Page 93 of People Like Us

Chapter Thirty-Six

August stood outside Mrs. Deal’s classroom with his back against the wall, one boot hooked over the other, a stainless steel tumbler balanced in his hand and a paper shopping bag hanging from his fingers. He looked unfairly beautiful standing there waiting for me like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he belonged to me openly.

Somebody had tracked rainwater over the waxed tile floors, and the dampness carried the muddy scent of the football field all the way inside. August’s attention settled on me the second I rounded the corner.

His face softened immediately. That coral-coated expression did terrible things to me.

“Morning, Sin,” he said quietly, holding out the tumbler before I’d even reached him.

The coffee smell hit me first—sweet cream and cinnamon. I smiled despite myself and stepped close enough to press a quick kiss against his cheek. His skin was cold from standing near the exterior doors.

“Morning.”

He lifted the paper bag toward me. “I cleaned it for you.”

I peeked inside, finding the formal dress I’d left on his bathroom floor when Morgan had driven me to my house so I could change before church Sunday morning, folded neatly inside.

I took the bag carefully from his hands. Nobody had ever taken care of my things like that before. Nobody had ever treated something I’d made like it was valuable.

His fingers brushed mine as I took the bag, and for one reckless second I almost leaned into him right there in the middle of the hallway.

Then Mr. Hayward’s classroom door opened across from us. The sound made August’s hand fall away from the bag so quickly it was almost guilty.

Andy stepped out first. Everything inside me seized. His eyes landed immediately on the coffee in my hand. Then the shopping bag. Then August standing too close to me beneath the buzzing fluorescent lights.

Tension rolled across Andy’s shoulders so harshly I could practically hear it. Behind him, Mr. Hayward remained oblivious, balancing a stack of papers against his chest as he spoke in that warm distracted voice of his.

“I don’t want to have to report your grade to your coach, Mr. Spires. Just get the extra credit assignment to me before Friday.”

Andy gave a tight nod. “Yes sir.”

Mr. Hayward finally noticed me across the hall and smiled. “Ah, Lola. Maybe you can help him. You’ve got a great understanding of the tragedies.”

The tragedies. I nearly laughed at that.

Shakespearean heroes destroying themselves because they couldn’t outrun fate. Men mistaking love for ownership. Women drowning in their willingness to be subservient.

I didn’t tell Mr. Hayward that Andy and I had broken up yesterday afternoon beneath the magnolia tree in the church yard. Partly because Andy had cried afterward, quietly and angrily all at once, and something about exposing his humiliation in the middle of a school hallway felt cruel.

But mostly because I didn’t want August finding out like this. Not from overheard conversation and hallway tension and accidental humiliation. I wanted to tell him directly.

Andy finally met my eyes. His smile was practiced so perfectly it almost worked. “Morning.”

I forced my own practiced smile into place, a reflection that hurt to cast. This is what we would be now. Polite strangers, no longer pretending to be in love when we were really only each other’s life rafts. “Morning,” I echoed.

Mr. Hayward continued shuffling papers, still unaware he was standing in the middle of a slow-motion car wreck. “The paper’s only three pages, Andy. You’ll survive.”

Andy let out a low laugh that sounded nothing like amusement. “Yeah. I’ll survive.”

His gaze flicked once more to the coffee in my hands. To August. To the paper bag. Then he nodded stiffly and started down the hallway. I watched him go with guilt chewing holes through my stomach. Not because I regretted ending things. I didn’t. God, I didn’t. The relief afterward had been so enormous it had almost made me sick.

But Andy had loved me the only way he knew how—tiny bursts of passion spread thin with expectant smiles—and I wasn’t cruel enough not to mourn that a little.

When he disappeared around the corner, the silence beside me thickened. August stared after him for a beat too long before finally speaking.

“What was that?” His voice stayed calm, but I could hear the strain underneath it like wire pulled too tight.

“I’ll tell you after school,” I said softly.