Yet a Stranger (The First Quarto #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,90

who you want to hang out with?

“Who are you?” Dylan said his chest puffing out.

Auggie wondered if he could die just standing there. “Dylan, this is Theo. Theo, this is Dylan.”

They shook hands. Theo grimaced, and although the expression was faint, Auggie noticed. He also noticed Dylan’s chest puffing up again.

One of the girls with the lime-green hats stomped her feet. Holding the guitar at a strange angle over his shoulder, the kid with the goatee strummed a cord. This, Auggie was sure, was approximately the same experience as the world ending.

“So,” Theo said. “You’re Dylan.”

“You know what?” Auggie said. “We were just about to try to move locations and get up near the front.”

“Great,” Theo said. “Let’s go.”

They made their way to the front of the crowd, with Dylan doing a lot of the elbowing and muscling. In order to do so, he had to release Auggie, and Auggie found himself hanging back with Theo.

“He seems nice,” Theo said.

“Do not.” Auggie stopped himself. “Just do not do this right now.”

Theo raised one eyebrow. He had his long, strawberry-blond hair tucked under a hat, and he smelled like cedar. Over the murmur of the crowd, he said, “I’m sorry, I guess I misread things. Do you want me to go?”

Auggie picked at his lip. Then, shaking his head, he said, “No. I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m just nervous. I want you guys to get along.” Then, unable to stop himself, he added, “He really is a great guy.”

“Well, if he’s a great guy, we’re going to get along.”

It took Auggie a few more minutes to recognize the weight that Theo had placed on that if.

It looked like most of the college had turned out for the demonstration. Since coming to Wahredua, this was the most racial diversity in one place that Auggie had seen. It reminded him—in good ways—of California. Although there were still plenty of white faces in the crowd, the majority of the audience seemed to be black, with heavy pockets of people who looked like they were of Asian descent, or Latino, or Pacific Islander. A young woman with her dark hair chopped short was carrying a poster that said I am the Cheyenne Nation. Justice for Deja is Justice for Everyone. She smiled when she met Auggie’s gaze and then her eyes slid back toward the podium.

The stand that had been erected had obviously been done quickly and without any regard for longevity. The wood was particleboard painted black, and judging by the dust, the scuffs, the sticky residue, and the strip of old green tape, Auggie guessed that this had come from somewhere in the theater department. Wires and cables snaked through the snow, connecting the microphone on the stand with speakers placed at various locations throughout the crowd. Auggie wasn’t sure how long this event had been in the planning, but it definitely showed an attention to detail and a care in execution that made him realize the people behind it were more than angry kids. There were brains at work here. Serious brains.

As though summoned by the thought, a group of young black men and women emerged from the crowd and mounted the stand. All of them were wearing long-sleeved black shirts with white letters that said Justice for Deja. They had sacrificed their coats in spite of the cold so that the shirts could be seen. Several of them were shivering and chafing their arms as they huddled together on the stand in a last-minute conversation.

“I didn’t know you were going to come to this,” Theo said. “I wish I had. We could’ve come together.”

“Yeah,” Auggie said. “Social justice is really important to me.”

“Is that how you met Dylan?”

Auggie shook his head. Before he had to explain how he had met Dylan—he could imagine the look on Theo’s face if he ever learned that they’d met at the Sigma Sigma move-in—a young woman approached the microphone.

She was tall and muscular, her skin very dark and her hair in a tight fade. In that moment, Auggie thought she might be a lesbian. He couldn’t have said why, but the thought came to him, and it wouldn’t go.

“My name is Nia,” the girl said. “Deja was my sister. Thank you for coming.” She stopped. When she spoke again, her voice was thick with emotion. “It’s hard for me to believe that if things had been different, my sister would be here right now. She was an excellent student. She was an amazing athlete. She had