And They Were Roommates(5)

The Sexiest Poet of the Year poster boy with glistening blue eyes and blond hair pulled into a stubby ponytail. In real life. Staring back at me.

The speech I prepared drains out of my head.

Jasper Grimes is really here.

Jasper tosses the paperweight despite saving it seconds ago. The glass cracks against the windowsill and falls to the floor in chunks. “Charlie von Hevringprinz!”

Even though he’s never spoken this full name before, everything about the way he says it sounds so familiar.

Next thing I know, he dashes across our room—or, rather, with so many books in the way, he hops—and snatches my hands. His flowery fragrance swirls around me, and his touch is as freezing as I remember it being. The cons of having a heart secretly made of ice.

He smiles so wide I worry his whole face will crack like the paperweight. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

As if he hasn’t recognized me. Yet.

I take in his fluttery pale lashes, the ever-present red tint to his cheeks, and the frayed hairs that have escaped his ponytail. It’s all the same as two years ago.

Keep your head down.

I abruptly step back. How sharp is my face in this lighting? I haven’t checked how my arms look in this blazer yet. “P-pleasure.”

“A shame that we lost our single rooms.”

“You got screwed over too?”

“Yes, but what a plus. Now I’m roommates with the second-year Excellence Scholar. The fact that you beat out thousands and stand before me now. A genius!”

“Oh, I’m not a genius.” My focus drifts toward the first three buttons of his red dress shirt left undone, showing off his collarbone and chest. He’s always been just toned enough—not too muscular or slight—to appear as if he casually plays an after-school sport. Obviously, the Sexiest Poet of the Year, whose hobbies include posing for cameras, charming every woman within a mile radius, and punching hearts to death has to look good.

I mean, he does look good. But that has nothing to do with me anymore.

“Of course you’re a genius,” Jasper says, yanking my focus up again. “Did you not start that English tutoring program in New York City? The one that gained thousands in nonprofit support in a single year?”

“I did…”

“See?”

Admittedly, the compliment touches me. After I decided to defer for a year, my Excellence Scholar spot was replaced. Only four are here at a time, chosen as a first year to represent their class until graduation. When I was later told my replacement left after his first year, I assumed I was dreaming. At least until I realized no one would leave that honor behind willingly. There were two possibilities: One, he got kicked out for breaking guidelines. Maybe even for a reason like mine.

Two, more likely, he couldn’t handle the pressure.

I refuse to be like that replacement. I will last until graduation.

“How do you know all of this?” I ask Jasper.

“My aunt told me. Have you considered tutoring here?”

Rewind. “Your aunt?”

“I suppose you know her as Principal Grimes.”

“Your aunt is the principal?”

Jasper’s memorable laugh trickles off his lips. Soft and bubbly. “Pretending not to know. You’re funny, von Hevringprinz.”

I return a laugh, but it’s frail. Of course. The sole woman who has the power to send me home, and who will either approve or deny my single room request, is Jasper’s aunt. Of course I somehow never came across that memorable last name through my application process. Of course Jasper was supposed to have a single. As her nephew, probably the fanciest.

And he, without a doubt, doesn’t recognize me.

I should be relieved, but the tip of my tongue burns with what rages within me instead. How did it feel to kiss me while writing poetic love letters to three other people during camp? You couldn’t have cared enough to even remember my very memorable mess of a last name?

“Your aunt is letting you stay stuck in a double?” I ask, trying to stay calm.

Jasper shrugs and walks toward his desk. “I didn’t file a complaint. I’ve heard a roommate can be fun. With an Excellence Scholar like yourself, I bet our conversations will be stimulating. A blessing in disguise!”

“Right,” I mutter. “A blessing.”

As he rummages through books scattered across his desk, a silver bracelet jangles against his wrist, competing with the cricket chirps filtering through the cracked-open window for most obnoxious, high-pitched sound. “I assume you’d like my autograph? I’ve never offered this to anyone before, so please keep this hush-hush from my followers.”

“Wait, what?”

Jasper holds up a paperback book like a trophy. Love Is a Broken Party Clown curves around a poorly drawn crying clown printed on the cover. The title isn’t what makes my brow furrow. It’s the author’s name. His name.

“You published a book?” I ask, and I fail to hold back my sass this time.

Jasper’s head tilts like he almost recognizes it. Like this was definitely how I spoke to him when we first met at camp too.

My whole body tenses.

“Poetry collection,” he finally says, slowly and curiously. “My most popular posts online.” He signs the inside with a permanent marker and hands me the copy. “For you, roommate.”