And They Were Roommates(41)
“Principal’s nephew powers,” we say at the same time.
I try to ignore my jealousy over how easy his life is, but I barely can. “If his aunt weren’t the principal, you think he’d still hit top five?”
“To be real? I think so. It’s like he has a photographic memory. Instructors could be being lenient on his essays, I guess, but most scores come from our multiple-choice tests. His always come back perfect. Not much subjectivity there, man.”
I huff. Jasper’s book smarts are why I fell for him at camp.
“Anyway,” Xavier says, “Jasper has a few copies of his book lying around his office in the crypt. Maybe you’d get the answers you’re looking for.”
Chapter 21
THE BOOK THIEF
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 11
By a few copies in his office, Xavier meant thirty-eight copies.
Only Saint Valentine knows how many copies of Love Is a Broken Party Clown are also on our Mr. Grimes and Mr. von Hevringprinz bookcase back in our room. Jasper claimed we would meet here after STRIP Time for him to grade my love letters, but he hasn’t shown up yet, and that’s left me studying the bindings designed as red-and-white-striped circus tents. At least, until a pang snakes down my leg. I wince, but Xavier insists that pain means training is working.
I hope that methodology applies to these love letters I nearly ripped my hair out over to finish with Blaze’s help. These last two weeks, my combined STRIP hours, gym training, and midterms workload kept me grinding until the witching hour, so much so that my chemistry quiz slipped my mind. I had to skip lunch with Luis to panic cram. Thankfully, Mr. Stern waited until today to introduce our project on Benjamin Franklin’s neighbor—a man who apparently invented blackout poetry with newspapers. If I’d been given more poetry on top of my love letters, I’d have jumped off the Dixon Writing Gazebo.
While I wait for Jasper, I could sneak a peek at Love Is a Broken Party Clown.
My original mission was to uncover his love life in order to craft letters he’d undoubtedly appreciate, but with this week’s workload, I forgot to read his poetry like Xavier suggested a couple of weeks ago. Really, there’s no reason to dig anymore, since I’ve already finished my letters.
Yet I still glance both ways and grip one of the spines. No footsteps. Just the unsettling silence of the crypt. I snatch the copy from the shelf, a few horse trading cards tucked underneath it falling onto the floor. The clown’s beady eyes on the cover stare at me judgmentally, like it knows I’m sticking my nose into something I shouldn’t.
“Listen, this will help me predict the grade I’m about to get from Jasper,” I insist to the clown. The clown doesn’t respond.
So I flip to the first page.
1.
love is a broken party clown
who has forgotten his lines
after a thousand performances
who honks a horn
and no sound comes
speechless
2.
round and round
the carousel of love
we go
spinning, spinning
never catching up
always chasing
you
My brow spikes. This isn’t a Jasper encyclopedia like Xavier promised. This is barely poetry. Just weirdly constructed sentences. Yet he sold thousands of copies. I suppose this is what Luis meant when he called Jasper’s writing basic.
And, without a doubt, it sounds nothing like what I wrote.
“What are you reading so passionately over there?”
I spin around on my heel. Jasper grins at the front of his office, holding two Laney’s Bean Shack cups and wearing his leather JFG bag. I didn’t hear the bookcase door open.
“Nothing,” I say, tucking the book behind my back. “What’s the F for?”
“Excuse me?”
“On your bag. Your journal. The JFG initials.”
“Are you asking a fun fact about moi? I never thought the day would come.”
“I just see it on your stuff all the time.”
“Really? You’re not trying to distract me from that book tucked behind you?”
My cheeks burn. “I—No.”
“Firstly, it’s Ferdinand. Jasper Ferdinand Grimes.”
I thought my last name was rough. “Okay.”
“Secondly.” Jasper closes the distance between us, handing me one of his coffees. “You didn’t sleep much.”
We may be roommates, but I didn’t think he cared enough to notice. Maybe this is a perk of him thinking I’m special, like Xavier said.
A small smile creeps up my face. “Thank you, Jasper. That’s really nice of you.”
Jasper’s eyes widen a hair, shifting around my own.
A simple thank-you couldn’t have triggered his memory. No way. But why else would he be staring? I hurry to readjust my blazer collar higher up my face. “What’s wrong?”
That seemingly knocks Jasper out of his stupor. “Nothing!” He quickly gestures at the book in my grasp. “Thirdly, what do you think of my work?”
My stomach crumples into a ball. I lift the cover, focusing on the crying clown instead the humiliation confetti cannoning through me. “It’s fine, I guess.”
“Is that a compliment or a critique?”