And They Were Roommates(24)
I mirror him until I remember signing the cross doesn’t operate like a handshake. “That exam was tough.”
Luis pulls his calculus textbook from his bag. Luis Gabriel García Perez is written in permanent marker on the fabric. “I bombed the slope field portion. Got a B-plus.”
“Oh.”
“Super embarrassing, I know. My parents are demanding I get my grade back to a ninety-eight or higher ASAP. What’d you get?”
“A-minus,” I mumble.
“Rough.”
Unspoken Guideline 8: An A? everywhere else is an F? here.
“At least a rough start for you makes sense,” Luis adds, barely keeping his voice low. “You’re new. You gotta figure out a whole new campus on top of locking in.”
Is Luis the first person to acknowledge how hard transferring has been for me?
I smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Tugging on his curls more, Luis opens to our 3.2 homework questions due in two days. A lesson I haven’t gotten a free moment to review yet. “An Excellence Scholar like you must pick up this stuff mad quick. Walk me through these?”
If I can’t solve simple calculus, Luis could tell everyone that the second-year Excellence Scholar is a joke. Outgoing plus attractive like him equals lots of friends, just like Xavier. This could get back to STRIP. No more being their face. No more double room to myself.
No backing out.
I flip to the introductory section of 3.2. After several place short line segments and xy plane phrases later, I’m only more lost. Still, I swipe up his calculator. “Let’s solve number one together first. In drawing the slope field for the differential equation—” I plug in numbers that seem right according to the page. “At the point (–1,1), you’d draw a short segment of slope…”
I write down = 1–2(–1) = 1 + 2 = 3 on scrap paper, then check in the back of the book for answers, squinting in preparation to be wrong.
= 1–2(–1) = 1 + 2 = 3
My eyes widen. I was right?
Luis groans loudly enough to pull the librarian’s focus, but not enough to get shushed. Yet. He points at the (–1, 1) on the page. “Because you substituted both. I only used this one.”
The double doors squeal open.
Jasper? I whip my head around. Three upperclassmen I don’t recognize.
Why am I waiting for him?
Focusing on Luis, I guide him through the nine remaining questions. Every time he answers correctly, he hugs me in full view of the librarian. More STRIP reliability points. Once we’re done, my head brims with equations I suddenly understand. I had fun.
Was I paying attention to my face? My hair? Were we sitting too close?
I can’t remember.
“You’re the best guy in STRIP, for real,” Luis says as he packs his belongings. His curls have doubled in size. “No offense to Jasper. He does write awesome stuff.”
“You think?”
“STRIP, in general, is how Emilio has stayed in touch with his girlfriend every week for the last year. But I guess the two were fighting all through summer break. Once he told Jasper about it and got a love letter written by him, they instantly made up. He’s a wizard.”
“What are Jasper’s letters like?” My face burns once I realize what I asked. I shouldn’t care, but I still can’t figure out Jasper’s social standing. A part of me wants to know others’ opinions. When he speaks in class, he’s cheered on. During passing time, others swarm him. Although same for Xavier. Either they’re popular, or their top five rank is. If it’s the latter, ranking may come with being seen more than I expected. Being watched.
If I join them, that could be a problem.
Luis hums, twirling a black king piece from the chessboard. “I’m not an artist, but there’s something sparkly about Jasper’s writing. It’s basic but relatable.”
Not the answer I predicted. Everything that leaves Jasper’s mouth is so flowery and long-winded. He smells like flowers. His letters should be the same.
“At least that’s what my friends say,” Luis adds, setting down the king.
“You’ve never asked him for a letter?” I ask.
“I don’t have the same barriers as my friends. ’Cause, you know, they’re into girls.”
“Oh.”
“And I’m—”
“Yeah—”
“—into guys.”
“Yeah. Got that.”
Luis isn’t straight. At an all-boys academy. More surprisingly, he isn’t stress-yanking his curls while telling me that.
“You’re not worried?” I ask, swallowing my nerves over discussing anything related to this here. “When traditional is literally in our slogan?”
“I’m careful, for sure. You just gotta find your people, you know?”
I nod, even though I don’t know. Minus Mom and Delilah, I had no one to lean on when figuring myself out. Especially no one like me. Besides, how can I figure out who my people are without first telling them who I am and risking they won’t be?
Luis pokes my chest. “You going to Dix now?”
I glance toward the zigzag paths of the Halo beyond the double doors, where Jasper should’ve shown up an hour ago. The longest I’ve spent in Dixon Dining Hall is a record five minutes. I’ve only awkwardly meandered the perimeter to snag bagels and breadsticks, never sitting down and instead shoving them in my bag to sneak by the check-in workers who have made it clear that removing any food from the dining hall is expressly forbidden. This was my genius plan for dinner again. “In a sense.”