And They Were Roommates(11)

I remember that look. The way his blue eyes would soften when he’d gaze at the lake bordering campus, silently pondering a poem by my side. Compared to the way he’d run his mouth during workshops, this look felt like a truer part of him that he showed no one else, like I was special. It forced me to stop denying my racing heart any longer.

The only problem is, he shouldn’t be lost in his own world during class.

At least I know he won’t be top five competition.

More questions come and go over the hour. Hands shoot up to answer Mr. Stern, and I’m consistently a second too late. The competition is fiercer than the Olympics.

“Yes! Mr.—” Mr. Stern bends sideways to check his class roster on the desk. “H. V? H.”

The question melts out of my brain. I gave her such a one; ’twas my first gift. “Right! Uh—Othello. The gift is a handkerchief. Desdemona’s. Othello is attached because it’s the first gift he gave her. But he later cares for its familial value.”

“Correct!” Mr. Stern hurls a lollipop at my face.

I catch it with a grin.

The bell rings, and Mr. Stern recites a farewell speech. I snatch my Othello copy off the desk and toss my backpack over my shoulder, accidentally kicking Mr. Stern’s globe—which Jasper left on the floor—but still feeling on top of the world it so humbly depicts. I head out of the classroom.

Until Jasper shouts after me like he’s drowning in the courtyard fountain.

I spin around and clench my book so hard that my nails dig into the cover. “WHAT?”

Jasper stutters to a stop, classmates dodging him in the doorway. He’s sucking on his winning lollipop now, and the stick tilts as his face crinkles with offense. Only then do I realize how sharp I was toward someone who is supposed to be a stranger.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “Did you need something?”

He pulls the lollipop out of his mouth, casually spinning it in the air. “Shall we go spend our intimate time together?”

A startled noise chokes out of me.

More stares for the millionth time that day. Spotlight number four.

Jasper doesn’t stop rambling about us getting to know each other intimately until I smother his mouth with my hand, and so abruptly that he drops the lollipop. “You can’t keep shouting stuff like this,” I snap. I don’t even care how close our faces are as long as he shuts up.

“Why?”

“People will misunderstand.”

He plucks my hand off like a used moist towelette. “I only meant having lunch.”

The idea to shout that I can barely spend three more seconds with him compels me, but my logic remembers the stakes. Keep my roommate—the principal’s nephew—on my good side in case he realizes anything he absolutely cannot. “I’m a bit busy.” I continue down the hallway.

He follows. “Too busy for Dix?”

“What’d you just say to me?”

“Dixon. The dining hall.” Jasper makes a face like I’m weird. “It’s by the Halo.”

Right. The courtyard is the Halo. Dix is the dining hall. I filter through my memory bank, trying to recall if I’ve embarrassingly referenced either incorrectly to other students yet.

We reach the exit of the academic center, and he rushes to open the door for me. I skipped breakfast, knowing I would sit alone in the dining hall like a loser, and didn’t feel hungry all morning. Now that’s rapidly fading.

Still, better to be hungry than sit with my new roommate who ruined my life once and could do the same again. “Sorry,” I say, walking down the steps, “I need to study whenever I have free time, being the second-year Excellence Scholar.”

Jasper’s mouth twists as he reaches the base step. The sun brightens his blond hair a shade and forces his sensitive blue eyes to squint. “Shame. I’m still so excited for us to learn more about each other, roommate. Rain check?”

I try and fail to hide my wince. “Maybe.”

“Wonderful! Until then.”

With that, Jasper wanders deeper into the Halo.

I want to feel like I won, but my stress only builds. When I return to my room tonight, we’ll be forced to spend that intimate time together. He’ll keep pestering me with those icebreakers from yesterday, demanding to know my favorite color and hobbies and siblings that don’t exist. I barely kept my identity hidden last night. How can I survive that again?

Glancing back at Jasper, I see that two plaid figures have already replaced me at his side. Sleeves rolled, slacks cuffed, charming faces that read rich parents and confident auras that signal popular. Maybe Jasper falls into the same bracket.

Another comes, shyly rubbing the back of his neck. He’s only as tall as Jasper’s shoulders, and his ripped, knockoff-brand backpack matches mine. Maybe a first year. Jasper gives him attention, throwing my deductions off.

If I’d gone with Jasper, I could’ve gotten to know all these people.

Regret pulls through me, but I shake it away.

Too risky. No friends.



* * *



While I’m searching the campus for a food source on my own, Laney’s Bean Shack catches my eye first. The outdoor coffee stall advertises the infamous chocolate-caramel “Jesus” lattes for double-digit prices, as if I can afford them. Nearby is a building with a gift shop sign, where a vending machine sticks out by the entrance.