Page 43

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 15

In the office, Ms. Lyney plays with a gnome’s stubby arms on her desk, humming the Ghostbusters theme song.

I knock on the doorframe.

She blinks out of her daze. Today, her spirit wear sweatshirt is accompanied by a Valentine baseball cap, red sweatpants, and a pendant necklace of the arrow-stabbed heart crest. She bought out the whole gift shop. “Wasn’t the mixer wonderful, Charlie?”

“Yeah.”

“This academy is wonderful. All of you kiddos are. So wonderful.”

Mr. Stern definitely put a ring in that gnome.

When I first came to Valentine, I would’ve cringed. I never would’ve understood that Ms. Lyney can allow herself to be vulnerable with love because she has confidence in herself. Now all I feel is jealousy. “I need to call back my mom.”

With a vacant hum, she dials for Mom and passes me the phone. I head into the back room. As the phone rings, I check my watch. Twenty minutes until I meet Jasper at the lake. Unless he doesn’t show up.

Worry races through me at the high probability.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Charlie, finally! Hold on, let me stop shelving these books.” A few thuds come over the line. “I saw the email with the final ranks. Have you asked if there’s extra credit? Rank Six is so close. We can fix this.”

“No, it’s okay. The academy is getting rid of the ranks. I’m staying.”

“Really?” Mom shouts so loudly that I pull the phone away from my ear. “This is the best news! This will put a huge dent in your stress over there, won’t it? But remember, you’re always welcome back home anytime if things change.”

“Mom, can I talk to you?”

“What is it?”

“Do you think I can’t handle this?”

“What do you mean?”

I clench the hem of my coat. “You keep encouraging me to come home like you keep expecting I’ll give up on Valentine.”

“Oh, sweetie, no. That’s not what I mean at all.”

“But you’re worried, right? That the administration will find out?”

“Of course I’m going to worry.”

“Well, I talked to the principal last night, and I told her,” I say.

Silence falls on the other end.

“What did she say?” Mom’s voice is unreadable over the phone. Never have I wished to see her face more than now.

“She said the board of trustees will take a look at adjusting the guidelines for me,” I say. “She even said I can come to her anytime with issues.”

“Really?” I can practically hear Mom’s brow soaring. “That’s… I’m shocked, Charlie. I’m so thrilled to hear. You’re doing okay after that? That must’ve been scary.”

“To be honest, I haven’t had the easiest time since I got here,” I admit. I don’t know why I do, but it seems right, like Mom and I are getting somewhere—and it’s like a dam breaking, how good it feels to finally tell her the truth. “But I’m doing better now. I’ve found support.”

“Oh, good. From instructors?”

“A few. And friends.”

“Good!” Her voice is calmer now. “I understand what you mean. I didn’t have an easy time adjusting to Valentine either.”

“What?”

“Mhm. Staying top five was a nightmare for me.”

“But you took me here all the time when I was younger. You loved it.”

“Well, Valentine is still a wonderful academy. It’s such a privilege to go. But those Excellence Scholar requirements—that’s a lot of pressure to put on someone your age. Anyone. At times, it was admittedly the worst I’ve felt in my life.”

I fall quiet in my disbelief. Mom’s gone through a failing bookstore and a divorce.

“That’s why I’ve been offering for you to come visit home whenever you’d like,” she continues. “I remember wishing Grandma and Grandpa would’ve done the same for me when I desperately needed a break.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I ask.

“Well, you wanted to go so badly. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I mean, thanks,” I mumble on a light laugh. “But don’t you always worry about me? How is that fair?”

Mom laughs back. “I also didn’t want this to deter you with so many other things on your plate. I wanted to support you like you asked. And you’re very capable. But I should’ve. I’m glad you’re doing better.”

She’s listening. Finally.

The tension inside me dissolves. “Thank you.” I check the clock. Ten minutes till Jasper. “I have to meet up with someone now. I’m excited to see you over break.”

“Have fun,” Mom says. “Oh, and Charlie, last thing: Despite my rockier memories of Valentine, I made many more beautiful ones. Make a whole bunch this year for me.”

I check my watch as I reach the Dixon Writing Gazebo. Five minutes past twelve. He should be in there, but vine trellises block me from seeing inside.

Nerves throw a rave in my chest as I stand there, unable to move. Jasper and I are really about to spend the whole afternoon alone.

I’m really about to try to write him a love letter.

That’s what I’ve decided. It only seems fair, especially after he’s written so many about me. But I’ll need to be honest about everything I’ve shoved down for years. Even with Jasper by my side, I’m still not sure if I know how.

My heart pounds as I finally walk up. The archway comes into view. Then the benches. Then Jasper, scribbling in his journal. The heat lamps are set so high that his peacoat is balled up on the wood planks. He wears a loose dress shirt—no number-one pin on the collar—with only my scarf to keep him warm despite being surrounded by snow.

He showed up .

Relief floods me as I knock against a wood pillar. “Can I come in?”

Jasper’s head lifts, blond hair whisping across his cheeks. His gaze zaps around the bushes and lakefront like a lost first year. “What time is it?”

“Can’t you always tell from where the sun is?” I point toward the sky.

He flicks his pen in the same direction, his bracelet jingling against his wrist. “The finicky heavens decided to be overcast today. So, no, I cannot see the sun.”

“About noon.”

“Already?”

I step into the gazebo, only to then embarrassingly hover around his bench. Sitting too close is too pushy. Too far away is too awkward. I opt for about a foot’s length, set my backpack on the floor, and take out my notebook.

Jasper’s pen was moving when I got here, but now the notebook on his lap is blank. He must’ve flipped the page. He looks at me. “You said you wanted to write?”

That is what we came here for. “I suppose.”

“Okay.” He picks up his pen and dates the top left of his paper in silence. He still doesn’t pry about why I’ve requested this time together, but from the way he’s gripping his pen like a lifeline, I can only imagine the number of questions in his mind.

I stare down at my notebook. To write this love letter, I’ll need to create the words myself. There won’t be an answer I can carve out like blackout poetry.

But this may be the last opportunity Jasper will ever give me.

Placing my pencil to the paper, I inhale, exhale, and write. For the first time, I try to release every ounce of honesty Jasper taught me, every emotion Mr. Stern claimed would bring my work to the next level. I don’t second-guess a word despite my brain warning me that I’m too vulnerable, too weak, too illogical. I write everything about romance that I hate. Or, maybe, used to hate.

The church bell towers chime in unison.

I look up. Already?

“Was that the last lunchtime bell?” I ask him.

“Guess we should go,” Jasper says, casually filing his red ribbon bookmark into his journal as if what he said is no big deal. But a heavy disappointment weighs down his words. He expected me to do something. And he didn’t get it.

I’ve broken his heart again.

I reread the words on my paper. How can I possibly recite this love letter to a famous poet like Jasper Grimes?

Jasper is standing now, his cross-body bag slung over a shoulder.

I grip his blazer cuff. “Wait a sec.”

“What’s wrong? You look ill.”

I rip the letter out and smooth the frayed edges. My hands are shaking so much that I can barely make out my own writing.

“Charlie?” Jasper says.

“ROSES ARE RED.”

He jolts back, gripping his chest. “Y-yes, they are.”

Too loud. I hide my face behind the paper. Mortifying. “Can I try that again?”

“Sure,” he mumbles.

“Roses are red. Violets are blue. I’m disappointed that I met you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“For violets have become the tint of your eyes and your favorite food, reminding me of who fate keeps bumping me into. Now the lies I’ve whispered to myself are drowned out by the truth”—I take an unsteady breath—“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The waves roll. The heat lamp crackles beside us.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Cringe. So cringe.

Unspoken Guideline 19: Mom was wrong. There are no beautiful memories at Valentine. Only mortifying, terrible, I-want-to-die memories.

Something knocks against me. Jasper, sitting on the bench again, leaning against my shoulder. He buries his face in the crook of my neck. “One more time.”

“Huh?”

“One more time. Recite it again.”

“What? No way—” I try to shrink away. Of course he’s trying to embarrass me. The actual good poet. “Jasper—?”

“Charlie.” I’ve never heard his voice this soft before, yet there’s something more unrestrained that simmers beneath it, too, making my chest burst in ways I never knew existed. “Just the last bit at least.”

“I—” I clench the letter tighter. “Fine. I said, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Jasper pulls away, dimple popped. The sunlight reflected in his blue eyes shimmers as strikingly as the frozen lake. “Thank you. That was a brilliant poem.”

Unspoken Guideline 19 (Revised): Maybe Mom was right.

“It’s a bit mean,” I mumble, readjusting my glasses to distract myself from the butterflies detonating inside me. “And not really a poem. Just a letter.”

“That’s what makes it brilliant. It’s an authentic work by you. About time.”

“Hey, it was impossible to write other people’s love letters authentically. I didn’t know any of them, unlike you.” I cross my arms.

Jasper’s lip quirks up. “Of course. My apologies.”

“This is still scary, though.”

“What is?”

“Reciting this letter. I thought that once I did, I’d stop being scared. And I have. Sort of. Because I trust you. With everything. But now it feels different. It feels”—I waver—“good, almost? Exciting? Does this make sense?”

Jasper pulls me closer by the wrist and kisses me.

Instantly, I sink into him, letting my arms wrap over his shoulders, and I feel him smile against me as his hand finds my knee, gently trailing higher up my thigh. There’s a hint of bitterness on his lips, probably from the black coffee he drank this morning, and it mixes with the floral notes of his shampoo and fragrance. My head floods with how much I’ve wanted this again from only one bed away, and for so long.

Finally, I let him kiss me first.

His lips drift across my cheek until he’s by my ear, and a chill races through my spine. “Love is never not scary. It’s a matter of whether you’re enjoying that fear.”

“I am. I know I am now.”

“I am too.”

“Really?” I lean back, cupping his rosy face in my palms. “Really?”

“Really,” Jasper says.

So much joy bursts through me—too much—that all I can think to do is kiss his cheeks until my lips are exhausted. A final thought hits me, and my body flashes so hot that I must be a thousand degrees. “Our room.”

He smirks. “Convenient, isn’t it?”

A million degrees. “I—Well. I know you technically just moved back in, but last night, I think I accidentally told your aunt to make sure you stay with her. So I don’t know if you can come back.”

“You what ?” Jasper slaps a hand to his forehead and collapses, slumping on the bench. “Charlie von Hevringprinz, you drive me up the wall.”

“It was for a good reason! I told her everything I’ve been hiding.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She’s looking into updating the guidelines package to help me.”

Jasper’s gaze softens. “I’m happy for you, Charlie. Truly. I have a feeling there’s a new, wonderful journey ahead of you.”

I laugh, but I still roll my eyes. “No more poetry today. I’m poetry-ed out.”

A laugh leaves Jasper, too, his lopsided dimple popping again. He sits back up and squeezes my hand, then kisses me again. “So, no longer roommates.”

“No.” I scoot closer, laying my head on Jasper’s shoulder. “Something much better.”