Yet a Stranger (The First Quarto #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,51

had set up a board game—something really complicated, something with a million tiny painted figurines—and were laughing and shoving each other. Auggie only recognized Tayyib, who was trying to grow a goatee; the sophomore rolled dice and then howled with dismay, dropping out of his chair while the other guys jeered.

Auggie dumped out the rest of his water and went upstairs. His thoughts kept pace with him. Other guys played board games. Other guys chased each other with towels. Other guys didn’t worry about keeping up Facebook and Instagram and Twitter and, now, Snapchat. Other guys didn’t spend fifteen minutes getting the lighting perfect for one selfie before they even went to take a leak in the morning. Other guys didn’t think about murders.

Did other guys think, if I could hold his hand, if I could kiss him, if I could make things better for him somehow, if he didn’t think of me as such a kid, if I were smarter, braver, stronger older, maybe he’d finally see me, see me the way I see him (everywhere, every time I turn around)? If they did, they didn’t talk about it. If they did, it was probably somebody their own age, somebody they actually had a chance with.

In his room, Auggie locked the door, crawled into bed, and pulled the pillow over his face. After a while, he got out his phone and texted Theo: Are you ok? I’m worried about you.

He fell asleep waiting for an answer.

When he woke, the thud of a bass line reverberated through the house, and the smell of weed filtered under the door. Guys were laughing, shouting, running through the halls. A voice that sounded like Miller Benitez crowed, “Dude, she is going to suck the fucking root tonight, I swear to God.” Auggie groaned into the pillow, now sticky with drool, and pulled it away from his face.

He’d forgotten about the Sigma Sigma back-to-school party. It was a tradition—everything was a tradition—and since this was his first year as a full brother, it was his first chance to attend. Auggie scrubbed his eyes clear and made his way to the showers. Someone was in the stall next to Auggie, making outrageously loud fapping noises and moaning intermittently. Then somebody else picked up on it, and then another guy, and then somebody let out a sharp cry and everything was silent. Whether it was real or not, Auggie had no idea, but a chorus of laughter followed. Auggie laughed along with the rest of them until he remembered Theo, the expression on his face, his tone as he asked, You like it here? He rinsed off and left the showers; the other guys were screaming fake orgasms, but it wasn’t funny anymore.

Snapping his way through the process, Auggie picked out clothes for the party—a tank that said I’M THE COOL KIND OF BRO and his skinniest jeans, paired with the ridiculously expensive Jordans that Fer had bought him last Christmas. He was pulling on his pants when he got a snap back from dylan_j199. It was a picture of Dylan’s face, his eyes huge; judging from the background, Auggie thought Dylan was already downstairs at the party. Dylan had scribbled something—a drawing that might have been a dog. A second snap immediately followed, this time only half of Dylan’s face, and he was covering his eyes. The text said, thats a fox. ur a fox. dont judge me, i immediately regretted it.

Grinning, Auggie finished dressing and headed downstairs. The party was going full force, guys and girls wandering the halls with red plastic cups in their hands, someone in the kitchen asking if they were going to order pizza, another guy selling drink bracelets. Auggie paid and put on the bracelet, and then he got himself a shot, which he did first, and a beer, which he carried with him.

Then he wandered the party. He wasn’t looking for Dylan. He was just wandering. He just wanted to get a feel for the night. That’s what he told himself every time he disengaged from a conversation, broke away from a group, pretended not to see someone flagging him down. The nice thing about the main-floor layout was that most of the rooms had multiple entrances: he could cut through the kitchen, wave at somebody in the serving area, pretend to spot someone in the dining room, and loop back through the mud room and into the gallery. He cut across the foyer, with its seating area