And They Were Roommates(31)
“One week works, Tutor Jasper.” I punt a chunk of gravel, imagining I’m aiming for the back of Jasper’s stubby ponytail. “That’s fine, Tutor Jasper. What is wrong with you, Charlie?”
No way can I finish nineteen letters in one day—and make them meaningful enough to have them read at a wedding—like Luis suggested. My true feelings. I don’t have any when I have zero experience in the art of romance.
Well, a little.
My mind flashes with memories of the only person I’ve kissed, looking two years younger than he does now, and my heartbeat thrums quicker. Jasper doesn’t count as experience in the art of romance when he broke my heart. He’s left me with negative experience.
Voices pull my attention. By Laney’s Bean Shack, raincoated bodies swarm the grade ranks beneath the awning. Two instructors use stepladders to hang listings. A third sits with a basket on her lap. The numbered enamel pins.
My name is high enough on the ranks to make out above the crowd.
28. Charlie von Hevringprinz
Relief shoots up to my head and down to my toes. Halfway to the top five.
I have to tell Mom.
I rush through the Halo, shielding myself against the wind with my umbrella until I’m slamming open the office door. Ms. Lyney startles behind the counter, but the lifelike stuffed gnomes on the shelves stay still. She gawks at the umbrella dripping by my thigh, then the sopping coattail of my basic, non-Valentine-branded raincoat.
“May I contact my mom?” I ask through a gasp for breath.
Even though communication with family is minimal, according to the guidelines package, Ms. Lyney simply searches up my name to dial Mom and holds out the phone. My flushed face and dramatic entrance must’ve screamed emergency enough.
I set my umbrella by the door and take the phone. After two rings, Mom picks up.
“Hello?” Her voice warbles more than normal on that one word alone, which means she definitely saw the Valentine caller ID. Like she’s already expecting the worst.
My chest sinks. Maybe, because of what I’m hiding, she always will be.
“It’s me,” I say.
“Charlie! What a surprise.” A pause. “Did something happen? You’ve caught me painting spiders and ghosties on the bookshop windows, and I can’t easily sit down at the moment.”
I try to focus on the good news. My improved grades, even with STRIP taking up half my time and Jasper breathing down my neck at every other moment. Proving to her that I can handle this place, even if I’m on the boys’ side of campus. “I’m ranked twenty-eight out of the second-year class now, and still with two months to go.”
“That’s a jump!”
“Yeah. I think I’ll only get higher from here.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Mom says. “This must’ve been a huge challenge, especially with everything else you’re adapting to there. Have you thought about taking the train down for a weekend sometime soon?”
A piece of me wants to be thankful for the recognition. Even if Mom wasn’t in my exact shoes when she was an Excellence Scholar, she understands the pressure of the ranking board. Of excelling. But take the train down for a weekend leaves a sour taste in my mouth, like she’s still waiting for me to give up.
And she doesn’t even know the half of it. Right now, she thinks I have a single room to myself. Instead, I have a Jasper because the check I gave her never got delivered.
How did it never get delivered?
My stomach twists as I stand there, clutching the phone.
“Charlie? Charlie?”
“Do you remember what address was on the letter for my single room check?” I ask.
“Check?”
“I gave it to you on your way to the store one morning,” I say. “The office said they never got it, so now I’m in a double room. With another guy.”
There’s a long pause.
My heart drops. This has to be my fault. The academy’s. If it isn’t—“Mom.”
“Oh, Charlie, I think—let me see.” Shuffling sounds come from over the line. Probably all the paperwork swarming her cash register. “It’s right here. I’m so sorry. It slipped my mind.”
“Are you serious?”
“I can send it today. Or can you pay for it now with your card?”
A confusing mixture of betrayal and understanding swirls in my gut. Mom never takes a day off. She’s exhausted. I know this.
But this was so important.
“Yeah,” I lie weakly, even though there are no more single rooms. How can I say otherwise? She’ll only worry more. “I can try with my own card.”
“Good. I’m so sorry, Charlie. Really.”
The clock on the wall between the gnomes catches my eye. Five minutes until STRIP Time. And—end me—Jasper’s love letters. “I need to go. Love you.”
“Love you, Charlie. I’ll make this up to you whenever you visit.”
Chapter 16
VANITY FAIR
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25
When I unlock Room 503, it’s empty, even though it’s twelve minutes past lights-out.
Over the last few weeks, Jasper has still come home later than guidelines dictate, giving me plenty of time to shower and change without unwanted interruptions. But after STRIP Time, I got so caught up with distracting myself from Mom and my nineteen love letters that I didn’t register the warning bell until the other library desks were vacant. I sprinted to Philautia Residence Hall faster than gravitational waves traveling at light speed and, by some cupid’s blessing, didn’t get caught.