Yet a Stranger (The First Quarto #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,22

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