Yet a Stranger (The First Quarto #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,61
don’t know that.”
“—and I think I could help him get some answers. I’m starting to think that if I can find the right person in the Volunteers, they might be able to tell me who was dealing to Cal—”
“Jesus Christ,” Theo whispered harshly. He shot up from the seat, grabbed Auggie’s arm, and forced him toward the hallway. Several students stared, and one boy even shifted nervously to the edge of his chair.
Wagner didn’t seem to notice. He was already talking. “Today we will be discussing Friar John’s role in act five of Romeo and Juliet. Although I believe I can safely assume that either you have not done the reading or you did not understand it, I will take a risk: can anyone tell us who Friar John is?”
A pretty girl, her hair in a loose chignon—Leah, Theo thought—raised her hand. “He’s the messenger sent by Friar Lawrence. He’s supposed to tell Romeo that Juliet isn’t really dead. He’s unable to deliver the message because he’s forced to quarantine, and that miscommunication is what sets in motion the end of the play.”
Wagner’s sneer faltered and then returned. “An adequate summary, but to call it a miscommunication is erroneous. It is more accurately a failure of communication.”
Then the door swung shut behind Theo. Out in the hall, he shoved Auggie up against the wall. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I know there’s good reason to believe the murder wasn’t a drug deal gone wrong, but—”
“I don’t care about that. I don’t care about any of that. The Ozark Volunteers? The goddamn Volunteers? Are you out of your mind?”
“I’m not going to get involved with them. I just want to know—”
Theo shoved him against the wall again. “That’s involved, Auggie. That’s exactly the definition of involved.”
“Stop pushing me.”
“No.” Theo shoved him again. In his mind, he was seeing Evans with the gun. He was seeing Luke in the hayloft, the flies crawling over his open eyes. “No.” He grabbed Auggie’s shirt and wrangled him as Auggie tried to slip away. “No. No. I’m telling you no. We’re done.”
It took him a moment to realize that Auggie wasn’t moving. A girl in a pink tulle skirt had stopped at the end of the hall to watch them.
“Fuck off,” Theo shouted at her.
She sprinted away.
“Let go of me, please.” Auggie’s voice was calm, but the tiniest tremor underlay it.
Theo released him. The button-up was wrinkled where he had grabbed it.
“You’re right,” Auggie said. “We’re done. I’m not going to do this. I’m not going to keep doing this.”
“Great. I’m glad you’re finally seeing reason.”
“No, Theo. You and me. I’m done. I’m not going to watch you kill yourself because you’re afraid of getting better.”
Footsteps were ringing off Tether-Marfitt’s stone floors. The echoes got inside Theo’s head, bouncing around with the buzzing of flies.
“Is there anything else you want to say?” Auggie said.
“You don’t want to be seen as a little kid? You’re tired of it? Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”
Auggie raised his chin but didn’t answer.
“Then don’t give fucking ultimatums like a fucking toddler.”
He couldn’t hear the footsteps anymore. Toddler, toddler, toddler ran up and down the halls.
“I’m going back into class,” Auggie said, his dark eyes soft and very sad.
When the door clicked shut behind him, Theo marched to the end of the hall, kicked over a trash can, and then chased after the mixture of Starbucks cups and paper food wrappers that had spilled across the floor. He followed one of the cups all the way to the stairwell, chuffing uncontrollably, until he sent it spinning off the landing with one final kick. Then, after a minute to bring himself down, he picked up the rest of the garbage, washed his hands, and went back to class.
Days rolled into weeks. Weeks rolled into months. Late summer turned into fall, and by the end of November, fall teetered on the edge of winter. It wasn’t that nothing happened during those months. Theo spent them working on his thesis, grading papers for Dr. Wagner, continuing his physical therapy exercises, visiting Lana, and building something—he wasn’t sure what to call it—with Cart.
Many times with his brothers, Theo had gone cliff jumping. He had particularly liked a flooded limestone quarry only a few miles from their home. On a perfect day, the sun was hot, the air was humid and thick, and the water, when you plunged into it, crisply cold. The trick was knowing where the water was deep enough—and, therefore