Now, looking at those cloudy eyes, the glint in them, he realized Dr. Wagner hadn’t forgotten either.
“No,” Theo said.
“Excuse me?”
“I said no. That’s not true. I had a relationship with an undergraduate student who had been my student previously. There was never any suggestion that the relationship had taken place while we were teacher and student.” Theo struggled for a smile. “And relationship is really too strong of a word. We tried something, and it didn’t work.”
Wagner huffed. “Well, that’s certainly not how I heard it.”
“You’re hearing it right now. From me.”
“Yes. Well.”
“And I’m sure you understand how appearances can be misleading.”
Wagner huffed some more. “I certainly hope there won’t be any further misunderstandings, Mr. Stratford. No more misleading appearances. As instructors, we have a sacred trust to shape young minds. We are responsible for their wellbeing. I hope I make myself perfectly clear when I say that nothing less will be tolerated.”
Gin, Theo thought. He couldn’t be sure, because all he was getting was the reek of alcohol, but Theo would have put money on gin being the drink of choice.
“Of course,” Theo said.
“I think that will be all, then.”
Dismissed, Theo limped out of the office, collecting his cane as he went. His knee was much better, and he had been consistent with his exercises even after physical therapy ended. He carried the cane, though, because his knee stiffened after he sat too long, and it still gave out at the weirdest times. And, if he were honest, because he found the cane comforting. You could really mess somebody up with a cane if you needed to.
He was unlocking the door to the office he shared with Grace and Dawson, a cubbyhole of a room at the far end of Liversedge Hall, when his phone buzzed again. He fanned the door back and forth to clear the toxic musk of weed (Dawson) and chai (Grace) from the closed-up room. Another message from Cart.
Have you talked to him?
Just got out of the old fuck’s office.
Theo was just settling in at his desk, cane propped against the window, when the phone buzzed again.
You know that’s not what I meant.
Theo looked at the message for almost a full minute. Then he closed the phone, put it in his pocket, and started up the ancient desktop computer. It was none of Cart’s fucking business if Theo had talked to Auggie yet.
3
Auggie ran into Orlando, literally, on his second day in the Sigma Sigma house. He was naked except for a towel around his waist, and he was rushing because he’d overslept and they were having a house meeting in half an hour. He yanked open his door, charged into the hallway, and crashed straight into his roommate from freshman year. They both went down in a tumble.
“Oh my God,” Orlando was saying, “I’m so sorry—Augs?”
Auggie grabbed the towel, which had ripped free in the fall, and covered himself awkwardly as he stood. Orlando picked himself up too. He’d been carrying a box, and now it lay on its side, spilling sneakers and tie-dyed jockstraps across the carpet squares. Auggie forced his eyes up, away from the jocks, to meet Orlando’s eyes.
His former roommate hadn’t changed much. The same thick eyebrows, the same heavy scruff, the same strong jaw. He looked both thinner than Auggie remember and like he’d packed on even more muscle. It seemed impossible but made sense in a way—Orlando was a star on Wroxall’s wrestling team, and he’d doubtless worked hard over the last six months to recover from the terrible stab wound he’d taken in the winter. He was staring at Auggie, and Auggie had to fight the urge to cover his bare chest.
“Hey Augs,” Orlando said. “Umm. Hi. Hello.”
“No. Absolutely not. Whatever this is, go away.”
“This is crazy, right?”
“Yep. Crazy. Totally batshit. Bye, Orlando.”
Then the door next to Auggie’s opened, and Ethan Kovara, a junior and one of the few other Cali boys in the frat, poked his head out. “Hey, Auggie. You met my new roommate? Orlando, this is Auggie. Auggie, Orlando.”
Orlando smiled uncertainly. “How have you been?”
“You guys know each other?” Ethan asked.
“Could you give us a minute?” Orlando said.
“Yeah, man. Oh, dude, raunchy,” he said, laughing as he looked at the jocks, and then he shut the door.
Orlando stooped down, gathering up the jocks and sneakers. Auggie grimaced and struggled with a growl and then squatted—which was weird as hell in a towel—and helped. It had been his fault, after all.
“I, uh, didn’t know you were going to live here. You said you thought you were going to get a place with Tyler and Chris.”
“That didn’t work out.”
“I wasn’t trying to, you know . . .”
“Stalk me?”
A huge grin broke out on Orlando’s face. “Something like that.”
For some reason, Auggie found himself smiling too. “God, I’m an asshole. I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect—I mean, it’s good to see you, but things just ended kind of weird.”
“Yeah, I didn’t like how they ended. I’m really sorry, Augs. About all of it. I—I’m on a new med, and I’m seeing a therapist, so, you know, you don’t have to worry.”
“I wasn’t worried.” Orlando’s smile got a little bigger, and Auggie heard himself adding, “I could have handled things better too.”
“Nah, man. It was all me. Sorry again.”
They were still hunkered down, and Auggie was still in a towel, and Orlando’s dark eyes were staying painfully fixed on Auggie’s face like he was fighting the desire to look.
“Are you ok? I mean, the recovery and stuff.”
As they both stood, Orlando tugged up his tee to expose dense muscle covered by dark hair. Low on his stomach, a shiny scar ran for four inches; it still looked inflamed
“Shit,” Auggie said.
“I might be out this season. The doctors really don’t want me wrestling; they already think
