And They Were Roommates(28)

From his JFG cross-body bag, Jasper reaches for his broken fountain pen and journal to jot notes. Immediately, red ink smears across his right hand and the page. He glances at my closed backpack on the floor. “Not taking records, student?”

“You’re not giving said student any guidance,” I say, frowning.

“You’re the second-year Excellence Scholar. Shouldn’t you be capable on your own?”

I stiffen, unsure if that’s an insult or a compliment, and catch myself hoping it’s the latter before shutting that feeling down. I don’t care what Jasper thinks. I reach for my mechanical pencil and composition notebook, which look mediocre next to Jasper’s bajillion-dollar pen and journal. Despite what Jasper likely believes, holding a bougie pen doesn’t dictate note quality. I’ll take great notes. The best notes.

“When did you meet her?” Jasper asks Eli, voice repulsively soothing.

Eli stares over my shoulder as if a shimmering sunset has appeared behind me, full of longing. I turn around. Only a concrete wall. He snaps back to reality. “Sorry. Fifteen days and three hours ago.”

“You met during orientation?”

“One day after. During the debate team’s first meeting of the year. We got special permission to visit the sister academy’s team and plan the flower sale fundraiser we held this week. She’s on their team.”

Jasper writes more. I don’t. Wouldn’t it be nice if my love tutor gave me directions?

Guess I’ll go with what’s always the most logical. Facts.

Patron Name: Eli

Date Met: One day after orientation.

Location: First debate meeting.

Other: Not even three weeks have passed, and he’s acting like he’s lost his princess to a witch handing out free apples.



“Her name?” Jasper asks.

“I was too nervous to ask.”

“Her appearance?”

“She wore a braid. It was super windy. She accidentally wore her blazer inside out.” The longing on Eli’s face returns. “I want to learn more about her and send her a lot of letters, and then I’ll hopefully get the courage to send one to ask her to the mixer—”

“Hold on.” I grip my forehead. “We can’t deliver letters to someone we don’t—”

“We’ll see it through,” Jasper says, pushing a finger against my lips. A chill lances up my spine, the rest of me turning to stone.

“Thank you so much,” Eli gushes before leaving through the curtain.

I rip Jasper’s finger off my face and take a deep breath, attempting to slow down my racing heart. “My shoulder exists.”

“Would that have been enough to stop you from talking? It appeared that you were instigating a duel with him.”

“Well, I’m right. How are you going to find someone you don’t know the name of? Isn’t this extra work for you?”

Jasper eyes me strangely, like his memory is once again jogged by the sass I keep trying and failing to stifle around him. My whole body tenses until the look fades. He lazily spins the base of the taper candle around the tome table, not caring about the flame nor the melting wax. “We’re not only poets, von Hevringprinz. We’re cupids.”

Grimacing, I spring up from the floor. “Well, I didn’t sign up to be a—”

“Yo,” a new patron calls, pulling back the curtain.

Jasper tugs me back down by my blazer. Our shoulders bump, and I grunt. “Come tell us about your situation, Cody.”

As the patron sits, his features jog my memory. The bedhead, the foot for a face—the one from PE who thought me not wanting to take the class was hilarious. He rests an arm along a propped knee and waves my way. “Nice to meet you.”

He can’t even remember who he insults.

My annoyance spikes, but Jasper taps my notebook. I keep writing.

Patron Name: Foot



Jasper, who’s peeking at my note taking, snorts. He covers it up with a cough.

Foot Cody pulls a sports drink out from his bag and takes a swig. Red droplets spill on the tome table. “I need to send a letter to the third-year class president over there.”

Jasper stares at the Red Dye 40 seeping into the bound book page edges, then the NO LIQUIDS sign on the wall. “Name?”

“Rachel. I think.”

“You think?”

“Rachel Wood, maybe.”

Jasper takes the note. “How did you meet? Through your student council duties?”

“Haven’t met her.”

“Then why send a romantic letter?”

“She’s going to be my date for the mixer after she gets this letter.”

Date Met: Unknown.

Reason for Letter: The mixer, like literally everyone else.



Jasper shuts the clasp of his journal, the ocean-blue gemstone reflecting the candle flame. “Thank you. Please send in the next patron on your way out.”

Cody gulps down the rest of his sports drink instead of moving. Another red droplet slithers down his chin and onto his dress shirt, which is as wrinkly as a brain. “Not to doubt your poet-ing skills, but can you write with that little info?”

“I’m not writing your letter.”

My head flicks up at Jasper’s sudden change in tone. The sweetness usually coating it has vanished, leaving behind something colder.