Page 16 of People Like Us

He stepped backward, hands lifted in surrender. “Special Olympics in Salisbury. Penelope’s brother is running in the race. We’re going to cheer him on.”

I’d spent years around boys who only loved things that they themselves could win. But August seemed to have no interest in anything that involved competition. Something about that made me feel a primal need to win him.

“You’re the most interesting person I know, August Brooks,” I said without thinking.

His pointed canines sunk into his bottom lip, holding back a grin, nearly tripping over his own feet as he said, “Not a lot of competition, aye, Lola Sinley?”

As I watched him duck back into the car, my whole body felt like it was on fire with the need to ask him to take me with him. Not just to Salisbury, but anywhere he was planning to go.

The bell over The Grill door rang again and Andy came out carrying a paper sack stained dark at the bottom with grease.

“What were y’all talking about?” The words were muffled around the fry in his mouth.

I turned to him. “They’re going to Salisbury, for the Special Olympics.”

Andy barked a laugh. “Exciting.”

“It might be fun,” I shrugged. “We could go.” He looked at me like I’d suggested we attend a funeral for strangers.

“Would I rather sit in the sun and watch a bunch of kids run around,” he smiled like he was being charming, “or would I rather take you back to your trailer, eat this cheeseburger, and fuck till your parents get home?” He said it like the crude remark was meant to be a compliment to me.

I laughed because that was what was expected of me. But when he reached for my hand, I thought of August blushing in the sunlight and promising to keep my secret, and for the first time in a long while Andy’s touch felt like something I had agreed to out of habit.

Chapter Seven

“What is the power house of the cell?” August’s voice floated across the worn cushions of the sofa in the middle of his room. He leaned back against the armrest, long fingers tapping against a set of color coded flash cards.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Mitochondria,” I answered easily, plucking a potato chip from the ceramic bowl perched between us and popping it into my mouth.

We’d been going back and forth like this for the past half hour. He’d ask me a biology question, and if I got the answer right then I was allowed to ask him a personal question. He had come up with an arrangement, and reasoned: what motivates a teen girl more than gossip?

I hated how well it was working.

So far I’d learned that August turned eighteen only two weeks after I had in July, he’d never been on a date, and had only ever broken one bone—his pinky, after his sister slammed it in a car door when he was seven. The last one I discovered only because I’d asked him if he had any piercings other than the few in his ear, which he refused to answer so I replaced it with: ‘What’s the worst physical pain you’ve ever been in?’

“Are there any girls at school that you like?” I asked, covering my mouth as I talked around the chip.

He peered at me over the top of his flash cards, dark lashes shadowing his green eyes. “Not really.”

I nudged him with my foot. “Outside of school?”

“No.” His answer came out flat as he flipped to the next card in the stack. “What other purpose does the Mitochondria serve?” he challenged, voice teasing.

I pouted and folded my arms. “It’s still my turn.”

He lifted a brow. “No, I answered your question.”

“Not in totality,” I protested.

He sighed, setting the cards down on the coffee table. He reached for a chip, one of his heavy rings clinking against the rim of the bowl. “Fine. What is the totality of your question, Sin?”

“Sinley,” I corrected him.

“I know your name,” he said with a raised brow. I swallowed tightly before moving on.

“I want to know what kind of girls you like, so I know which direction to steer you in.” I stretched languidly and let out a soft breath.