“Hey, dongbait,” Fer said, shoving his shoulder. “I’m talking to you.”
“I’m listening, Jesus.”
“College isn’t just about getting girls, ok?”
“I didn’t say that. You said that.”
“Yeah, well, Mom’s paying for this shit, ok? So you need to take it seriously.”
“I am taking it seriously.”
“You’ve got to be a man now. You can’t just be a kid, ok? You’ve got to learn how to stand on your own two feet.”
“You’ve got to learn not to talk in clichés,” Auggie muttered.
“This asshole?” Fer thumbed at the bathroom, where the steady drone of the shower continued. “He’s going to be jerking off into your jockeys if you don’t set some limits.”
“You are so twisted.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. You are messed up in the head.”
Fer mimed jerking off.
“Goodbye, Fer. Just leave the rest of my boxes and get lost.”
Fer started to moan as he pretended to stroke himself. Two girls passed the door, paused, and glanced in before hurrying away.
“Oh my God,” Auggie said, grabbing Fer’s arm and trying to force him out of the room.
Laughing, Fer dragged Auggie with him toward the stairs. “Come on, asswipe. Let’s get the rest of your stuff.”
After the third trip, when Orlando was still in the shower, Fer stopped in the middle of the quad and said, “Christ, I got the whole thing fucking backwards.”
Auggie glanced at where they had parked the Escalade, and then he looked back at Moriah Court. “What?”
“It’s gay porn, dude. You’re living out your gay porn fantasies.”
“Fer.”
“That’s like a staple of gay porn, Augustus. You’re moving into your dorm, the new roommate steps out of the shower, he’s naked, he’s a fucking stud, he bends you over that stack of cardboard boxes and you guys do the two-boy bucking bronco.”
“You know an awful lot about gay porn.”
“Sexuality is a buffet,” Fer said, stopping again to point a finger at Auggie. “Gotta get a little of everything on your plate, little bro.”
“Hold still,” Auggie said.
“What? Why?”
“I’m hoping this truck will hit you and kill you.”
Fer slapped him on the back of the head before Auggie could get away.
There was only one box left in the back of the SUV. Auggie hoisted it, balanced it, and stepped back while Fer shut the door.
“You want me to come up and make your bed?”
Auggie rolled his eyes.
“You want me to count your socks?”
“Bye, Fer.”
Fer surprised him by pulling him into a hug, kissing him on the cheek, and then giving him a noogie so hard that Auggie thought he had a traumatic brain injury.
“Love ya,” Fer said.
“Love ya,” Auggie said.
“You call me if any assholes give you trouble,” Fer said. He hesitated, shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and looked up the street as he added, “Especially about, you know.”
“Nobody even knows about that here.”
“I’m just saying. I’ll drive all the fuck back and kick some fucking ass.”
Auggie smiled and adjusted the box. “Yeah.”
“I’ll tell mom you said you missed her.”
“Do not,” Auggie said. “Don’t you dare.”
Fer threw him the bird, got into the Escalade, and backed out of the parking stall. A moment later the SUV was turning at the corner, the California plates winking out of sight. Then Auggie was alone with a Missouri sky, Missouri kids, and the un-fucking-bearable Missouri heat. Surrounded by people swarming to move into dorms. Surrounded by kids his age laughing and playing. Surrounded, virtually, by hundreds of thousands of fans who wanted to see his latest video or his next joke. Surrounded in just about every way imaginable, and feeling oh-so-fucking alone right then that he thought he might cry. He pulled a sad face, snapped a few pictures of himself—had to get the jawline right—and scrawled wish you were here on the bottom of the best one. He posted it and figured that it could easily hit high five figures.
He carried the box back to Moriah Court, climbed the stairs—this time, two girls were moving an electronic keyboard and a brass monkey the size of a Doberman—and let himself back into the dorm room.
His first thought, upon seeing Orlando for the first time, his roommate standing with a towel around his waist, nothing but muscle on muscle on muscle and a thick pelt of hair on his bare chest, was: oh, fuck, he’s hot.
His second thought was: fucking Fer, being fucking right again.
And his third thought, seeing the slight shift in Orlando’s expression when he noticed the elongated moment of attention, was that he, Auggie Lopez, was fucked.
2
When Theo got to Liversedge Hall, campus was busy, and he realized that the first official move-in day was in full swing. He arrived later than he would have liked. He had gone to Downing first that morning, just as he went every day now. It was too far for his bad leg, even on the bike, so that meant the bus, and the bus meant being late. Everywhere. All around him, kids—eighteen, most of them, but with eyes and hair and skin like babies—were everywhere: carrying hampers full of clothes, toting bedding, one boy with thirty shirts on hangers slung across his back, a pair of girls carrying what looked like a brass monkey. The damn thing looked tall enough to reach Theo’s knees. And parents. Don’t forget the parents. Moms whipping back and forth between cars and dorms, lugging suitcases and beanbag chairs and posters of teen pop stars. Justin Bieber? Theo had never heard of him, but then again, he wasn’t sure he’d read the name right. The dads, for the most part, puttered around, obviously feeling very important and just as obviously trying to figure out how to look busy. One poor guy was walking in a circle with a screwdriver until a woman with a Jackie O bouffant put her hands on her hips and screamed, “Peter, get the lead out.”
Once, on the farm, Theo’s dad had had to put down an old mule. The look on Jackie O’s face was eerily similar.
Theo went inside Liversedge. He filled up his water bottle
