And They Were Roommates(12)
Pulling my embarrassingly thin wallet out of my pocket, I survey the options behind the glass. Dining hall food is covered by the Excellence Scholarship, so this move is impressively devoid of intellect. But how can I go in when Jasper is there too?
Gradually, my attention is pulled toward the gift shop door, left open, and the burst of bright red beyond. Valentine-crested backpacks priced in the hundreds. VALENTINE DAD mugs. Academy slogan sweatshirts bragging about how old the campus is with EST. 1899 written in bold lettering. Behind the cash register, the classmate who sits in front of me during calculus wears an anthropomorphic, heart-shaped sandwich board sign. A costume.
So, some students do sacrifice their self-worth to afford lattes. Even during lunch hours.
I focus back on the vending machine, where chip bags are so faded from the sun that they look older than Mom. My void of a stomach forces me to select one.
“Are you serious?!”
Four guys surround a nearby sign under an awning. One is groaning, and he’s wearing his blazer sleeves rolled to his elbows, reminding me to fix my drooped one. “Why do ranks carry over from last year?”
“The rankings barely changed,” another responds.
“I wish it was the mixer already. I need a dopamine hit.”
As they drift away, I take their place at the sign titled WEEKLY GRADE RANKS. It’s divided into four columns, one for each class year. Under SECOND YEAR, full names are paired with numerical grade averages ranked from one to forty-six.
All our grades. Publicly shown.
Unspoken Guideline 3: Students perform the best in the nation because they fear humiliation in a public forum.
My insides twist. I must be ranked first. Second. My gaze zaps to the top of the second-year list. The first five names are marked with heart stickers.
Jasper Grimes (100/100)
That’s not my name.
I slap my palm against the sign and lean closer, squinting hard. Jasper is first. Yet he didn’t pay attention during classes. To receive a perfect hundred, he could never get a point off. Not even on a subjective essay. Clearly, I underestimated him.
Deep breaths. My name must be close.
Robert Walker (99.89/100)
Bingo A. Dixon (99.13/100)
Frankie Schultz (99.05/100)
Andrew Parker (98.98/100)
“WHERE AM I?” I shriek at the sign.
A few heads turn my way.
Straightening and stepping away, I clear my throat. In my online classes, grades were weighted out of 4.0. Advanced classes could bump us higher. But at Valentine, where everyone gets all As, they must have to readjust us out of a hundred for there to even be a competition. Here, it comes down to the tenths. I look closer at the board. No, the hundredths.
If they didn’t readjust the ranking system I bet I’d be flying past a hundred. Past Jasper.
I scan the list until I hit the bottom.
No Charlie von Hevringprinz. There’s only one explanation. My name isn’t here yet because my online grades never carried over. Relief crashes through me like a tidal wave, nearly making my legs collapse beneath my weight.
Next week, I’ll make the top five. I have to, or else I’ll say goodbye to my scholarship next term. Even though I could barely raise my hand in class today before someone else was already answering. Even though the competition is fiercer than I ever expected.
The relief twists into nausea. I grip my stomach to try to make it go away, to pretend like everything isn’t going wrong for one second.
“Mr. V! Mr. V!”
I spin around, clutching my copy of Othello to my chest.
A mash of floral prints and tight pants that could only belong to Mr. Stern rushes toward me, his briefcase jostling against his leg. “You exited my classroom in a dash.”
I swallow away the burning in my throat. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s fine. Just didn’t expect you of all people to want to leave my lesson so fast.”
“No, I was fascinated. Especially when you went deeper into iambic, trochaic, spondaic, anapestic, dactylic, and all the stress patterns in comparison to Shakespeare’s meter and length. Anapestic tetrameter has my whole heart—” I’m talking too fast. Embarrassment hits me so hard that I cover my face with Othello. “Sorry.”
Mr. Stern lowers the book. “I was a faculty member who reviewed your Excellence Scholar application. Your personal statement was the best one I’ve read since I was hired.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I’m eager to read your Othello essay due next week.”
I smile back. Maybe I can reach close to Jasper’s Rank One. His perfect hundred may be impossible, but Rank Two must be on the table.
Mr. Stern holds out a red note stamped with the Valentine crest. “Anyway, I chased after you because Principal Grimes called to ask you to her office. Here’s an excused pass for your next afternoon class.”
My blood runs cold. “Did she say why?”
“Just that it’s confidential. And time-sensitive.”
Confidential. Time-sensitive.
That’s it, then. Jasper realized who I am. He told his aunt the truth.
I’m already being kicked out.
Chapter 6
THE WOMAN IN WHITE
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4
The office is deserted during lunch, but it is packed with gnomes. Stuffed gnomes, which invade the lobby tables and wall shelves. Heart-patterned pointy hats hide their faces except for their blobby noses and gray-yarn beards. Each has a name stitched on the stomach. DeMario, Kennedy, Ignacio …