And, of course, Auggie’s free time was rapidly swallowed up by Chan’s escalating feud with him. His ex-girlfriend apparently hadn’t learned her lesson from when she had reposted the murder video. She had created a new account, exclusive to Instagram, and every day she posted a new video of her defacing or destroying a picture of Auggie: she cut them up and burned the pieces; she made voodoo dolls and stabbed them with pins; one of her favorites was to ink over a picture of Auggie so it looked like he was giving a blow job. And during each of these videos, she would tell a story about Auggie being an awful boyfriend—most of them made up, a few of them true. The account’s handle was thisisurex2, and the worst part was that it was incredibly popular.
So Auggie figured he had his hands full: classes, new friends, making videos with Orlando and the gang, dealing with Chan. He felt busier than he ever had in his entire life. And at night, before he fell asleep, he’d remember Theo’s body framing his, remember the smell of cedar and moss and beer, the raspy burn of whiskers against his cheek, Theo’s breath hot where his neck joined his shoulder.
“No,” Auggie said. It was a Friday in October, late afternoon, and he and Orlando were finishing up a video. “You have to look seriously mad.”
Orlando had the perfect face for looking mad: the heavy brows, the heavy scruff, the strong jaw. The problem was he kept breaking character and giggling.
“Ok, ok, ok, ok, ok,” Orlando said, shaking the box of Cookie Crisp so the cereal rattled inside. “I got it, Augs.”
“You’re smiling again.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Think about a dead puppy. Or a dead kitten. Or a dead puppy inside a dead kitten.”
“Oh fuck,” Orlando said. “You are so weird.”
“Yes, that face.”
Auggie started recording and then moved into the frame. He pretended to sneak toward the mini fridge under Orlando’s bed. He opened it, got out the milk, and then walked over to the boxes of cereal lined on the windowsill. He ran his finger down them, stopped at the spot where a box was missing, and made a face for the camera. With a shrug, he pretended to settle on Apple Jacks, hooking the box with one finger.
Orlando stomped into the frame, grabbed Auggie by the shoulder, and tossed him toward the bed. Auggie was ready, and he jumped into the movement so it looked like Orlando had thrown him across the room. Then Orlando poured himself a bowl of cereal, added milk, and let out a satisfied noise as he crunched the first bite.
Auggie burst out laughing as soon as the scene ended. He had landed on Orlando’s bed, and now he rolled onto his back, laughing even harder.
“You are so bad at this.”
“Fuck off,” Orlando said, grinning around another mouthful of Cookie Crisp.
“You are. You don’t look angry at all.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Auggie said. “You look like a little kid. You’re just so excited to get that Cookie Crisp.”
“That’s the whole point, dumbass.”
“But it’s funnier if you look mad the whole time.”
“I’ll show you mad,” Orlando said, crowding up against the bed and slotting himself between Auggie’s legs, leaning over Auggie, propping himself on one elbow so that they were inches apart. He screwed his face up into a grimace and chomped another bite. “How’s this for mad?”
“You are so stupid,” Auggie said, laughing.
The change, when it happened, was instantaneous: Auggie’s laughter turned to stone in his chest, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. Orlando seemed to feel it too. His chewing slowed and then stopped. He swallowed. Then, without taking his eyes from Auggie, Orlando set the bowl down. His hand slid along the mattress, his thumb grazing the side of Auggie’s thigh.
A knock came at the door. Orlando froze, and then a blush rushed in behind that thick, dark stubble, and he grabbed the bowl and stumbled back. Milk sloshed over the rim, and he swore.
“I’ll clean that up,” he muttered.
Auggie slid off the bed, staring at Orlando. Orlando stared back, sucking milk from the back of his hand. Then he blushed even harder and hurried into the bathroom.
The knock came again.
When Auggie opened the door, he thought, for a very short moment, about slamming it shut again. The rational part of his brain told him that wouldn’t solve anything in the long run, so instead, he set his shoulder against the door to keep it from being forced open, and spoke through the gap.
“Yeah?”
Glasses hadn’t changed much in the month since Auggie had seen him. Same huge glasses in yellow plastic. Same huge mustache. But he looked younger, rested, refreshed. He smiled with his uneven teeth and placed a hand on the door. Just looking comfortable? Or ready to force his way into the room? Auggie’s heartbeat accelerated.
“Let’s take a walk,” Glasses said.
“Hey,” Orlando said, emerging from the bathroom, “uh, I just wanted to say—”
“I’ll be back later,” Auggie said, grabbing his phone and stepping out into the hallway. Again, by some miracle, Glasses had chosen an opening when no one was wandering around—which seemed impossible in a place like Moriah Court, where people were up and going at all hours.
On the quad, a beautiful fall day was waiting: the sun high and bright, the sky crisply blue. It was warm, threatening to tip over into hot again. A maintenance team was working on a fountain, and the smell of wet leaves and dead grass was not exactly unpleasant. Auggie glanced around, looking for the big guy and the woman who had been waiting for him last time. He didn’t see them, and he wondered if Theo had been right: maybe they really were working for someone else.
“August, how are you doing?” Glasses asked as they walked around the quad’s perimeter. A frisbee hit the sidewalk ahead of them, skittering along for another yard before stopping against a crack
