Weeks passed. And weeks turned into months. By March, winter had grudgingly given way to a wet, cold spring. When spring break came, Auggie was glad to go home. When break ended, he was even gladder to go back.
Nothing had changed at home. Nothing had changed at school. He was doing fine in his classes. He was building his presence on social media, strengthening his brand, experimenting with content. It didn’t matter; after news leaked of his break-in at the Reeses’ home, nobody would touch him. No more phone calls from prospective agents or managers. No more talk of deals. On bad days, he read about gay guys on social media who were getting huge marketing and advertising deals for makeup, hair products, diet supplements. Unless Auggie learned how to apply eyeliner and master contouring, though, it seemed he was out of luck. Nobody was interested in a gay boy who made silly videos and was a part-time criminal. Straight boys, on the other hand, were doing just fine. Devin and Logan, his buddies from home, had started their own account without even bothering to tell Auggie. They’d each gotten five figure deals—Auggie’s ex, Chan, had been happy to share that information on his Facebook wall.
Nothing had changed with Dylan either. A week would go by when they spent every day together, with Auggie trying to navigate the microstorms that started up every time he made a mistake. Then three or four days with no contact. Dylan had finally allowed Auggie to jerk him off. Then to suck him. He never returned the favor; he wanted a real connection—that was the explanation every time—and he wasn’t sure Auggie was even capable of it. They agreed, because Auggie had learned what happened when he didn’t agree with everything, not to put any labels on what they were doing.
A real connection, a cynical part of Auggie realized, meant a dick up his ass. It was the only thing he held out on. Ever since Dylan had touched him in the gym bathroom, Auggie had felt a resistance he couldn’t name or explain; he wasn’t ready to take that step in their relationship. He gave up eating meat when Dylan gave up meat. He went back on meat when Dylan decided an ethical diet could include animal proteins. He meditated. He drank the stupid tea that Dylan wanted him to drink. Sometimes, if he agreed to take molly, Dylan would let Auggie jerk himself off after. When texts came late at night, usually no more than u up? Auggie would drag on sweats and drive across town—the Civic was back in working condition, although only by a stretch of the definition—to provide another hand job. The one time Auggie had said he was too tired, Dylan had gone radio silent for ten days, and Auggie had bought him a watch (on Fer’s credit card) as an apology gift.
He stayed away from Theo. At first, it had been because Theo had claimed his lawyer had told him it was for the best. But as things went on with Dylan, Auggie found himself finding new reasons. When he spotted Theo on campus—or someone who looked like Theo—he changed course. When they bumped into each other, once, in Tether-Marfitt, Auggie had dragged out an unbelievably complicated lie and then run away. One night, after getting home from Dylan’s, from another jerkoff session that had ended with Dylan rolling off the bed, pulling up his joggers, and telling Auggie he needed to call it an early night, Auggie had almost called. Then he had started crying so hard that he dropped the phone, and eventually he’d fallen asleep. When he woke in the morning, he wasn’t even sure what he’d been going to say.
The phone call from Lender came like a thunderbolt.
“Get over to the hospital,” the detective said. “Immediately, August. I want you to talk to someone.”
The call disconnected. After fifteen minutes of panic, Auggie went to the hospital.
Lender was waiting in the lobby. He took Auggie’s arm above the elbow, steered him into an elevator, and pressed a button.
“What—”
“Be quiet, August.”
They rode up two floors in silence. Then Lender took his arm again and walked him down to a shared hospital room. The woman in one bed was older, her eyes closed, her breath rattling in her chest. The women in the other bed was Sadie, Cal’s drug dealer, whom Theo and Auggie had tied up and interrogated. She had the same short, dark hair that Auggie remembered, but she was paler now, and thick bandages padded out her frame under the hospital gown. Her eyes were dopey and half-closed.
“Tell him,” Lender said.
“Oh shit,” Sadie said. “You’re the kid from my house.”
“She was shot,” Lender said. “Twice. In the back. The same kind of bullets as that girl Nia.”
Auggie glanced over. “Wait, what?”
“You heard me.” To Sadie, Lender repeated, “Tell him about Cal’s apartment.”
“Oh shit.” For a moment, Sadie struggled to sit up. Then she sagged back against the inclined mattress. “Went over there that night. He said he was going to have cash. I wouldn’t give it on credit, but he said he was going to have cash.”
“What night?” Auggie said.
“The night Cal Reese disappeared,” Lender said.
“You said you didn’t know when you saw him. You said you didn’t remember.”
“Lied.”
“And? What the hell happened?”
“Didn’t answer the door,” Sadie mumbled. “Lights were on. Nobody home. Car was there. Mustang. I like Mustangs. And a BMW.”
“What color? What color was the BMW?”
“Dark.”
“The car was dark? Or it was too dark to see?”
“Black girl ran away. Too weird. Might be a setup, so I left.”
“What did the girl look like?”
“Strong,” Sadie said.
“What—”
“That’s all,” Lender said, grabbing Auggie’s collar and forcing him toward the door. When they stood in the hallway, Lender added, “Now you’ve got your White Rabbit. That’s because I want this wrapped up before anyone looks closer at the breadth of my investment portfolio. Do you understand?”
“If I could just ask her—”
“She’s not even supposed to be awake, August. And that’s all she remembers. Now. I did you a favor today; I expect you to return it.”
When Lender left Auggie in the parking lot, Auggie got out his phone and called Nia.
“What?” she asked.
“Were you at Cal Reese’s apartment the night Deja was shot?”
The call disconnected, and when Auggie tried again, it went immediately to voicemail.
Next, he sent a message to Genesis: were u at Cal’s apartment the night Deja Corey got shot?
No answer.
I really need to know.
Nothing.
He called.
Nothing.
He thought about the three people he knew who drove dark BMWs: Wayne, Genesis, and Orlando. Three people who might have a motive to hurt Cal. He texted Theo—short, spare messages, just the facts. After ten minutes, when Theo still hadn’t responded, he went home.
It was almost a week later when he was in the Sigma Sigma dining hall, eating scrambled eggs and fruit—Dylan was off processed carbs, so Auggie was off processed carbs—that he saw a two-day-old issue of the Wroxall Rag, the student newspaper. The cover featured a picture of a man with long, strawberry-blond hair. It had been taken from the back, probably to showcase the handcuffs he was wearing, but Auggie recognized Theo. He snatched the paper and read the article.
He went first to the county jail. Then he drove back across to town to the little brick house. Theo answered on the third knock. He was wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt with Shakespearean insults listed on it. He looked better than Auggie had expected, although still worn out. Not taking care of himself, as usual. And probably not even aware that he wasn’t.
To Auggie’s surprise, Theo wore a tiny smile, and he gave a half shrug. “You saw the paper.”
“Holy shit, Theo! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Come on in. Shoes off, if you don’t mind.”
Auggie kicked his muddy Jordans off near the door. The house was spotless. Even Theo’s stack of printed-out articles, monographs, and journals had been put away—although Auggie couldn’t guess where.
“Wow,” Auggie said.
“Cart and I have had some conversations. And I want him to feel comfortable here.”
The watercolors were gone. In their place hung a few neutral pieces of department-store art: brightly colored flowers in an otherwise desaturated photo; giclee prints of abstract paintings; the St. Louis skyline at night.
“Theo.”
“There needs to be space for him too,” Theo said, crossing his arms. “I’m trying to meet him halfway. And I’m really happy to see you, so let’s please not fight.” That tiny smile came back. “Not this early, anyway. Want some Doritos?”
So they sat at the table in the kitchen, and Auggie murdered Cool Ranch Doritos while Theo drank tap water.
“I thought you were in jail.”
“I was in jail. For about fifteen minutes. This time, I mean. I bailed out. It was all routine.”
“Damn.”
“If I try to go to Frozen King, though, I’ll officially be a wanted fugitive.”
“Damn,” Auggie said again. “That’s the real injustice.”
Theo laughed. “I’ve got a good lawyer. Things are going to be fine.”
“How’s Lana?”
“She’s doing well, thanks.” He had that Theo glow, the one that changed him from handsome to heart stopping, as he tucked his hair behind his ears. “It’s nice to be able to spend more time with her.”
Auggie stopped mid-chomp.
“Never mind,” Theo said. “I wasn’t supposed to bring that up.”
“They fired you.”
“They didn’t fire me. I’m a grad student. I’m basically forced labor.”
“Theo, why the hell did they fire you?”
“I was asked to take a leave from my assistantship. That’s all. Apparently, I’m distracting all the civically minded students from their work with my deviant, criminal behavior.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
Auggie surprised himself—and, by the looks of it, Theo—by reaching across the table and tugging once on Theo’s hair. “The rest of it.”
“It’s a formality, Auggie. There’s going to be a disciplinary committee. I’ve got to stand up and tell them I’m sorry I set a bad example, please let me stay in your program, I’ll be a good boy. It’s nothing.” He shrugged. “I haven’t even told Cart.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“He doesn’t need to worry—”
“No, I mean, the disciplinary thing. What about innocent until proven guilty?”
“It’s the English department, Auggie. Less like the Supreme Court, more like an ineffectual parliament made up of a bunch of petty dictators.”
Auggie choked on a chip when he laughed. By the time he’d cleared his airway, with Theo pounding on his back, he had an idea. “Hold on.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Just hold on.” He grabbed his phone, pulled up a picture from last year—he’d taken it while Theo had his Shakespeare Glow on, chewing the eraser of a pencil as he sat on the couch, reading an article. His hair had been perfect that day. Well, everything about him had been perfect that day. And Auggie hadn’t been able to resist taking the picture. He messed with a few filters, settled for only the most basic enhancements, and posted it. No comment. No explanation. Just a tag: #hotguysreadshakespeare. Questions began to pour in. omg is he ur boyfriend? And he’s so hawt were among the most frequent.
“What did you just do?”
“Nothing.”
“August Paul Lopez.”
“Nothing!” Then Auggie grinned, “God, sometimes I think you and Fer would be best friends.”
Theo grunted suspiciously.
“And sometimes I think you would run away screaming.”
“If he’s anything like his younger brother,” Theo muttered.
Auggie kicked him under the table, and Theo glared and massaged his shin. Auggie popped a few more chips in his mouth, rolled the top of the bag closed, and said, “Well, since you’re not in jail, I guess I shouldn’t take up all your time. I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”
“And eat my chips.”
“And eat your chips.”
“Not with your mouth full, please.” Still rubbing the spot where Auggie had kicked him, Theo said, “Jail might be the least of my worries.”
“What do you mean? What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh boy.”
“I’m being dramatic. It’s nothing.”
Auggie rested his head in his hand.
“Just, you know, hypothetically,” Theo said, “what would you like to get on your birthday?”
“If I’m me, or if I’m a butch cop who buzzes his hair? Because if I’m me, my birthday was in February, and Dylan had a party, and we did shots of—”
Theo was making a noise.
“—um, ginger ale and watched Little House on the Prairie.”
“God damn it. I’m sorry, Auggie. Things were crazy; I dropped the ball.”
“It’s fine. But I don’t think you were asking about me. I think you were asking about Cart.”
“Ok. Ok, maybe I am.”
“Oh my God.”
“Please don’t do this.”
“Oh my God, it’s finally happening.”
“No. Stop. I take it back.”
“I wasted my first opportunity. Now I finally get a second chance.”
“I regret this. I regret everything.”
“You are asking me for boy advice. You.” Auggie pointed at Theo. “Asking me.” He pointed at himself.
“It’s not boy advice, because I’m not fourteen and reading Teen Vogue. It’s just advice in general. About birthdays. And I want to restate that I regret everything.”
“Hold on, I’ve got to get in the right headspace. Ok, first, gotta do this.” Auggie mimed pushing long hair behind his ears. “And then, gotta make my face super serious. How’s this?”
“You’re me? Is that what this is supposed to be?”
“And the voice gets deeper. Super serious.”
“Goodbye, Auggie. You can take the chips, but just go.”
“Something like this: ‘Well, Theo, giving a present to someone is very serious. It’s awakens all sorts of complicated, adult emotions. You really have to be sure you’re ready before you jump into it.’”
Theo started to push his hair behind his ears. He caught himself mid-act and glared at Auggie.
“You can’t just go around giving presents to everybody,” Auggie continued. “You have to be thoughtful about it. Be an adult. Really think about what it means to give somebody a present.”
“I hate you.”
“If you’re going to give someone a present, you have to be really careful. Your present always has to be wrapped, and make sure you don’t get cheap paper. If your wrapping tears when you’re giving them the present, you could be in a lot of trouble.”
Groaning, Theo dropped his face into his hands.
“And when you give it to them, you have to give it to them gently at first. You can get rougher later on, but first you have to be a gentleman, show them how important they are to you, just delivering that package like uh, uh—”
“Ok,” Theo said, sliding out of his chair. He grabbed Auggie under both arms, hauled him out of the seat, and manhandled him toward the back door. “Goodbye, Auggie.”
“No, stop,” Auggie said. “Please, I was just about to tell you about the end, when you open the present afterward.”
Theo wasn’t even really trying, but he did keep pretending to force Auggie toward the door.
“You need to have tissues. It can get messy.”
“Please don’t come back until you’re forty.”
“No!” Auggie mock-screamed. “I’ve got so much wisdom to impart.”
It turned into wrestling after that, with Auggie laughing like crazy, part of him still unable to believe that Theo was willing to play along. Theo pretended to try to throw Auggie out; Auggie tried to force his way past Theo and deeper into the house. Eventually, somehow, they ended up on the couch in the living room, both of them breathing a little faster than normal, color bright in Theo’s cheeks.
“You cheated,” he said. “I don’t know how, but you cheated.”
It was the way the spring sunlight came through the window. It was the way his hair, which hung loose again, fanned shadows across his cheek. It was the way he was trying so hard to look grumpy. It was the fact that he looked happy in a million tiny ways—the creases around his eyes, the faint hint of a flush, the curve of his mouth—when Theo so rarely looked happy.
“Don’t move,” Auggie said. He got out his phone.
“Auggie.”
“I said don’t move!” He took a picture and posted it with the same hashtag. The previous one was already filling up with questions and comments.
“What am I going to regret now?” Theo asked.
“Nothing. You just look so happy. And it makes me happy.”
And for some reason Auggie couldn’t understand, that snuffed out whatever he was seeing in Theo’s face.
“Hey, Theo?”
Theo raised an eyebrow.
It was there on the tip of Auggie’s tongue, versions of the question he couldn’t bring himself to ask: does Cart use the peanut butter knife, or did he make you wash it? Does he ever stretch out too far on the couch and knock over all your papers? Why didn’t he understand what the watercolors meant to you? Does he know how far out you are, that you’re swimming in deep waters, that you’re so tired of struggling? If he does, why hasn’t he made things better?
“I, um, asked Fer about giving somebody a present. Once. And he had pretty good advice. Although with Fer, it’s hard to tell. There’s so much swearing that it turns into static, and you have to kind of fill in the blanks.”
Theo rested an arm on the back of the couch, his body angled toward Auggie, all his attention directed at him.
“The best present is one that shows the other person you know who they are, that you care about them, and that you like them.”
“That’s good advice.”
“So, what’s Cart’s deal? I mean, what does he like? What does he enjoy?”
“He’s been talking about a reciprocating saw—what?”
Auggie had turned his face into the cushions. “How do you find people who will put up with you? Honestly, I want to know.”
“He likes that kind of stuff! And that’s what you said, something that shows I know who he is.”
Flopping onto his back, Auggie said, “Please tell me you never got Ian a reciprocating saw.”
“Give me a little credit.”
“Oh my God, it was worse.”
Scratching his beard, Theo looked like he was trying not to smile. He failed. “Our first Christmas in this house, I bought him a space heater.”
With a groan, Auggie tried to bury his head between the cushions.
“He was always talking about how his feet were cold.”
“I can’t handle you right now. Go write a sonnet or something.” Then Auggie sat up. “Oh. Damn. Can I make a suggestion?”
“I swear to God, if you try to make one more joke about presents, I’m kicking you out.”
“The wrapping paper can be textured. Double his pleasure with ribbed—”
“Auggie!”
“A birthday party.”
Theo shook his head. “He’s not very big into public displays of affection. He’s—well, we’re keeping things quiet for now.”
“But it doesn’t have to be big.”
“I think it’d be weird if I—”
“Just listen: Cart loves hanging out with his friends. That’s all he posts about on Instagram and Facebook, and he tweets about bro nights all the time.”
“Wait a minute, you’re following him on social media?”
“Yes, duh, I’m stalking him. Try to keep up. His friends are his whole life. Well, and you. So why not combine them? Throw a party, invite all his friends.”
“Because he would freak the hell out.”
“Why?”
Theo’s mouth twisted. “Never mind. It’s just not a good option. I appreciate the idea.”
“You don’t like his friends?”
“I don’t know his friends, not unless they were also friends with Ian.”
“Oh.”
“Please don’t do that. Please don’t feel sorry for me.”
“What if the party—hold on, hear me out—what if somebody else threw the party? You could plan it and prepare it, and afterward, you get all the credit, and he gives you good sex to show you how grateful he is, but it doesn’t feel like . . . like you’re overstepping?”
This time, Theo thought about the idea longer. “It can’t be a Sigma Sigma rager.”
“I’m going to make an exception because you’re stressed. I’m going to let the fact that you just used the word ‘rager’ not ironically pass. I’m not talking about me; I’m talking about one of his friends. Doesn’t he have any cop buddies who would do this for him? Or other friends? With his charming personality, I’m sure—”
“Thin ice.”
Auggie grinned and zipped his lips.
“Maybe,” Theo said, “maybe there is the tiniest possibility this is a good idea. Kind of like a steppingstone. I can meet some of his friends, but it’s low key, non-threatening. It’s not about us. It’s about him. And I think he’d like, you know, feeling like he can connect these two parts of his life.”
“Oh my God, I’m the shit at planning parties. Ok, how many kegs are we going to need? Do you think whoever hosts will already have a beer bong? How many glow-in-the-dark bracelets should I order? Two hundred? Three hundred? From one to ten, how powerful should the blacklights be?”
Theo’s face was pure horror.
Auggie’s façade cracked, and a grin slipped out.
“You are a monster,” Theo informed him.
“Some wrapping paper is flavored—”
Auggie didn’t get a chance to finish before Theo started trying to drag him out of the house again.