Page 96 of People Like Us

His words finally caught up with me as I felt a familiar hand on my shoulder. “Wait, what do you mean?” I asked.

At the same time, I heard Andy say, “Lola, I need to talk to you.”

I spun to see him smiling sheepishly at me. “What did you do?” I asked, my heart rate rising.

He gave me a pitying frown and said, “I didn’t do anything the kid didn’t deserve. He said some very uncouth things about us.”

“About us, or about you?” I sneered. His mouth tightened into a flat line.

I rolled my eyes and pushed Wyatt out of my way to slip between two cars. I pulled myself on top of the half wall separating the parking lot from the driveway. I walked along it, balancing myself with my arms held out as quickly as possible toward the end of the lot, then jumped down. Right in front of August’s car.

He was already at his door, his hand gripping the handle as he looked up at me, startled.

A bright gash sat in the center of a swollen bruise on his cheek bone. I sucked in a sharp breath. “What happened?” I asked, moving toward him.

The small step he took backward planted a sharp knife in the center of my chest.

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?” The pieces slid slowly into place.

“Andy hit you?” I asked, astonished. I knew he was bothered by August, but I didn’t think he would ever physically harm him.

August only scoffed in response. He opened his car door, but before he could open it all the way, I slammed it shut. “August, I didn’t know.” I pleaded.

He searched my face, then let out a long breath, his shoulders dropping. “I know, Lola.”

“Then why are you acting like I’m the one who hit you.”

Before he could answer, Andy’s voice boomed from the end of August’s car. “It was just a misunderstanding, right, Brooks?”

I didn’t give him the chance to answer, instead I pushed past him, charging toward Andy. “What, did his face misunderstand your fist, Andy? What is wrong with you? You can’t just hit people because you don’t like them. You’re turning into your father.”

The words were out before I could stop them. Andy looked as if he was the one who’d been struck.

“Why don’t you ask him what he said about you, then you can call me to apologize later.” He growled. He sent a deadly look toward August before turning to stalk away from us.

I spun back to August, looking at him expectantly. “Are you going to tell me what happened, or are you going to force me to be nice to him just to hear it?”

August glanced at his car, as if debating whether he could escape. He let out a long breath, and said “Can you get in?”

I eyed his passenger seat through the window, debating if I had the patience. I huffed and crossed behind the car to get in. When I slammed the door shut, August was already in the driver’s seat.

“Andy saw us talking in the hallway this morning.” He started, his head leaning back against the rest. His hair brushed the ceiling of the car, and I forced myself to not think about how comically tall he was in this car.

“I’m aware. I was there, remember?” I pushed.

“And I guess he really doesn’t like the idea of me hanging out with his girlfriend. So he did me the great kindness of putting me in my place.”

“What does that mean, August?”

He lulled his head against the rest to meet my harsh gaze. The cut under his eye looked painful, and I wanted to go to the cafeteria and ask for ice, but I forced myself to stay put in my anger until I heard the full story.

“He said that someone like you would never be interested in someone like me, and I needed to get my head out of my ass for wishing that you would.”

My anger dissolved a bit. “August, that’s not—”

“I know.” He said harshly. “But please stop looking at me like a kicked puppy. Andy was right. I deserved to get hit.”

“August, why would you think something like that?” The knife in my chest dug deeper.