Page 35

Chapter 35

THE SUN ALSO RISES

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 7

When the bell tower curses campus with seven bongs, my face is planted in a book of blackout poetry. I grunt as I sit up in my desk chair, trying to piece together my memory from the night before. After Jasper helped me with my literature guide, I moved over here to work on mixer letters. I finished four.

Only thirty more.

I glance around the room. No Jasper. But there’s proof of his morning routine in the way pieces of his uniform are newly strewn around his desk and bed.

Something slips off my shoulder. I look down.

A patchwork quilt, dotted with ambrosia flowers.