The week of finals, Auggie tried four times before he caught Dr. Kanaan in her office. When she answered, she was wearing a loose hijab, a Wroxall sweatshirt, and joggers. Her running shoes had mud on them.
“Yes?” Her thick eyebrows drew together as she studied Auggie. “I’m sorry, are you—”
“No, I’m not in one of your classes. My name is Auggie Lopez. I’d like to talk to you; I’ll only take a minute.”
“I’m sorry, Auggie. The end of the semester is exceptionally busy, and I’d prefer that you made an appointment.”
Auggie shook his head. “I don’t think this can wait.”
Down the hall, a pair of boys who looked distinctly like freshmen was waiting for the elevator. One of them was bragging about having finished all his finals. The other was obviously trying to cram, flipping notecards.
“It’s about Theo Stratford.”
“I’m really not sure—”
“This conversation would be better in private.”
Dr. Kanaan’s face was blank as she stepped aside. The office was lined with shelves, and although every available inch was filled with books, sleek modern furniture and the open window combined to make the room still feel comfortably spacious. Auggie shut the door behind him.
When they were seated, he pulled out his phone and displayed the registration page for the course Shakespeare in the World. He handed it to Dr. Kanaan. She looked at it and passed the phone back.
“I don’t understand. If you’re interested in enrolling in the course, you’ll need a pink slip, and you’ll have to discuss that with the instructor. The waitlist is exceptionally long, and if you’re hoping I’ll be able to make an exception for you, I’m afraid I can’t.”
“The waitlist isn’t just exceptionally long,” Auggie said. “The waitlist is unbelievable. You have two hundred people trying to add a single section of Shakespeare in the World.”
“I’m sure the department will consider adding another—”
“Dr. Kanaan, I’m going to be frank: when was the last time any university anywhere had a waitlist of two hundred people trying to get into a class called Shakespeare in the World?”
For the next ten seconds, Dr. Kanaan rearranged things on the desk: a stapler, the cable for a MacBook, a foam apple that was probably one of those stress toys. She looked like she was thinking about squeezing the hell out of that apple.
“You said this was about Theo Stratford.”
“That’s right.”
“I think you’d better explain yourself and then go, Mr. Lopez.”
Auggie tapped a few more screens until he got to the Instagram hashtag he’d created, #hotguysreadshakespeare. He’d spent the last few weeks building the tag around Theo, occasionally adding comments where he talked about the Shakespeare in the World class he’d taken. To Auggie’s surprise, many of Theo’s former students had chipped in, adding their own testimonials. The hashtag had taken off after that, with people posting pictures of other hot guys who, presumably, read Shakespeare. Sometimes, it seemed a little bit like a stretch. There was one of a guy in yoga pants, his hair in a man bun, and there was absolutely no indication at all that he was reading Shakespeare. He just had great abs.
“What is this?” Dr. Kanaan said.
“This is free marketing. I’ve got a lot of followers, Dr. Kanaan. I’m happy to send them your way. Most people’s lives would be improved by taking a class from Theo, although you could tell him not to be such a bitch with the participation points. I’ve let people know that Theo will be teaching Shakespeare in the World next year. Fall and Spring semesters. That’s why you have two hundred people lining up to take a course that, in the last four terms, has had an all-time high of twenty-six students.”
Dr. Kanaan was silent for a long moment. “Theo’s situation—”
“No,” Auggie said.
“And I suppose that if the department doesn’t give Theo instructional opportunities, you’re going to tell your followers to take a different class.”
“Of course not. But I am going to post his evaluations. And then I’m going to post the evaluations of every other instructor in the department, beginning with Dr. Wagner. And then I’m going to start a #freetheo campaign.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. He’s not imprisoned.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense. That’s the beauty of social media.”
“This is blackmail, Mr. Lopez.”
“No, this is an opportunity. You have a phenomenal instructor who could help your program grow. Your department has mothballed him because they’re afraid he’s toxic. Here’s your proof that he isn’t. Give him two sections each semester until he graduates, and you’ll get two more years of free marketing from me. Theo gets to teach and build his CV. You get increased enrollment, which means better numbers for the dean, which means more funding, more professorships, etc.”
“I’ll have to talk to the chair. This will take time.”
“Not too much, I hope. People want to finalize their course registration.”
When Auggie left, he had the distinct impression that Dr. Kanaan didn’t like him. His hands were shaking, and as he rode down the elevator, a huge, sloppy grin broke out. He thumped his head against the metal paneling of the car.
“Fuck yes,” he shouted, and the words echoed in the elevator’s metal box.
He still had a couple of finals that he needed to study for, so he headed across the quad toward the Sigma Sigma house. The campus was sharply divided between the kids who had finished (or who had given up) and the ones who hadn’t. A boy was showing another boy how to fly a drone, the two standing shoulder to shoulder as they looked at the controls. A girl was teaching what looked like a hula-hoop class to several middle-aged women, all in leotards. A guy and a girl were making out in the shade of an oak tree. A pair of women, their hair shaved, their heads tattooed in blue geometric designs, were quizzing each other with flashcards. A cute kid with a mop of curly hair sat with his eyes closed, quietly conjugating Spanish verbs out loud.
“Augs!”
Auggie put his head down and walked faster.
“Augs, wait! Hold on!”
Sighing, Auggie stopped and looked over his shoulder. Orlando was jogging after him. Scabs still marked where the skin had split on his nose and lips, but the bruising had faded. The wind pulled at his dark curls. When he came to a stop, he wrapped his arms around himself, looking everywhere but at Auggie’s face.
“I’m sorry—”
“I’m sorry—”
They both laughed uncomfortably.
“Me first,” Auggie said. “I’m sorry we used you as bait. We legitimately thought Wayne would confess because he’d already done it once, when we found all the money under the bed. I’m sorry I made up that fake email and made you think Genesis wanted you to help her again. And I’m really, really sorry about Wayne. I will totally understand if you hate me.”
Orlando pushed some of the thick, coarse curls away. With what looked like a lot of effort, he met Auggie’s eyes. “You found who killed my brother. And yeah, it was my other brother. But Augs, you’re never going to know what that means to me. Thank you.”
“Well, you did kind of save my life, so I think we’re even.”
“My parents will still pay you, you know. They don’t want anybody to think they won’t cover their debts.”
Auggie just shook his head. Someone on the quad was playing the panpipes, the music shrill and grating. “No, that wouldn’t be right.”
“You found Cal’s killer—”
“No. But thank you.”
After a moment, Orlando said, “I’m sorry about everything, Augs. I’m sorry I dragged you into that mess. I’m sorry I wouldn’t listen to you and Theo when you tried to tell me something was wrong. I’m sorry Wayne hurt you. Are you ok?”
“I’m fine.”
“Is Theo ok?”
“I guess.”
“What’s that mean?”
“He’s fine, he’s just—he’s just Theo being Theo.” The words exploded free before Auggie could stop them. “Half the time it’s like he’s holding on to me for dear life, and the other half it’s like he wants to pin my mittens to my sleeve.”
A huge grin bloomed on Orlando’s face.
“What?” Auggie said.
“Nothing.”
“No, what?”
“I just always forget how dumb you are.”
Auggie slugged him.
“Jesus, Augs, watch it.” Orlando rubbed his shoulder, his grin getting even bigger. “You’re getting some legit guns.”
And right then Auggie realized that he loved Orlando. Maybe not in the way he’d thought when they’d met, not romantically, instead like one more dumbass brother. But he still loved him, and it couldn’t have left him more shocked.
To cover his surprise, he asked, “How’s, you know, stuff with your family?”
“Ok. I mean, not ok. Not at all, actually. My parents aren’t talking to me. They’re pretending they’re all wrapped up with Wayne’s defense, but really, they’re just furious I made them look bad. Chris and Billie spent the whole day Wayne got arrested telling me how amazing I was, and now they’ve gone over to Pammy’s side and tell me every chance they get how I’ve ruined our family.” Orlando knuckled at his eyes. “I’ve been talking about it a lot with my therapist. I guess I think, maybe, um, they haven’t treated me very well.”
Auggie nodded.
“And I think maybe I need a little space from them. They’ve been in my head for a long time. My whole life, really. And I think I’ve got some bad behaviors from trying to be someone they’d love. So, sorry again. For being so weird and messed up.”
“You’re not weird and messed up.”
Orlando burst out laughing, and then Auggie started laughing too.
“Ok,” Auggie said, “but you’re not any weirder or more messed up than the rest of us.”
“Thanks, Augs. But I am. I know it. It’s ok. I’ll have plenty of time alone to figure things out.”
“You’re not alone. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, sure. Anyway, that’s not why I came over here. I want you to meet someone.”
“What?”
“Come on. I want you to meet someone.”
Before Auggie could protest, Orlando set off across the quad. Auggie trailed after him. A blond boy was sitting next to a line of hawthorns, his arms loose around his knees. He had strong features: a prominent nose, a broad forehead, eyes so pale blue they were like ice. When he smiled, he was attractive but not precisely handsome, although Auggie couldn’t have explained exactly why.
“This is Augs,” Orlando said, dropping onto the ground. “Auggie. The guy I was telling you about. Auggie, this is Ryan.”
They said hello. Auggie sat. Ryan kept throwing nervous smiles at Orlando and then trying to catch Auggie’s gaze in quick glances.
“Augs knows everything about poetry,” Orlando said. “That’s why I thought you guys would hit it off. He totally helped me pass my business writing class. Augs, Ryan writes the best poetry in the entire world. You’re going to love it!”
“Really?” Ryan asked. His voice was quiet, with a soft accent that sounded like it might be from somewhere in New England. “Who’s your favorite poet?”
“I don’t know anything about poetry. Orlando’s just impressed that I know where to put commas sometimes.”
Ryan laughed.
“And Augs is super strong too,” Orlando said. He launched himself onto Auggie, bearing him down toward the ground, and Auggie had to fight him off, laughing. “See?” Orlando said when they finally separated. “He’s, like, the strongest person I know.”
“Are you insane?” Auggie said, feigning a kick that made Orlando squirm away. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Hold on, I just saw this girl from chem class.” Orlando shot to his feet and ran across the quad, shouting, “Miriam, hold up!”
“Oh my God,” Auggie said, covering his face. “This is the worst setup ever.”
“He’s not exactly subtle, is he?” Ryan said. He looked like he was fighting a smile.
“Not even close. I’m surprised he didn’t strip me down to my boxers and put me on parade.”
“So you wear boxers,” Ryan said, his smile slipping free.
Auggie grinned. “What about you?”
“You’ll have to try a little harder to find out.”
Face hot, Auggie said, “No, I meant, what about you, like—oh my God.”
Ryan’s smile got bigger.
“I meant, Orlando totally made that up about me knowing a lot about poetry. Did he—I mean, do you—are you, like—” Sweat popped out along Auggie’s forehead. “You know what, I’m just going to go over there and kill myself.”
Laughing, Ryan nodded. “I write poetry.”
“Oh. Cool. I’m going to be totally honest and tell you that I know almost nothing about poetry. I mean, I’m double majoring in English, and I like reading Shakespeare, even though I don’t understand half of what I read.”
“People always say that,” Ryan said. “But the best part about poetry is you don’t always have to pin down a meaning. It’s more important to just feel a poem. The sounds, the images, what it does in your gut.”
“Wow. I’ve never heard someone talk about it like that. That’s pretty . . . cool.”
Ryan blushed. It was a crazy blush, running through his face like wildfire.
“I’d like to hear some of your poems sometime,” Auggie said.
“Yeah.” Ryan smiled and nodded. “They’re not very good, but ok.”
Auggie opened his mouth, but his phone buzzed. He thought about ignoring it. And then he thought about Fer going nuclear if Auggie missed any sort of contact.
“I’m sorry, I’ve just got to check this.”
Instead of Fer, though, Theo’s name showed on the screen.
“Just a second,” Auggie said. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“Hello?”
Instead of a voice, though, the call buzzed with ambient noise.
“Theo?” Someone farther down the quad was laughing, and Auggie put a hand over his ear. “Theo, are you there?”
Mumbled words. The only one Auggie could pick up was “spinning.”
“I’m coming over.” He disconnected the phone.
When he looked up, Ryan was watching him, a quizzical look on his face.
“My friend,” Auggie said. “He’s going through a rough patch.”
“He’s lucky he’s got you.”
“I’m not sure he feels that way. Could I—would it be weird if I got your number? Basically I’m trying to avoid any sequence of events that involves Orlando wrestling me just so I get to see you again.”
Ryan laughed. He took Auggie’s phone and entered his number. “Next time,” Ryan said, “you have to tell me something about you. You can’t just be a super-hot guy who loves Shakespeare and wants to hear bad poetry.”
Wrinkling his brow, Auggie said, “I can’t?”