Page 7

Chapter 7

PERSUASION

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4

When I pull back the library door, the hinges shriek louder than Delilah when she’d chuck her shoes at bugs during camp. Yet no students glance up from their textbooks. After a long day of classes, they remain absorbed at desks that stretch back to the stacks. A few play on marble chessboards at the center of each, but most have books loaded so high that they touch the green-shaded antique lamps curved over them.

My footsteps echo as I walk through the middle aisle, keeping an eye out for a sign or group marked with TUTORING . The farther I venture, the more a familiar scent of ink and paper chemical breakdowns floods my nose, transporting me back to Queens. Mom always said her used books section made her store smell sweet, like acidic vanilla.

Two students rush past and through a high arch leading into the stacks, so quickly their backpacks jostle against their backs.

“—we won’t get any help,” I barely hear one hiss to the other.

Tutoring help? Back in the stacks?

I follow them through the arch, only to go still from awe. No matter how far back I tip my head, the bookcases rise. A forest of stories lives back here.

The two students round the corner. I catch up, dodging rolling ladders and step stools until I reach a section marked TRAVEL & TOURISM .

A figure stands at the end. Blond hair pulled into a short, messy ponytail. Red-and-black-plaid blazer slung over a shoulder. Cross-body bag with a sparkling JFG emblem. Jasper, trailing a finger along a spine of books.

I freeze. What is he doing here?

Murmurs come from the next aisle. The last thing I need is Jasper noticing me while I’m in the middle of a chase. Tiptoeing past him, I pass by CRUISE LINES , TRAVEL AGENTS , ECOTOURISM , and HOSPITALITY INDUSTRY , before I realize the two students have stopped. One reaches toward the right side of a shelf and tugs on a green spine.

The bookcase swings inward. The two slip through, and it shuts again.

I’m hallucinating. Clearly. Or there’s a secret door. In the library.

I inspect the green spine. A thin booklet of Cupid and Psyche by Lucius Apuleius Madaurensis. In the travel section?

I tug the spine. Slowly, the bookcase reveals a small, office-sized room split by a maroon brocade curtain. The right is too dark to make out much, but the left is lit by antique library lamps set on shelves and sandwiched between mythologies and books of fairy tales. A runner rug directs a single-file line of red-and-black bodies toward the back, where three guys stand behind books stacked like makeshift tables. A handwritten sign stretches above.

Welcome to the Student Tutoring Remediation Interdisciplinary Program!

The tutoring program is back here.

As I wiggle my way around the line, the vanilla-like tang in the air grows muskier, more like dirt and mothballs, and I scrunch my nose. Eventually, I reach the three guys seemingly in charge, who must be tutors. I recognize two of them.

Xavier Nguyen, who saved my life in PE, writing names in a notebook. Seeing his muscles stuffed into the typical plaid-on-plaid uniform instead of a tracksuit is jarring. An enamel pin of the number three is fastened above the Valentine crest on his lapel, the gold material carved with flower petals, flaunting its price tag.

Robby Walker, aka Rank Two on the second-year grades, stands on his right. Another enamel pin is on his blazer: the number two. He shuffles cards with sparkles on one side and illustrated drawings on the other, but his rapid hand movements shield details. Trading cards? On his makeshift table, a horse-riding helmet is flipped upside down, full of more cards.

Not average tutor behavior.

Still, my nerves settle. I know them. I know someone here. “Hi—”

“Cutting is for the weak,” a third tutor beside Xavier interrupts. His low voice sounds forced to the back of his throat, yet it’s still higher in pitch than all the other competing conversations. His dress shoes, marked with spikelike symbols, are kicked up on his book stack. Between his narrow shoulders and shortness—he’s no taller than five feet—he looks younger than a first year.

I tilt my head. Most of his face is shrouded by bangs that crinkle like seaweed and look too black to be natural. The guidelines don’t allow dyed hair. “Excuse me?”

“You hearkened me.” The boy looks up, his bangs splitting and revealing such a pale complexion that his hair looks even darker now. He flashes a ring on his thumb—a ruby varsity gemstone that matches Mom’s varsity ring on my finger. “Or shall I eradicate you myself?”

I glance around, expecting everyone to acknowledge the middle schooler who has broken into Valentine to threaten me.

Only Xavier stops writing in his notebook. “Oh, Charlie.”

My chest leaps. He remembered my name.

Except no one is supposed to remember who I am. No spotlights. I push down my excitement. “Yeah. Hi.”

A slamming noise strikes behind us. I startle and look over my shoulder.

Fairy-tale books tumble off a shelf where Jasper’s shoulder is pressed now, like he rammed into the thing at full force. His breathing is heavy. “Is someone named Charlie here?”

I stare at him in horror. Does he have the hearing of a hawk?

“Who’s holding up the line?” someone complains.

Bobby signals those impatiently waiting to shift farther down, moving them away from our conversation. Once the crowds split enough for Jasper to spot me, he rushes to the front on a blast of his sneeze-inducing floral fragrance, shampoo, and soap— all of it.

“I see you couldn’t resist spending intimate time with me today, roomie,” Jasper says through a grin. He wears an enamel pin too—a gold number one fastened to his red dress shirt, weighing down the neckline and exposing his collarbone more than usual.

“Why are you here?” I ask, keeping my eyes firmly on his face.

“STRIP.”

I clutch my blazer. “Excuse me?”

“Student Tutoring Remediation Interdisciplinary Program,” Xavier says, who’s returned to jotting names and numbers in his notebook. “STRIP for short.”

There’s no way Jasper, Rank One, needs tutoring. Logically, there’s only one reason why he’s here.

I struggle to stop my expression from contorting. “You’re a tutor.”

“Welcome to the most helpful program on campus,” Jasper says. “Here to assist with all your”—he tosses up air quotes—“‘tutoring needs.’”

“Do those numbers mark you as tutors?” I ask, gesturing at the pin on Jasper’s collar.

He glances down. “No, these are our top five passes.”

“Your what?”

“Didn’t you check the weekly grade announcements today? Did you see an instructor sitting around with a basket?”

“No?”

“They hand these out at noon every time on both campuses. Well, to any student who ranks top five of their class. As long as we keep our rank, we get special access to the equestrian center that’s half on their campus and half on ours, Friday through Sunday.”

Another part of Valentine I never knew existed. “An equestrian center is our perk? Who cares about horses?”

“Who cares about horses?” Robby repeats farther down the line. His eyes are wide with shock. Almost offense.

I bite the inside of my cheek for failing to blend in once again. Must be a weird rich-people thing. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s not only about the horses,” Jasper says. “Whenever the top five visit the equestrian center, they also get to see the top five girls .”

Of course. “The academy allows that as a perk?”

“Well, that perk, in particular, isn’t written on paper. It’s more like a glitch in the system. Faculty claims the whole arrangement is to encourage friendly competition. They’ll do anything to make sure we stay the best private academy in the nation.”

That’s almost more screwed up than having a public grade board. Delilah and Mom never mentioned this. “Is everyone who ranks in this thing?”

“Some ranks change too often. Rank Fours and Fives, really. But most refuse to get involved.”

Most refuse. Yet I’m supposed to join this. “Why?”

Jasper twirls a finger in the air, his bracelet jangling so obnoxiously that I debate ripping it off. “Because we are not here to tutor, von Hevringprinz. We—”

“ Jasper ,” Xavier mutters warily from his table, then faces me again. “Sorry, man, but we shouldn’t share too much since you’re, well, new.”

A piece of my heart cracks. Still a transfer. An outsider.

“We can trust Charlie about us being non-tutors,” Jasper insists, walking over and swatting Xavier’s shoulder. “He’s an Excellence Scholar.”

“Yeah,” I say, admittedly appreciating Jasper sticking up for me. If everyone else knows, then I need to, especially since Principal Grimes expects me to fix this. “You’re… non-tutors?”

“French for not a tutor,” Jasper answers. “Apologies, this may be confusing for you since you don’t speak the world’s most romantic language like moi. Really, we deliver love letters.”

“ Love letters?”

“Oui. Although some simply use the service to keep in touch with their girlfriends beyond the wall, I offer a much more popular, secondary option of writing love letters on their behalf. I am a renowned poet, after all. Then the other members bravely deliver them to the sister academy each week and pick up whatever the sister academy wishes to send back. Blaze delivers, mostly. Robby and Xavier step in, too, to avoid suspicion.”

My shock quickly turns to anger.

Somehow, writing to three other girls behind my back at camp wasn’t enough to knock Jasper’s love letter obsession out of his system.

“Why waste time on pointless love letters?” I say too sharply. I can’t help it. Now my principal-assigned job is impossible. These guys don’t tutor at all .

Jasper’s mouth hangs open. “Pointless? How else will these heartbroken souls stay in touch with their crushes and lovers across the cockblockade that divides our academies?”

People really do refer to that wall as a cockblockade. “They won’t?”

“Exactly! Saint Valentine would weep over so many young lovers being ripped apart.” He passionately clasps his hands together and looks to the ceiling. “Isn’t that right?”

Saint Valentine doesn’t respond. Neither do I.

Xavier does. “We operate under the tutoring program so that the academy doesn’t suspect us of breaking their biggest guideline—no talking to the sister academy. That’s why we only allow top fives to join.” He points at his number-three pin. He wasn’t top three of the second-year class, so he must be an upperclassman. “We aren’t seen as rulebreakers. Plus, we’re the only ones who can access the equestrian center that connects to both academies. Our way in to trade letters with a few other top fives who have their own long-established system.”

I glance around at the shelves, then the door. Maybe only the brightest of Valentine could pull this off. “How has this stayed a secret?”

“Before Jasper? No clue. It’s been tradition for years.” Xavier points at Jasper. “Nowadays, we rely on the principal’s nephew’s powers.”

Beside me, Jasper beams.

Unspoken Guideline 5: Principal’s nephew’s powers beat the guidelines.

“According to legend, when the academy was established in 1899, the administration set up the Student Teaching Remediation Interdisciplinary Program as a real tutoring program,” Jasper explains further. “Only a few months later did our brave forefathers start to set up a communication method with the sister campus instead. Allegedly, the librarians forgot this janitor closet existed, so it was usurped to keep their meetings about their letter deliveries a secret. We so valiantly carry on their mission—and continue to improve and grow.”

My mind sparks. I already wished that Delilah had forewarned me of several dreadful surprises since showing up here, but this might be the biggest one. Students on both campuses have seriously risked expulsion for being involved in this for a hundred years. All in the name of tradition.

Maybe I’ll never be able to understand the others at this academy. I pull out Principal Grimes’s note from my slacks. “Well, the principal asked me to join since no one’s grades are improving. They’re getting suspicious.”

The four non-tutors stare at the letter with fiery intensity.

Jasper sways so much that he stabilizes himself against a shelf. The waves of hair escaped from his stubby ponytail cast across his face. “My aunt? It’s over for us?”

“Nay,” says the short seaweed-bang boy from earlier—Blaze, apparently—who I now notice has tied his blazer sleeves around his neck, the rest fluttering behind him like a childish dress-up cape. Is he a student here? If he is, he must be a first year. “We won’t be defeated. I propose we outsource a face to keep the enemy off our trail. A courageous warrior who tutors at the study desks daily, in full view of the librarians, while we operate back here.”

“You came up with that quickly,” I say, impressed.

“We’ve already needed a new one for a while,” Xavier says, rising from his seat behind his book stack and tossing his pen on his notebook. “Sometimes first years come for real tutoring and threaten to complain to instructors, so we’d sic them on the previous Excellence Scholar you replaced. Jasper filled his shoes for a while but was…” His face scrunches.

“He told people they had brain damage,” Robby finishes from down the waiting line.

Jasper frowns. “They waste my time. I’m busy back here.”

“And we’ve been turned down by everyone we asked since,” Xavier adds.

I’m still stuck on the previous Excellence Scholar you replaced . I want to inquire more, but Blaze points his varsity ring at me so aggressively that I flinch.

“This eight-legs can be our face,” Blaze announces, pointing directly at me.

I glance at my legs. Only two. “Me?”

Jasper snaps off the shelf he’s been slumped over. Next thing I know, he’s slinging an arm over my shoulder and bumping our hips, his fragrance blasting my nostrils all over again. “Charlie even started a tutoring nonprofit in Queens. A fantastic idea!”

A piece of me longs to keep learning about this secret piece of Valentine, even though Jasper is among the crowd welcoming me into it.

But I also made promises to myself. Don’t make friends. Study. I have enough reasons to be kicked out.

“I don’t want to break the guidelines,” I say, and keep it at that.

“You won’t,” Jasper says, palm to his heart. “If we get caught, say you never knew our true operations.”

“How can you promise that?”

“Would I lie to you?”

Well, he has before.

I grip my forehead, as too much keeps getting thrown my way at once. Even with Excellence Scholar to my name, I can barely tell the difference between the truths of this program and Jasper’s regularly flawed opinions. There’s no way I can join.

Except. Jasper’s principal’s nephew powers might be enough to get me what no one else can.

Standing before him, I square my shoulders to look more like his. It’s a risky idea. He’s the one person I should avoid. Every second we spend together helps him remember who I am. But I nudge my head toward a corner of the room where no one can overhear, then walk in that direction. He gets the hint and follows.

“I’ll consider being your face,” I say. “If you do something for me.”

Jasper leans forward curiously. “Yes?”

Just one word, but he speaks with such a balanced blend of confidence and judgment that it holds as much weight as a speech. I struggle to not let it get to me. “Convince your aunt to move you into a single room so I get the double to myself.”

Jasper’s expression flickers with shock, like he had a list of possible answers I’d provide, and this didn’t match any. A weak, almost hurt chuckle trickles from his lips. “You dislike me that much, von Hevringprinz?”

“Ah, no,” I lie, feeling a twinge of guilt myself. “I requested one before I even knew we’d be roommates. You said you never complained to your aunt, right? Doesn’t that mean you have the power to?”

Jasper nods slowly.

“Is that a yes?” I ask.

“I want more from you. Help me write letters until the winter mixer in November.”

“What?” I say. “How is that fair?”

Jasper shrugs. Because he holds the power, and he knows it. “More students in every grade keep finding out my poetry is award-winning, so the demand for me to write letters on their behalf keeps rising. On top of that, I write all the confessional love letters for anyone who wants to ask their sister-academy crush to the mixer. I could use another hand. Although we should keep your involvement from the other members a secret. Especially from our visitors. They come here for my brand, you see. Not yours.” He places a hand to his chest. “After, I’ll ask my aunt.”

“No way,” I say. “Ask now.”

“If I ask today, what forces you to hold up your end?”

November is better than an academic year. Still, my heartbeat thrums in my neck. The idea of me, who hasn’t dated anyone since my lips touched Jasper’s, writing love letters is laughable on its own. But helping Jasper write what he once used to break my heart?

“I won’t be good at it,” I mumble, even though Valentine would expect me to excel at anything this campus presents me, including poetry. Insecurity burns in my chest for admitting this, but it’s the truth.

“Of course you won’t be as good as me,” Jasper says, tossing a hand. “There will always be someone better at fine literature than you. Such is the circle of artiste life. ”

I stare back, stunned by how big his head truly is.

How did I ever consider striking a deal with him?

“Forget it,” I say through a huff. “Figure out a new face on your own.”

Jasper’s brow lifts in surprise, but I’m already heading for the door, leaving him and this deal behind.