Page 11 of The Wicker King

“But I don’t know how to swim,” August had argued. He repeated the words now, whispering into the darkness of his room.

“We’ll just go in a couple of inches. I won’t let you fall.” Jack had glanced back over his shoulder at him, smiled, and held out his hand. It was cold, but the water that filled up his shoes and socks was much colder. His Converses had always had holes. August remembered being worried about his mom and dad finding out. There had been too much fighting and yelling in his house back then for him to bring his wet shoes into it.

Suddenly, Jack turned back toward the trees and pulled out his sword, holding it high above their heads. The boars and crows and things with fur and talons clawed at the shore’s edge, angry that they’d been outmatched. August couldn’t see them—he never could, no matter how many times they played this game—but he knew they were there. By the quiver of Jack’s hand, he knew to fear the shore.

Water dripped off the branch and glittered in the setting sun, and August gazed up at the Wicker King. So fierce and proud, chin jutting out so bravely, that August couldn’t help but lift his branch beside him. Jack had grinned at the sight. They were stronger together; they were always stronger together.

Suddenly it was too bright—the sun glittering off the water, glittering in the air, glittering off the razor-sharp edges of Jack’s teeth. It was too much.

August had gasped, taken a step back, slipped on a rock, and plunged beneath the surface.

EARTH SPACE SCIENCE

“Would you like to borrow my pen?”

August looked over at the guy sitting next to him in surprise. They’d never spoken before, but here he was offering him a pen while August had a writing utensil in clear view on his desk. “Um. No, man. I’ve got one.”

The boy looked frustrated. “You really need to borrow my pen,” he demanded, jabbing the pen farther in August’s direction, eyes flickering nervously over to the front of the room.

August sighed and took the pen and peered at it closely. There was a bit of paper wrapped around the ink cartridge. August disassembled the pen and unrolled the paper.

Meet me in the locker room at 11 a.m., near the supply rack.

Huh.

Weird.

This wasn’t Jack’s handwriting.

August glanced over at the boy who’d lent him the pen. The kid shook his head and mouthed, “I didn’t write it.”

“Where did you get this?” August whispered, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“Mr. Bateman, do you have something you would like to share with the class?”

“No.”

“Then kindly keep quiet until you do.”

PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN

Of all the people he assumed could have sent him the note, he never would have guessed it was one of the twins. Neither of them played rugby and therefore had no reason to be in the locker room.

Peter leaned nonchalantly against a locker. “Good. You came.” He looked terrifyingly pleased to see August.

“This is going to sound rude, but this is a bit weird for me,” August said suspiciously. “I’ve never actually heard your voice before. I don’t think you guys even answer roll call … What’s going on?”

Together the twins were harmless, but he’d never been alone with Peter before and he was learning that it really gave him the creeps.

“Are you friends with Jack Rossi?” Peter said, ignoring August’s question.

“Yeah, I’m not telling you anything until you explain what’s going on. Where is Roger?” August narrowed his eyes even further.

Peter laughed. “You’re so touchy. Well, we all have our secrets … but if you must know, Roger’s out running errands for me. I sent him away because I wanted to talk to you privately.”

Sent him away? Huh.

“I have other shit to do that doesn’t include standing around with you in the locker room playing twenty questions while you’re being unnecessarily foreboding.”