweater again to cover the scars. “You didn’t say anything!”

Too many emotions pass across Jasper’s face for me to understand them. Whatever they are, they make his eyes and mouthtwitch. It takes three more seconds for him to shield his eyes with his palms. “What was I supposed to say?!”

“Come in.Our signal!”

“Only when you knock once.”

“Ididknock.”

Jasper lowers his hands. “Did you? Apologies.”

In a panic, I chuck my sweater in his direction. “Don’t look!”

The soft fabric sails over his head and knocks into the glass fragrance bottles set on his dresser instead, instigating a domino effect of clinks and clangs. Two bottles fall onto the floor.

At least Jasper isn’t looking at me anymore. Instead, he’s looking at his toppled-over bottles.

I should apologize for my not-so-ceremonious outburst, and part of me wants to, but he’s seen me. Truly seen me. Who I am is all the more real to him. This could change everything.

My irrationality seizes control of my body and convinces me to snatch a pajama set from my dresser, run for the bathroom, and slam the door shut. I stand there, back glued to the door as breaths heave out of me. Not the first time. Almost definitely not the last.

At least, until my reflection catches my eye in the mirror. My collarbone sticks out more, and my arms have a bit more mass. With the slight definition to my chest, my scars are almost hidden too. Not fully, but also not a focus. This can’t be the same reflection I had when classes started, but two months of training couldn’t have possibly done this much either.

Maybe this is the same reflection. Maybe I looked like this all along, but I couldn’t see it.

I walk closer to the mirror. I don’t usually look. It’s subconscious. My face, rarely. The rest, never. If Jasper wasn’t staring at my scars, then what was he looking at?

Did I yell for no reason? Was his stare all in my head?

No, he was staring. Hard.

I don’t want to go back in that room—I can’t even imagine how uncomfortable it will be—but there are study guides to complete and practice exams to take. By the time I shower and come back in my pajamas, Jasper sits, his back leaned against his headboard. His ambrosia flower quilt is back from Xavier’s, pulled to his waist, and his various fragrance bottles have returned to their perfectly lined up position on his desk. He’s working on the mixer letters, journal on his lap and number-one pin on his pajama shirt collar—because of course it is.

I wait for him to say something, but he keeps working away, silently.

Trying to ignore the embarrassment washing over me, I sit in my own bed and grab my journal to join him. Behind it is my English literature guide. Six potential essay prompts are listed for the timed final, but only one will be chosen. I haven’t done any. I pick it up, flipping through the empty pages. I promised STRIP I could manage the letters and finals.

Maybe I can’t.

“Work on it,” Jasper says from his bed.

I startle. “What?”

“Your guide. You’re smart, so you’ll finish it quickly. Then join me for letters.”

The proposition makes me feel equally relieved and like a failure.

I flip to the first question.

1. The driving rhythm of “The Raven,” created by Poe, has a signature hypnotic sound and creepy atmosphere. What literary techniques does Poeutilize to achieve this? Be sure to consider the careful use of rhyme and meter.

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