Page 27 of The Wicker King

“Stop looking at me like that. It totally makes sense if you look at it long enough. Kind of like analyzing a poem for English. Like the bigglebys have to be some kind of crop or, like, a term for general agricultural prosperity? I don’t know. The only thing I’m sure of is that the Cloven King is bad. People are relying on the Wicker King, and whatever he used to protect them in the hall of whatever is gone and needs to be returned or shit will hit the fan. Are you up for it?”

“Up for what? What can we even do?” August said, slumping over his desk.

“Personally, I think we should save them. It sounded pretty dire. And just because they’re not a part of this world doesn’t mean they’re worth less than we are. That is prejudice.” Jack sniffed dramatically. “Anyway, you’re a lot better than me at analyzing poetry, so can you just look at this for me and figure out what we’re supposed to do?”

“Jack. This won’t fix the problem,” August said darkly.

They both knew what problem he was referring to.

“I know,” Jack said. “But please.”

MONKEY WRENCH

August stashed the poem in his bag for a week. He didn’t like looking at it.

Peter and Roger were giving him knowing gazes all the time and, quite frankly, it was beginning to get on his nerves.

Homecoming was in two days.

Two of the drug runners he worked with had gotten caught, so Daliah pushed their workload onto him and it was making him nervous. He liked the extra money, but not enough to risk serious jail time.

Jack’s parents hadn’t been home in ages and that made him anxious, too. Jack seemed to be all right with it. But it was hard not to be concerned when your best friend went home every day to darkness and food from a can.

His back had been hurting lately, too. It was a dull, persistent ache along his shoulders and up his neck. Probably stress. What else would it fucking be?

FRIDAY, UNDER THE BLEACHERS

“Hey, boy, hey.”

August cracked open an eye and gazed up.

“Come get me at eight tonight?”

He closed his eyes again.

“You didn’t forget that tonight’s the dance, did you?” Gordie huffed.

“I didn’t forget,” August said tiredly. “I got a suit ready and everything.”

Gordie bent down lower to get a closer look at him. “You look unusually ragged. Like exhausted and shit.”

August just gave her the finger and closed his eyes. “I’m doing my best, kid. Take it or leave it.”

Gordie laughed and sprinkled some grass over his face. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get some sleep, babe. And don’t forget: pick me up at eight.”

FRENCH CUT SILK

“Come here,” August said. “I can’t believe no one taught you how to do this.”

“Well, you know. My dad’s not around a lot … so…”

Jack tilted his head back. August laughed nervously as he tied his friend’s bow tie.

It was soft. The moment was soft.

“Why aren’t you getting dressed at Carrie-Anne’s? You know she likes that stuff. You know? Matching and crap,” August said, pulling the fabric gently.

“So do you, you dick,” Jack shot back. “But yeah … I don’t think she’ll give me any time to myself at Homecoming, so … I just…”