Yet a Stranger (The First Quarto #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,33

You could fill a museum with them. The very first hint of color beneath the beard, the crisp pattern of red as the blush solidified, the way he scratched his cheek or shook his head or pushed his hair behind his ears when he got flustered. The end of the blush, when he’d forgotten about being flustered, and his eyes were like watercolors.

Auggie pulled a pillow over his face, told himself no, and then proceeded to jerk off.

When he’d finished, he went to the bathroom, showered, and began getting ready for the day. He was staring in the mirror, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, trying to get the right amount of gel to get the right amount of texture to get the right amount of lift in his crew cut, when the idea hit him.

“Oh shit,” he said to the mirror.

Brock Spafford, who was squeezing zits at the sink next to Auggie, glanced over.

“Oh shit,” Auggie told him and then sprinted back to his room.

He grabbed his phone and opened up an app he’d been trying to figure out how to use. Snapchat was still relatively new, but Auggie’s gut told him it had a lot of promise. The idea of messages, videos, and images that self-destructed had a degree of intrinsic appeal, but more importantly, there was something about the built-in scarcity, the get-it-while-you-can nature of the app, that he thought was going to make it huge. And, of course, it never hurt to have people hanging on your next video because they knew it would be gone soon.

He messed up his hair so that it looked like bedhead, and then he set up his lights and climbed back in bed. He pulled the sheet to his waist, so that his abs and a hint of dark hair below his navel was visible. Nips out. Until now, he’d been safe, sweet, boy-next-door Auggie—no nips. But that had also been straight-boy, ultracloseted Auggie. And fuck that Auggie.

The first snap in his story was of himself in bed. The next was him just after the shower—water gleaming on his chest, wet hair hanging over his forehead. The next was brushing his teeth, making a ridiculous face. The next was trying to get his hair right. The next was picking out an outfit. The next was nominally picking out shoes, but he angled the camera to get his bare leg and a hint of underwear. The next was his backpack. The next was the front of the Sigma Sigma house. The next was Wroxall’s gothic silhouette behind him—he slapped on the geofilter for this last one, because he was still trying things, and the geofilter was new. Most of the guys in the frat didn’t pay any attention; they knew who he was, and they knew what he did. Auggie did see a couple of them check their phones, and one guy—a junior named Tripp—did some pretty vigorous adjustments while staring at the screen.

Then Auggie saw the time and, swearing under his breath, sprinted to class.

He got to Tether-Marfitt two minutes after nine. He got to the fourth-floor classroom three minutes later. When he slipped into the classroom, Dr. Wagner was already droning on about something—it sounded like the publication history of Romeo and Juliet—and Auggie tried to sneak to the back of the class.

“Mr. Lopez,” Dr. Wagner said in his dry, nasally voice. “I’m so glad you could come to class.”

“Sorry,” Auggie said, creeping toward the aisle that would take him to the back of the room. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Please sit down, Mr. Lopez.”

“Right. Yes, sir.”

“Now, Mr. Lopez.”

Auggie threw a frantic look at the front row, which was totally empty except, of course, for Theo. Auggie shot across the room and dropped into the seat next to him. Dr. Wagner watched the whole thing, waiting in silence while Auggie unpacked his laptop, a piece of chalk suspended in one hand. Auggie’s face was hot as he opened the laptop and woke it up. He stared at the screen.

“If you’re ready, Mr. Lopez?”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I suppose you’ve decided you don’t need to bother bringing your textbook to class.”

Auggie stared at his backpack. “I forgot it. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“There’s no point in you staying if you don’t have your textbook, Mr. Lopez. Kindly remove yourself from the room.”

“He can share with me,” Theo said, sliding his copy of the Riverside Shakespeare to a spot between him and Auggie. When Dr. Wagner opened his mouth, Theo said, “Just for