And They Were Roommates(61)
“That I think I need time. I believed you left me behind on purpose for so long. And if I’m being honest, that summer shaped a lot of who I am today. So.”
A pained expression crosses his face. “Like how you feel about romance.”
“I guess.”
“Right.”
The vulnerability becomes too much, and the need to puff up my shoulders and stop anything more from leaking out of my mouth consumes me. “Romance is a scam whether or not that summer happened. But. You know.”
“Of course.” It’s obvious Jasper is holding back a grin, but I prefer that over how he looked before. “I’ll be honest with you too. About why I came over here.”
“Yeah, why were you at the piano gazebo? You play the piano?”
“No, I was just walking by. I saw you slip off that roof, so I rushed over. But I suppose I saw you and Luis before that.”
“You were watching us?”
“You guys seemed alone, and together, and close, and I thought you two were, perhaps—” He shakes his head, stuffing his hands in his peacoat and staring at the sand.
“What?” My logic kicks in. “Oh.”
“Which is fine.”
“We weren’t. He likes someone else, I think.” But Jasper shouldn’t care.
Jasper smiles. “I see.”
It’s not like I’m his long-lost love anymore. That’s impossible. I’m not who I used to be.
My brain sparks with confusion as I bend over to wash the raw egg out of my blazer, then move on to his rosy cheeks. The curve of his chin. “Sorry for the cold. And the eggs.”
“It’s all right. I probably needed to be humbled after last night.”
My laugh morphs into a humiliating snort. I cover my face, which reminds me that I should’ve probably been standing farther away. Jasper has been able to pick apart the intricacies of my face this whole time. How didn’t I realize?
Jasper’s upper lip hitches. “Do you find me that much of a comedian?”
“No. Please don’t get a bigger head.”
Jasper laughs. He leans forward. Closes the distance.
My body stills as his hand lifts toward my face. His thumb drags across my forehead. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I got some egg on you.”
My face flares so hot, it’s dizzying.
He doesn’t like me anymore. I don’t like him anymore. Yet I thought he was doing something else. Something he never, ever will again.
So why didn’t I move?
Why do I feel so strangely empty now that he’s no longer touching me?
“No problemo!” I take a jerky step back, then forward again to hand him my scarf, and trip on my own foot. My palm slaps his chest. “Ah—sorry!”
“Don’t be, Charlie,” he says, holding my forearm. Smiling.
It makes my head spin. Forces me to feel every conflicting emotion of the incurable sickness that I thought was cured.
I walk away as fast as I can, but a nagging voice in my head tells me to wait, to do Xavier a favor and tell Jasper to get off his floor.
“Oh, and Charlie?!” Jasper calls.
I spin around. “Yes?”
“My aunt changed her office back into my room. No need to worry. We’re officially no longer roommates.”
Chapter 30
A ROOM OF ONE’S OWN
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 2
Jasper’s cinnamon candle collection on the windowsill assaults my nose the moment I step into Room 503.
I thought Jasper would have come to grab his things now that he has his aunt’s bedroom back. The patchwork ambrosia flower quilt he took when he was staying with Xavier is still missing, but the eleven throw pillows on his bed are untouched. As are his old-fashioned suitcases, which still poke out from underneath. And the candles. All the candles are still here.
The door closes behind me.
It’s quiet.
That’s a good thing. Only ten days until finals.
As I head toward my desk to start my daily eight-hour study session, the scents of Jasper’s candles keep distracting me. To spare my nose, I could throw them out. At the very least, I could suffocate them in one of his suitcases.
Instead, I walk over and pick up a piece of the broken heart-shaped paperweight beside them. The one Jasper shattered upon seeing me the first day. Holding it up to the lamppost lights beyond the window, I sigh at the cracks. I could’ve helped him glue it together.
From the corner of the room, Jasper watches me.
I flinch, only to realize he’s made of cardboard, and Mardi Gras beads dangle from his neck. Not Jasper. The humiliation that I’ve been caught still runs deep, though, making me rush to set the paperweight down and retreat to my desk. I start with my packet of every chemistry vocab term we learned so far this year. I have to memorize each one.
Opening the packet, I start at the top.
Covalent bond: formed when atoms share electrons; typically between two nonmetals.
No buzzing bedside lamp.
Covalent bond: formed when atoms share electrons; typically between two nonmetals.
No page flips.
No rustling pillows.
Covalent bond: formed when atoms share electrons; typically between two nonmetals.
I blink at the page. How many times did I read that?