Page 3 of The Wicker King

August loathed her.

He could’ve written sonnets about her pouty lips and golden hair and ivory skin and melodious voice. Not because he admired those things in the slightest—he couldn’t have cared less about the way she looked. It was because he had to constantly listen to Jack’s moony-eyed chattering.

It’s not that August didn’t like girls.

He just didn’t like her.

MRS. BATEMAN

August’s mother was special.

She was an indoor mother who never went outside, except in emergencies. But still—August loved her.

She was suffering from a Great Big Sad that she chased away with pills and sleep and game shows. Everything was hard for her. Getting up was hard, getting dressed was hard. Sometimes eating or even sitting up was hard.

Everything was a learning experience. And luckily for him, by the time his parents were divorced and the Big Sad came to visit, he was old enough to use the stove and clean up after himself. He got good at it.

Then, a couple of years later, when Jack’s parents started traveling a lot for work, he found himself in the position to take responsibility for Jack, too. It wasn’t a burden, because he was used to it and because he was prepared.

Sometimes, especially when he was cooking, he felt like maybe the Great Big Sad took his mom so he would be ready for Jack. Like the fear and depression that choked her until she couldn’t move made it so that when Jack stumbled into his house three years ago and admitted that he hadn’t seen his own mom in weeks, August was ready to sit him down and make him some soup.

It was a selfish thought.

He pushed it away whenever he could.

THE OTHER WOMAN

Jack slung his backpack onto the floor and collapsed onto August’s bed, jolting him awake.

“Whaahnnnn?”

“I met a girl today, August. A girl I think you would like.”

August opened one brown eye, then closed it again. His jet-black hair stuck up every which way, like he’d rolled himself violently down a hill. He rubbed his face and sighed loudly.

“Don’t be like that. You already kind of know her. She graduated last year.”

“Whassher name?”

“Rina Medina. I was at the library and she was trying to check out some books, but she forgot her library card and she looked like she was in a hurry. So I gave her mine. I figured it would give us a reason to find her again.”

August opened both his eyes for the sole purpose of glaring at Jack derisively. “You need to stop talking to strangers.”

“She’s not a stranger. She’s just older, she graduated two years ago. Besides, you and I both know that that doesn’t apply to strangers who are around our age. Also, she invited us to a poetry reading and we’re going,” Jack declared.

“You don’t even like poetry.” August could feel a headache catching up with him.

“Yeah. Of course I fucking don’t. It’s boring as shit. But you do. I swear you’ll like her. Just put on some clothes. We’re leaving at eight.”

RINA MEDINA, QUEEN OF THE DESERT

It was crowded and dark.

August was pushed so close to Jack that he was practically resting his head on his shoulder. He slung his arm around Jack’s neck so it would seem more intentional than just continuing to awkwardly breathe on his neck.

The first two poets were okay. But it was that type of poetry that’s really personal and eventually escalates into yelling. The type he didn’t like.

“This is her,” Jack whispered into the side of his face.