Yet a Stranger (The First Quarto #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,11

swallowed and whispered, “Yeah.”

“Good. Come inside. I’ve got to save my kitchen before Auggie starts ripping out the drywall to find those chips.”

Auggie had already gotten the bag of Cool Ranch Doritos that Theo had purchased on Thursday. He was stretched out on the couch, his bare feet resting on the Riverside Shakespeare, his sneakers fallen on their sides on the floor next to him.

“God damn it,” Theo said.

“Theo,” Auggie said, pausing to crunch a Dorito extra loudly. “Orlando needs help finding his brother.”

“No. No way.”

“I promised to help him.”

“You will not. I will call Fer, and I will put you on a plane back to California before you get into another mess like last year. Hell, I’ll put you in a straitjacket if it comes to that.”

“Fine,” Auggie said, a little pout manifesting before he snapped his teeth shut on another chip. “I guess Orlando and I will just find him ourselves.”

“God damn it,” Theo said again because he knew that somehow, he’d already lost the argument.

7

“This is your car?” Theo said when he saw the Civic. “This?”

“It’s a car. What’s the problem?”

“But it’s your car?”

“Yes.”

“Yours?”

“Oh my God. Orlando, you’re sitting in the front seat. I already can’t handle this.”

Auggie wasn’t sure, but he thought Theo was smiling as he slipped into the back seat. It was hard not to keep checking the rearview mirror. Hard not to keep stealing looks. Theo looked better than ever. The hollowness in his face, the dark circles around his eyes, even most of the limp—they’d all vanished, as though the summer had been a magic cure. Or Cart, a treacherous part of Auggie’s brain suggested. Maybe being with Cart had made everything better. Theo was staring out the window, pushing the flow of strawberry blond hair behind his ears. His beard had copper in it where the sun struck just right.

“Umm,” Orlando said.

Auggie jerked the wheel to keep from hitting a mailbox.

In the back seat, Theo made an amused noise, and Auggie resolutely refused to look in the mirror.

“I didn’t know your family lived in Wahredua,” Theo said.

“Just outside the city limits,” Orlando said.

“Wahredua High?”

“Yup.”

“I knew,” Auggie said.

“You found out, like, an hour ago,” Orlando said.

“But I still knew before Theo.”

Orlando looked over his shoulder, obviously trading glances with Theo, so Auggie gave him a dead leg, driving his knuckle into Orlando’s thigh.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Orlando shouted.

“No more talking until we get to Cal’s apartment,” Auggie ordered.

“Thank God I got the back seat,” Theo murmured.

“What was that?”

In the rearview mirror, Auggie caught Theo’s too innocent smile.

Orlando rubbed his leg the rest of the drive.

The apartment building that Orlando directed them to was situated on the northeast side of town. Although there were some signs of revitalization—hipster cafes, a bike repair shop, a narrow brick house called, creatively, the Redbrick Bed and Breakfast—much of this area looked older and run down. Frame buildings were desperately in need of paint and, in some cases, structural support. Cinderblock strip malls displayed cracked foundations and empty storefronts.

“I’ve never been over here,” Auggie said as he parked.

“Really?” Orlando said. “The Pretty Pretty’s a couple of blocks that way.”

“What’s the Pretty Pretty?”

“The only gay club in town. You haven’t been? Oh my God, we’ve got to go sometime.”

Theo didn’t do anything. He didn’t even move. But suddenly Orlando’s face was red, and he said, “Um, you know, um, um.”

“Oh my God,” Auggie said.

Orlando was still stammering.

“Did you threaten him?” Auggie said to the rearview mirror.

Theo just rolled his eyes.

“I can go to a gay club if I want,” Auggie said.

“Be my guest,” Theo said. “You’ll get eaten alive, and not in a sexual way. Well, not exclusively in a sexual way.”

“What does that mean?”

“Go to the Pretty Pretty and find out.”

“Maybe I will.”

Theo rolled his eyes again.

“And I can go with Orlando if I want.”

Sighing, Theo just unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the Civic.

The apartment building had clearly been extensively renovated: the brick was clean, almost new looking, but its dark red color matched the other brick buildings in the area; the windows were definitely new, the energy-saving kind that Fer had bitched about putting in the house in California; in the exterior corridors, the stairs and railings had glossy black paint, and the outdoor carpet tiles were a bright, yellow-and-blue check that the sun hadn’t faded yet.

“That’s Wayne’s.” Orlando pointed to a blue BMW. Then, gesturing to the empty stall next to it, he said, “That’s Cal’s spot. He drives a yellow Mustang, and