Page 13

Chapter 13

THE TRIAL

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 13

Thankfully, Ms. Nallos spends the remainder of the week of PE teaching volleyball, which requires minimal strength. I only have two exams in my other classes, which is actually a reprieve after the rigor of the past couple days. And English literature introduces a unit on Edgar Allan Poe, who apparently published exactly sixty-nine poems and married his cousin. We never work independently and call it a day like in online school. We read aloud, and Mr. Stern even assigns us a project to present on how each event of Poe’s life—bad and good—affected every word he wrote.

Then there’s Jasper, whose schedule I’m finding ways to work around, thanks to a Saint Valentine miracle. A terrifying morning person like himself showers before the bell tower startles me out of my sleep, which I still struggle to get enough of due to his annoying buzzing bedside lamp. He begs to get breakfast together, despite me declining nine times now, until he surrenders. After lunch, he swaps his morning and afternoon class materials, so I swap mine before. He then only ever returns at least ten minutes after lights-out. My curiosity wonders where he is, but I can’t complain if he’s out of the room and his buzzing lamp is off.

As long as our deal works out, he’ll be gone forever.

A week later, I’m forced to be the face of STRIP.

I stare down the intimidating rows of desks, antique lamps, and chessboards in the near-silent library, only light pencil scribbles and chair squeaks to be heard. Since I’ve been able to study in my room, thanks to Jasper’s absence, I haven’t visited here since I came to hunt down STRIP in the stacks. Just like last time, nearly every station is claimed. Only lights-out forces everyone’s brains to stop.

Jasper’s instructions flood my head. Sit in front of the librarian. Place the STRIP sign on the table. Make sure employees witness you being a real tutor to get them off our trail. Is that too much for you to remember? How does his well of arrogance never go dry?

But then his instructions are replaced by Xavier’s words that have replayed nonstop in my head. Jasper claimed he never saw anything special in them. At least, until you.

A strange tingling takes root in my chest. I hold my textbook tighter to make it stop, then check the double doors. Last night, Jasper said he’d join for moral support until our love lesson. Maybe he’s running late.

I claim a table. From my backpack, I pull out the STRIP TIME paper sign folded into thirds and shove aside the chessboard to make room. Step one. I spot the librarian at her desk and wave. She stops scanning a book to return it, confused. Presence detected. Step two. Finally, I sit, take out my textbooks, and start my chem homework.

A metallic bang comes at my left. Chair legs scrape against the floor.

Down my row, four upperclassmen hover over a water bottle spilled on their homework. One elbows another in a half-rough, half-playful way I’ve seen guys do before. A few quiet laughs pop up from other tables.

A sinking feeling pulls through me as I sit at my empty one-person table. Still very much an outsider.

I shake away the feeling. No one showing up is good. More study time. It’s unlikely visitors would come anyway. Every student knows STRIP is a love letter scheme.

“Bro,” a whisper comes above my head. “Please tell me you’re that new second-year Excellence Scholar.”

A guy no taller than me and with a medium-tan complexion stands by my table, a cross necklace dangling between his plaid blazer lapels. His dark curls are familiar—the same ones in my view during calculus class.

I put down my pencil and inspect his face clearly for the first time. It’s on the rounder side, and his cheeks are soft in a cute, attractive way. “I am.”

“I’m Luis.” His voice cracks. “Listen, I bombed my calc exam last week. Differential equations. You know anything about that garbage?” Another crack.

I try to ignore his voice for the sake of his ego, but my mouth crooks at the charm to it. His constant up-and-down modulation is one I briefly had when mine went through changes. Being reminded that I’ve gone through the same mortification as every other boy here admittedly dials up my pride meter. Then I realize why he looks familiar. “Yeah. You work at the gift shop? In that heart-shaped costume.”

He groans. “Say something else. Anything else.”

“You’re in my class too?”

“Oh yeah! Charlie with the never-ending last name.” Luis plops down in the seat beside me with so much force that the table rattles, echoing through the silent library. Three pieces on the chessboard fall, and heads around us turn. Luis doesn’t care, just tugs on his curls. “Charlie, I got in trouble with my parents. ‘Just go to that tutoring program!’ they shouted. But they don’t know STRIP is really, well, you know.”

“Right,” I say, leaning back and scattering my bangs over my own face.

“But then Jasper Grimes showed up to our homeroom to say that the new second-year Excellence Scholar joined STRIP.”

“He did what?”

“No one told you? At first, I thought Jasper was telling us in code there’s another new love letter deliverer, but then he emphasized real in real good tutor . I cried. There’s a real tutor now? It felt like a sign.” Luis gestures a Father, Son, and Holy Spirit across his upper half.

I mirror him until I remember signing the cross doesn’t operate like a handshake. “That exam was tough.”

Luis pulls his calculus textbook from his bag. Luis Gabriel García Perez is written in permanent marker on the fabric. “I bombed the slope field portion. Got a B-plus.”

“Oh.”

“Super embarrassing, I know. My parents are demanding I get my grade back to a ninety-eight or higher ASAP. What’d you get?”

“A-minus,” I mumble.

“Rough.”

Unspoken Guideline 8: An A? everywhere else is an F? here.

“At least a rough start for you makes sense,” Luis adds, barely keeping his voice low. “You’re new. You gotta figure out a whole new campus on top of locking in.”

Is Luis the first person to acknowledge how hard transferring has been for me?

I smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Tugging on his curls more, Luis opens to our 3.2 homework questions due in two days. A lesson I haven’t gotten a free moment to review yet. “An Excellence Scholar like you must pick up this stuff mad quick. Walk me through these?”

If I can’t solve simple calculus, Luis could tell everyone that the second-year Excellence Scholar is a joke. Outgoing plus attractive like him equals lots of friends, just like Xavier. This could get back to STRIP. No more being their face. No more double room to myself.

No backing out.

I flip to the introductory section of 3.2. After several place short line segments and xy plane phrases later, I’m only more lost. Still, I swipe up his calculator. “Let’s solve number one together first. In drawing the slope field for the differential equation—” I plug in numbers that seem right according to the page. “At the point (–1,1), you’d draw a short segment of slope…”

I write down = 1–2(–1) = 1 + 2 = 3 on scrap paper, then check in the back of the book for answers, squinting in preparation to be wrong.

= 1–2(–1) = 1 + 2 = 3

My eyes widen. I was right?

Luis groans loudly enough to pull the librarian’s focus, but not enough to get shushed. Yet. He points at the (–1, 1) on the page. “Because you substituted both. I only used this one.”

The double doors squeal open.

Jasper? I whip my head around. Three upperclassmen I don’t recognize.

Why am I waiting for him?

Focusing on Luis, I guide him through the nine remaining questions. Every time he answers correctly, he hugs me in full view of the librarian. More STRIP reliability points. Once we’re done, my head brims with equations I suddenly understand. I had fun .

Was I paying attention to my face? My hair? Were we sitting too close?

I can’t remember.

“You’re the best guy in STRIP, for real,” Luis says as he packs his belongings. His curls have doubled in size. “No offense to Jasper. He does write awesome stuff.”

“You think?”

“STRIP, in general, is how Emilio has stayed in touch with his girlfriend every week for the last year. But I guess the two were fighting all through summer break. Once he told Jasper about it and got a love letter written by him, they instantly made up. He’s a wizard.”

“What are Jasper’s letters like?” My face burns once I realize what I asked. I shouldn’t care, but I still can’t figure out Jasper’s social standing. A part of me wants to know others’ opinions. When he speaks in class, he’s cheered on. During passing time, others swarm him. Although same for Xavier. Either they’re popular, or their top five rank is. If it’s the latter, ranking may come with being seen more than I expected. Being watched.

If I join them, that could be a problem.

Luis hums, twirling a black king piece from the chessboard. “I’m not an artist, but there’s something sparkly about Jasper’s writing. It’s basic but relatable.”

Not the answer I predicted. Everything that leaves Jasper’s mouth is so flowery and long-winded. He smells like flowers. His letters should be the same.

“At least that’s what my friends say,” Luis adds, setting down the king.

“You’ve never asked him for a letter?” I ask.

“I don’t have the same barriers as my friends. ’Cause, you know, they’re into girls.”

“Oh.”

“And I’m—”

“Yeah—”

“—into guys.”

“Yeah. Got that.”

Luis isn’t straight. At an all-boys academy. More surprisingly, he isn’t stress-yanking his curls while telling me that.

“You’re not worried?” I ask, swallowing my nerves over discussing anything related to this here. “When traditional is literally in our slogan?”

“I’m careful, for sure. You just gotta find your people, you know?”

I nod, even though I don’t know. Minus Mom and Delilah, I had no one to lean on when figuring myself out. Especially no one like me. Besides, how can I figure out who my people are without first telling them who I am and risking they won’t be?

Luis pokes my chest. “You going to Dix now?”

I glance toward the zigzag paths of the Halo beyond the double doors, where Jasper should’ve shown up an hour ago. The longest I’ve spent in Dixon Dining Hall is a record five minutes. I’ve only awkwardly meandered the perimeter to snag bagels and breadsticks, never sitting down and instead shoving them in my bag to sneak by the check-in workers who have made it clear that removing any food from the dining hall is expressly forbidden. This was my genius plan for dinner again. “In a sense.”

“Wanna join me?”

My heart leaps at the chance to sit without looking like a loner. But this could count as making a friend. People have too-big eyes and mouths. Does Luis? Could he count as finding my people?

A throat clearing interrupts us.

Jasper, smiling at our conversation, but his typical lopsided dimple doesn’t accompany it. Late, of course, because when has Jasper ever cared enough to be on time? He holds a coffee cup from Laney’s Bean Shack and wears tortoiseshell glasses that I’ve never seen in our room. Behind the lenses, his gaze is strangely glazed over. “Apologies, Charlie and I have plans. Unless you’d like to keep making me wait?”

My mouth parts in shock. “Jasper.”

Shockingly, Luis laughs. He even tosses a playful thumb toward Jasper. “This guy. Let’s do lunch some other time, Charlie.” Then he’s out the double doors.

I check if the librarian is at her desk. Nope. I slap Jasper on the arm, and he nearly drops his coffee. “You’re lucky people like you, or they’d beat you up.”

“ Like me?” Jasper grumbles, rubbing away the pain.

“Don’t they?”

He ignores the question. “Whatever did I do to you?”

“Did I do something?”

“I’m surprised to see you accept Luis Perez’s lunch invitation.”

I have declined Jasper in the past, but why would he care? To him, we barely know each other. “The last person you should be upset with is me. Have you forgotten I was your face for hours? Helping your program? Which went well, by the way, thank you for asking.”

“Good.” He sips from his coffee. Black and Plain are checked on the side.

Black coffee. I never noticed during camp. Considering how disgustingly flowery he is in life, I’m surprised he doesn’t guzzle the chocolate-caramel Jesus lattes towering with whipped cream and fifty packets of sugar.

Jasper’s coffee and glasses aren’t the only unexpected additions. For once, his dress shirt is buttoned to his neck and accompanied by a tie. He even wears the plaid blazer instead of casting it over a shoulder, gold number-one enamel pin on the lapel. To anyone else, Jasper would look like an average student, but after witnessing him ignore the dress code for weeks, he looks more distinct somehow. More handsome.

Well, not handsome. He is , objectively, as a poet famous for his looks. But not to me.

Does he really think I’m special?

“You look interesting today” splutters out of my mouth.

Jasper’s brow rises. “Is this your attempt at flattery?”

“No. You’re just.” What am I doing ? “Proper-er.”

“This is my first day as your love tutor.” Jasper sits across from me, setting down his coffee and kicking his dress shoes onto the table. “Thought I should act more proper .”

“Right,” I mutter at the dirty soles.

“Before I can assign you love homework, we need to cover basics. Ready?”

No. But I still grab the mechanical pencil and composition notebook I resonated with from Jasper’s stash last week.

From the chessboard shoved to the side, Jasper picks up a black pawn and points at my notebook with it. “First, take records of my EROS.”

“Your what?”

“Essential Requirements of Seduction.”

My insides recoil. I have no clue what he’s talking about, yet I already know this is the last thing I want to learn. “Go on.”

“The first EROS is to use different handwriting for every letter.”

Nothing to do with seduction so far. “Why?”

“What we sell is an illusion”—Jasper sets the pawn on my notebook—“that the patron has written the letter himself. I sign them with his name, not mine.” He sets another black pawn by the other. “If every letter we sent over to the sister academy used the same handwriting, that illusion would shatter.”

“I guess.”

“Plus, think about if the letters were caught by the academy. Worse, my aunt. What could happen if we used our real handwriting?” Jasper picks up a white queen from the chessboard, grinning. A challenge.

But this is easy. “We could also get caught. Even if we sign these letters with different names, they could trace our handwriting back by comparing them to our assignments.”

Jasper’s forehead wrinkles in a playful way. Satisfaction courses through me, knowing that means I won. He holds up the black king and queen pieces together. “Aren’t you clever, Excellence Scholar? Yes, I don’t want to be traceable. And now, you.” As his final move, he knocks over the black king and queen with the white queen. A reminder that I could get sent home for two reasons instead of one now.

After, he casts aside the chess pieces and pulls my notebook toward himself. “There are three more EROS. Second, write in an environment that will never sway your feelings.”

“Okay.”

“Third, remember that love does not have to make sense; neither do your words.”

Side-eye. “Okay.”

“Fourth, craft for yourself—not your audience—for true connection.”

Double side-eye. “Okay.”

“Once I assign your first homework, make sure to apply these four points. Before I can, though, you need to take part in STRIP’s weekly one-on-ones.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

Behind his glasses, Jasper’s eyes flick around the busy library. “Not in public. You’d be surprised how many eyes and ears lurk. Visit STRIP after your tutoring next Thursday. That’s all you need to know.”