And They Were Roommates(48)
Only one.
Nausea devours me as I wander away. Voices call after me—something about where I’m going and if I’ve been hypnotized by arachnids—but I barely hear them.
I’m not sharing a room with Jasper for another second.
* * *
“If you need Ms. Lyney, she won’t be back until Monday,” a middle-aged man in a red-and-black-plaid newsboy cap says from the office counter. Must be back-end weekend staff. The name tag on his blazer reads MR. ACOSTA on top and WE’RE LISTENING AND LEARNING. WE’RE VALENTINE! on the bottom.
Unspoken Guideline 14: Mr. Acosta wants me to slam my skull against the counter and split it in half, forever changing the trajectory of his life.
I stand there in defeat. The one day my body rejects itself, I need enough brainpower to explain my housing situation to another person in charge. The gnomes on the wall cackle and jiggle at my suffering.
“Shut up,” I hiss at them.
Only when Mr. Acosta’s buggy eyes bulge larger do I realize what I did. Have I taken shrooms?
“There was a mix-up with my residential hall room,” I say. “I’m unsure if you could help me with this, but my roommate and I were supposed to have single rooms. There was a mix-up, so now we’re in a double together.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really.” It leaves my lips desperately. Exasperatedly. I can’t hold back any longer. “Ms. Lyney barely looked at my file before she dismissed it.”
Mr. Acosta exhales like he doesn’t get paid enough for this. But he does, according to the tuition I’ll be demanded to pay if I don’t reach the top five soon. “What’s your name again?”
Optimism thrums inside me. “Charlie.”
He types on the computer. “Last name?”
“Von Hevringprinz.”
“German?”
“My name? Um. Yeah.”
“Ah, your roommate is Principal Grimes’s nephew,” Mr. Acosta remarks.
Not you’re one of our Excellence Scholars. Not you’re the transfer student. I’m tied to Jasper with a rope. I need to burn it now. I’ll do anything. Weep. Beg. Raise my voice at an authority figure for the first time in my life. “You know that?”
“It says so here. Strange. Mr. Grimes lived in Philautia’s single suite last year. I believe I recall Nathalie—Principal Grimes—saying she converted her office space into a bedroom for him in the instructor quarters as well.”
I stare back at him wildly. “She did what?”
This whole time, Jasper had another room. Of course the principal’s nephew did. How did I never consider that?
Why didn’t Jasper?
Fury burns in my chest. I clench a fist at my side, trying to hold it together. “Could Jasper move into his aunt’s housing as a compromise, then?”
“I assume so. I’m surprised this was never suggested to you both as an option. Can you refresh my memory on what exactly Ms. Lyney told you?”
“Not much. My check was never sent in, so the academy randomly assigned me a room and roommate, and there’s nothing else in my file?”
The longer Mr. Acosta’s eyes scan the screen, the more his gaze narrows in confusion. “Not sure what Ms. Lyney saw, but there’s indeed a file here.”
“Wait, my check?”
“Not quite.” He looks up. “According to our records, you and Jasper Grimes requested to be roommates.”
Chapter 24
A MODEST PROPOSAL
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 12
I slam the door to Room 503 behind me with the force of a billion newtons.
Jasper shrieks where he sits on his bed and startles, tossing his book. The cover slaps the poster of him on the ceiling and then falls back to his lap. Yet another P.M. Laframboise collection. He’s this obsessed with the guy? Come on. I bet even I can write better than that strawberry shortcake.
“What’s gotten into you, Charlie,” Jasper mumbles.
Gripping on to the baroque—French country—whatever wallpaper, I heave out breaths after marching up five flights, but not as many as I expect. Xavier’s training is paying off. “I’m irritated. Wanna know why I’m irritated?”
“Why?” Jasper asks. His bedside lamp buzzes beside him, even though it’s only afternoon, and the ambrosia design pattern of his quilt is spread smoothly over his legs. His hair is still left down and frizzy from last night. He looks sleepy. A bit cute.
What the FUCK, CHARLIE?
“You know how we were both supposed to have single rooms?” I say ten times shriller than I want to, thanks to my revolting thoughts.
Jasper nods, shoulders stiff.
“And we thought there was a mix-up?”
Another nod.
“There was more than a mix-up. There was a catastrophic, what-the-fuck, how-could-you-do-this mix-up.”
“What was it?”
Tossing my workout bag, I make my way through our room, which Jasper must’ve cleaned. His optimal love-letter-writing environment has been wiped since last night. Thank Saint Valentine. “They insist we signed up to be roommates together. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“F-fascinating.”
“How is this fascinating? Now we’re stuck together because of some story they came up with out of nowhere.”