Yet a Stranger (The First Quarto #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,60
what? Never mind.”
“No, no, no. I’m sorry. I’ll try to help. You know the drugs thing is a little scary, right? I mean, you saw what happened to Cal.”
“It’s not like that. It’s spiritual. And it’s part of this experience of being together, really being together. Our souls, I mean.”
Making a face, Orlando said, “You’re sure about this guy? I mean, there’s definitely something about Dylan?”
“We have this connection. I don’t know how to explain it. I felt it when we met, and it’s like—it’s like we’re connected.”
Orlando got a huge grin that vanished almost immediately.
“What?” Auggie said. “You’ve never felt it, so you don’t get to talk.”
“I was just thinking of my English paper. ‘The symbolism of black is death.’”
Auggie threw the pillow at him.
Laughing, Orlando batted it away. He was still sitting with his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his shins, his dark eyes wide with amusement. Even after his injury, he was still so big—so much muscle, on a large frame. How could someone so big make himself so small, Auggie wondered. And then he thought about being called Peepee, and how Wayne sent him to the kitchen for a beer, and how Billie acted like he didn’t even exist, and Auggie realized maybe it wasn’t that much of a surprise after all.
“You’re a really good friend,” Auggie said.
Orlando shrugged. “You know, a lot of guys would love to hang out with you. Just friends, hook ups, whatever you want. If things don’t work out with Dylan, I mean. I know you and Theo—no, I guess I don’t know.” He turned the end of it into a question.
“I don’t either. I thought I did. At the end of last year, I said a lot of things to him. And then he turned around and started dating Cart, and—and I don’t know, I feel like everything’s different, and I get mad at him all the time, and I don’t know why things have to be so awful.”
“Fuck ’em,” Orlando said. “Fuck both of them.”
“I guess so.”
“You deserve a great guy, Augs. We’ll find one for you.”
“Thanks. You do too, you know. Guy or girl.”
Orlando just shrugged again. “Come down to dinner with me? The guys want to know you’re ok.”
“Yeah, just give me a few minutes to clean up.”
After Orlando left, Auggie pulled his laptop onto his chest, opened it, and pulled up Facebook. Then he opened tabs for Twitter, Craigslist, and Google. He logged out of his social media accounts and created dummy profiles. Then he started trawling white supremacist forums, posting brief requests. He wanted drugs. He wanted to know who sold drugs. He did what he’d learned to do with his own social media platforms: he scanned the traffic, learned the lingo, and made it his own.
Orlando deserved answers about his brother’s death. Every other road had led to a dead end, so now Auggie was going to do what he should have done at the beginning: he was going to follow the drugs. And according to Theo, that meant the Ozark Volunteers.
26
After his bad trip on Percocet and White Rascal, Theo only spoke to Auggie once before Thanksgiving break. He took a week off from life—Dr. Wagner didn’t even reply to Theo’s vague email about a personal emergency—and convinced Cart to call in sick for a day. They spent that day at a winery in the Ozarks, got a cheap hotel, and fucked and drank until they both passed out. Twice on the drive home, Cart asked if everything was ok. The second time, Theo gave him road head just to get him to stop asking.
The next Tuesday, in class, Theo sat near the blackboard, marking out a clear division between himself and the rest of the class.
Auggie, as usual, ignored the nonverbal warning.
He was wearing a button-up, pinstripe shorts, and dock shoes. He kept shifting his backpack, staring at Theo’s feet, and then blurted, “Are you ok?”
“I’m fine, Auggie.”
“Why didn’t you text me back?”
“I had a lot going on.”
“I was worried about you.”
Dr. Wagner came into the room, set his briefcase on the desk, and opened the locks with two identical snicks. He pulled out papers and began assembling his lecture notes. Even from where he sat, Theo could smell the booze.
“I needed to do some thinking,” Theo said.
“Thinking about what?”
“About what we’ve been doing. I’m done. And I hope you’ll stop too.”
Auggie shook his head. “Orlando needs someone to help him. The murder investigation by the police isn’t going anywhere—”