Monday was Labor Day, and a knock at the door woke Auggie. He stumbled out of bed and answered.
“Get your ass up, little bro,” Dylan said, shoving a blender bottle at him. “Lacrosse tryouts.”
“What?” Auggie rubbed his face, considered the blender bottle, and realized he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers printed with unicorns. A guy whistled from the hallway, and Auggie groaned. “I don’t—”
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Dylan said. “Shorts, t-shirt, and the best athletic shoes you’ve got. Let’s go!”
“Don’t I need—”
“Yeah, we’ll buy you the rest of the gear later. Move your ass, bro!”
The protein shake was awful. Tryouts were even worse. It wasn’t that Auggie was uncoordinated. And it wasn’t that he was out of shape. He could run, and he could pass—well, he didn’t humiliate himself anyway.
He was just too fucking small.
By the end of tryouts, the other guys had turned it into a joke, keeping score every time a guy body checked Auggie, laughing every time he was sent flying.
Auggie was picking himself up while a gang of guys walked away, slapping each other on the shoulders. One of them said, “Let’s see him make a jerkoff video out of that.”
Auggie started after them. He was surprised when someone caught his arm, spinning him around.
“Get the fuck off me,” Auggie said.
“Cool it,” Dylan said. His blond curls were dark with sweat and clinging to his forehead. His pinnie and shorts and hell, just about every inch of him, was covered in dirt from when he’d taken a bad fall earlier.
“That dickwad thinks—”
“What? He thinks you’re a joke? He thinks you’re an internet kid? A one-trick pony?”
Auggie ripped his arm free.
“What are you going to do?” Dylan said. “Go get your teeth knocked out? That’ll show him.”
“Fuck off.”
“You’re going to prove him right. You’re going to prove you just care about being the center of attention, having a million fans stroke your ego.”
The September sun was hot on Auggie’s neck. He wiped sweat from his eyes. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“Find your fucking center, little bro. And work your ass off in the gym this year, come back next year, and show that dildo what you can do.” Dylan studied his face, laughed, and wrapped a big hand around the back of Auggie’s neck. “Come on. We’ll get you some decent gear, we’ll get you set up at the gym, and we’re sure as hell going to get you meditating. Your chi is wack as hell.”
Three hundred and twenty-seven dollars later, Auggie had plenty of gear. He also was pretty sure he could hear Fer screaming all the way from California.
Tuesday morning, someone knocked on Auggie’s door.
Auggie was in boxer briefs, staring at two outfits on the bed: a tank top that showed a unicorn punching an elephant, paired with running shorts and high-tops; or a pink polo, blue chinos, and penny loafers. It was the first day of school because Monday had been Labor Day, and he was trying to figure out who he wanted to be.
The knock came again. Then Orlando’s voice: “Augs?”
Auggie groaned and opened the door a quarter inch.
“Good,” Orlando said, pushing into the room. “You’re up. We need—oh.”
It shouldn’t have been weird because they’d been roommates and Auggie had changed clothes plenty of times while Orlando was in the room. But when Orlando’s eyes moved up and down, taking in Auggie, Auggie crossed his arms and stared over Orlando’s shoulder at the dresser.
“Sorry, I can come back.”
“What do you want?”
“This is weird. I’ll come back.”
“Jesus, Orlando, you’re making it so much weirder. What?”
“We need Theo.”
“No, we don’t. Theo was a bag of dicks yesterday. I don’t want anything to do with Theo.”
“Well, we need him. If Cal is involved with drugs—”
“If?”
“If he’s in trouble, I mean, I don’t know who else to ask.”
“We go to the police.”
“Augs!”
“You said you trusted my judgment. You said if I wanted to go to the police, we’d go to the police.”
“Ok, right, but just listen—”
“And Theo was fucking awful to me yesterday.”
“Look—”
“And if Cal disappearing is connected to drugs, then you need the police. There was this one detective who seemed all right. Somerset. I think he gave me his card. Hold on.”
As Auggie turned toward his desk, Orlando caught him by the arm. When Auggie glanced back, Orlando’s face was bright red, and he looked like he wanted to retreat. But he didn’t. His touch was light but firm.
“Augs, please don’t make me go to the police yet. My family is—well, you saw. And if I go to the police, they will never forgive me. Please don’t make me do that. Please.”
He’d forgotten that Orlando’s hands were soft and strong. Goosebumps worked their way across Auggie’s chest.
“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Auggie asked. “I mean, I don’t know anything about drugs. I don’t know anything about this town, really, except for the college.”
Orlando’s thick brows came together.
“No,” Auggie said.
“I tried to ask Wayne but he just—I mean, it was Peepee this, Peepee that, like I’m too stupid to hold my own dick.”
“No, Orlando.”
“Please.”
“He was a bag of dicks.” Auggie couldn’t seem to think of another way to phrase it. “You saw how he treated me.”
“Yeah, well, you were—” More red moved into Orlando’s face. “You were provoking him.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know you were. You didn’t like when he said you could borrow his car, and then you were—well, Augs, you were kind of mean to him.”
Auggie ripped his elbow free.
“And you know what?” Orlando said. “You picked him—”
“We’re not doing this, Orlando. We’re not going to talk about why you and I didn’t work out. You won’t like it if we do.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you picked him, though.”
“I said something to him, yeah. But I don’t even know if I meant it. I had a lot going on, and I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“You’d better figure it out; you made some pretty big decisions about your life because of him. If you’re serious about that, if you still feel that way . . .” Orlando hesitated and then, in a rush, said, “Well, maybe you need to do what he said and grow up.”
The worst part was that Orlando wasn’t saying anything Auggie hadn’t thought to himself over the past day and a half. After the lacrosse tryouts, he’d spent most of Labor Day with the Sigma Sigma guys, barbequing on the back patio, playing a pickup game of frisbee, and then following the party to a junior’s apartment where he could score a few beers and two shots of tequila. And the whole day—sprawling in a chaise next to the grill, smelling the burgers sizzling, or getting cornered in the kitchen by a twinkie senior who kept touching Auggie’s arm, or throwing back the next shot of Milagro—the whole day, Auggie had been trying to figure out why he’d been such a shit to Theo.
He covered his eyes and groaned.
For some reason, this seemed to encourage Orlando because he said, “And you should apologize.”
“Ok.”
“And you really need to mean it.”
“I said ok. Good God, what has my life come to when you’re the one giving advice?”
When he peeled his hands away, Orlando had a nervous smile. “So you’ll ask him?”
Auggie groaned again.
Orlando’s smile firmed, and he said, “And you should probably shave your chest because those little hairs are cute, but I don’t think that’s the look you’re going for.”
“Oh my God,” Auggie said, trying to shrink behind his folded arms.
“And you only have three of them, so it’s not like it’ll take very long.”
“Get out.”
“And Theo is obviously into tweeny hunk Auggie, so maybe trim under your arms because you’re getting, you know, a little bushy. And if you aren’t already trimming down—”
Auggie shoved him out of the room.
“Shave your pits and wear the tank,” Orlando suggested from the hallway.
Auggie shut the door and leaned against it in case Orlando tried to come back with more advice. He spent almost fifteen minutes considering his armpits and trying to decide if he had too much hair, and then he spent another ten minutes looking at the chest hairs from various angles with a mirror. And fuck Orlando, because there were four of them, not three, marching down his breastbone. He wondered if maybe he should just skip classes and figure things out tomorrow. Then he pulled on the polo and chinos and loafers, because he remembered how Theo always dressed for school. He adjusted the lights, took a selfie, and posted it with the tag Mortal Kombat: Round 2! And then he took another picture with one arm behind his head, drew a circle where a few dark hairs poked out from under the short sleeve, and posted it with Be honest: too much? Then he considered pulling the picture down, killing Orlando, and killing himself.
He was still trying to figure out what was wrong with him as he walked across campus. Morning classes were a bitch, but Auggie had needed to take a full course load, and he was glad to see that he wasn’t the only one out and about. Students filled the quad: walking, running, biking, two girls at a stand giving away free first-day-of-school hugs, a long-haired boy on an overturned milk crate begging for the sexual liberation of jellyfish. Many of the students, like Auggie, had dressed up for the first day of classes, but others—usually older students—wore shorts and tees, often looking like they’d just rolled out of bed.
His first class was English, a literary theme class: Adolescence and Erotic Love, taught by Dr. Wagner—Auggie hadn’t heard of the professor before, and his ratings were mediocre. The only reassuring thing was the thread that ran through all the comments: just repeat what he says, and you’ll get an A. One student objected, saying it depended on the TA, but Auggie wasn’t worried about impressing a TA.
The class was located in Tether-Marfitt, a building with flying buttresses and ornamental stonework and stained-glass windows. Last year, it had reminded Auggie of Notre Dame, but now it just reminded him of Theo’s Shakespeare in the World class. Inside, the hallways of Tether-Marfitt still had the worn stone and gleaming brass that he remembered. He passed the classroom where he’d met Theo last year and climbed to the fourth floor. Unlike the rest of the building, the classrooms looked like they’d been picked out of an office-supply catalogue: tablet-arm seats, high-traffic carpeting, non-slip rubber treads for even the slightest unevenness in the floors. Auggie found a seat in the back, snapped a selfie with his Riverside Shakespeare—it was going to be a pain carrying that thing every day—and responded to the comments that were already flooding his earlier posts. Apparently, most guys liked the pit hair.
He decided to give a quick reappraisal, pulling on his sleeve to get a better look at the hair, twisting in his seat to get enough light. A muttered “Oh my God” made Auggie jerk upright.
Theo was standing near the door in tan chinos and a baby blue shirt—something was printed on it, but Auggie couldn’t tell what it was from a distance. He had his sleeves rolled up. And his ass. God. The man knew how to fill out a pair of chinos. Theo stared at Auggie, yanking on the strap of his satchel. When Auggie started to get up, Theo jerked his head and moved to the opposite end of the room, where he dropped into a chair next to the blackboard.
The rest of the class filtered in slowly. Auggie pulled out his phone and tapped a message to Theo. hi!
Theo had the same edition of the Riverside Shakespeare open on his lap. He was paging through it with what looked like agonizing scrutiny.
Auggie tried again: hey, I’m really sorry about Sunday.
He knew the message went through; the class was basically silent, and the sound of Theo’s phone buzzing ran through the room. But Theo was still staring at the Riverside Shakespeare like he was deciding if he should rip it apart with his bare hands.
“Theo,” Auggie called in a whisper-shout that carried though the room. “Theo! Check your phone!”
Theo didn’t move, but Auggie heard again: “Oh my God.”
Then the door opened, and a tall, thin man in a dark suit came into the room. He had a bulbous, red nose, and his head wobbled on his neck as he made his way to the blackboard. He scrawled his name, Dr. Wagner, and glanced around until his eyes landed on Theo. Without a word, he handed Theo his briefcase and then shrugged out of his suit jacket and handed that to Theo too.
Auggie had seen that look on Theo’s face before. Once, it was when Theo discovered that Auggie had eaten all the rocky road ice cream.
“Oh shit,” Auggie whispered.
The girl in the next seat glared at him.
Dr. Wagner was as awful as he looked. He droned on, spending most of the first class reading the syllabus and punctuating his remarks with scathing anecdotes about students who had failed to live up to his expectations. Theo stayed frozen over the Riverside Shakespeare, only occasionally turning a page. After finishing the syllabus, Wagner explained the semester’s literary theme—something about nascent ephebophilia and the natural erotic potency of the adolescent, with a charming little riff about the first time he had masturbated. The whole thing sounded misogynistic and a little molesterish. Then a bell announced the end of class, and kids shot to the door.
Auggie waited for the crowd to clear, and then he started toward Theo and Wagner. Theo talked to Wagner in a quiet voice, shook his head to a question, nodded another answer, and then he limped out of the room. Auggie veered after him.
“Mr. Lopez,” Wagner called.
Oh shit, Auggie thought.
When he got closer, he could smell something like rubbing alcohol on Wagner. The professor’s eyes were whitish with cataracts, but his gaze was unpleasantly sharp as he focused on Auggie. “I understand that you and Mr. Stratford have a previous relationship.”
“No—I mean, we’re just friends.”
“Yes, well, just so we’re clear, I will be grading all of your work.”
“Yes, Dr. Wagner.”
“We don’t play favorites.”
“I understand, Dr. Wagner.”
“I could ask you to drop the class.”
And then Auggie understood. “No, please, Dr. Wagner. I can tell this is going to be a really great semester. Your literary theme is so interesting, and it’s a perfect fit for what I want to study.”
“This is a favor, you know. I have a TA so I don’t have to do the grading.”
“I know, Dr. Wagner. Thank you so much.”
“It’s really not fair to the other students.”
“I promise I’ll work really hard, and I know you’ll be tough but fair. All your online evaluations say that you are.”
“Yes, well.” Wagner stuffed himself into his jacket. “I suppose I am. Dismissed, Mr. Lopez.”
Auggie raced out of the room, but the halls of Tether-Marfitt were already emptying. No Theo. Auggie took the stairs down two at a time, thinking he might catch up with Theo because Theo was still limping, but he didn’t see him on the ground floor, and he didn’t see him outside. He checked his phone and saw that Theo still hadn’t replied.
Ok, Auggie thought. We can do it this way.
He went to Liversedge Hall next and took the elevator to the third floor. He passed the main office for the English Department and kept going to the end of the hall. The last door had a plaque next to it that said GRADUATE STUDENT OFFICE. Under the door, the lights were off, but Auggie knocked anyway.
No response.
Ok, Auggie thought. We can do it this way too. He started the route in his head: the library, the student union, Tether-Marfitt again to check the classroom from last year. And if none of those panned out, Auggie would head west to the street with the little brick house. Theo Stratford didn’t stand a chance.