And They Were Roommates(25)

“Wanna join me?”

My heart leaps at the chance to sit without looking like a loner. But this could count as making a friend. People have too-big eyes and mouths. Does Luis? Could he count as finding my people?

A throat clearing interrupts us.

Jasper, smiling at our conversation, but his typical lopsided dimple doesn’t accompany it. Late, of course, because when has Jasper ever cared enough to be on time? He holds a coffee cup from Laney’s Bean Shack and wears tortoiseshell glasses that I’ve never seen in our room. Behind the lenses, his gaze is strangely glazed over. “Apologies, Charlie and I have plans. Unless you’d like to keep making me wait?”

My mouth parts in shock. “Jasper.”

Shockingly, Luis laughs. He even tosses a playful thumb toward Jasper. “This guy. Let’s do lunch some other time, Charlie.” Then he’s out the double doors.

I check if the librarian is at her desk. Nope. I slap Jasper on the arm, and he nearly drops his coffee. “You’re lucky people like you, or they’d beat you up.”

“Like me?” Jasper grumbles, rubbing away the pain.

“Don’t they?”

He ignores the question. “Whatever did I do to you?”

“Did I do something?”

“I’m surprised to see you accept Luis Perez’s lunch invitation.”

I have declined Jasper in the past, but why would he care? To him, we barely know each other. “The last person you should be upset with is me. Have you forgotten I was your face for hours? Helping your program? Which went well, by the way, thank you for asking.”

“Good.” He sips from his coffee. Black and Plain are checked on the side.

Black coffee. I never noticed during camp. Considering how disgustingly flowery he is in life, I’m surprised he doesn’t guzzle the chocolate-caramel Jesus lattes towering with whipped cream and fifty packets of sugar.

Jasper’s coffee and glasses aren’t the only unexpected additions. For once, his dress shirt is buttoned to his neck and accompanied by a tie. He even wears the plaid blazer instead of casting it over a shoulder, gold number-one enamel pin on the lapel. To anyone else, Jasper would look like an average student, but after witnessing him ignore the dress code for weeks, he looks more distinct somehow. More handsome.

Well, not handsome. He is, objectively, as a poet famous for his looks. But not to me.

Does he really think I’m special?

“You look interesting today” splutters out of my mouth.

Jasper’s brow rises. “Is this your attempt at flattery?”

“No. You’re just.” What am I doing? “Proper-er.”

“This is my first day as your love tutor.” Jasper sits across from me, setting down his coffee and kicking his dress shoes onto the table. “Thought I should act more proper.”

“Right,” I mutter at the dirty soles.

“Before I can assign you love homework, we need to cover basics. Ready?”

No. But I still grab the mechanical pencil and composition notebook I resonated with from Jasper’s stash last week.

From the chessboard shoved to the side, Jasper picks up a black pawn and points at my notebook with it. “First, take records of my EROS.”

“Your what?”

“Essential Requirements of Seduction.”

My insides recoil. I have no clue what he’s talking about, yet I already know this is the last thing I want to learn. “Go on.”

“The first EROS is to use different handwriting for every letter.”

Nothing to do with seduction so far. “Why?”

“What we sell is an illusion”—Jasper sets the pawn on my notebook—“that the patron has written the letter himself. I sign them with his name, not mine.” He sets another black pawn by the other. “If every letter we sent over to the sister academy used the same handwriting, that illusion would shatter.”

“I guess.”

“Plus, think about if the letters were caught by the academy. Worse, my aunt. What could happen if we used our real handwriting?” Jasper picks up a white queen from the chessboard, grinning. A challenge.

But this is easy. “We could also get caught. Even if we sign these letters with different names, they could trace our handwriting back by comparing them to our assignments.”

Jasper’s forehead wrinkles in a playful way. Satisfaction courses through me, knowing that means I won. He holds up the black king and queen pieces together. “Aren’t you clever, Excellence Scholar? Yes, I don’t want to be traceable. And now, you.” As his final move, he knocks over the black king and queen with the white queen. A reminder that I could get sent home for two reasons instead of one now.

After, he casts aside the chess pieces and pulls my notebook toward himself. “There are three more EROS. Second, write in an environment that will never sway your feelings.”

“Okay.”

“Third, remember that love does not have to make sense; neither do your words.”

Side-eye. “Okay.”

“Fourth, craft for yourself—not your audience—for true connection.”

Double side-eye. “Okay.”

“Once I assign your first homework, make sure to apply these four points. Before I can, though, you need to take part in STRIP’s weekly one-on-ones.”